Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: All Elite Wrestling
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Relationships: Maxwell Jacob Friedman/Samoa Joe
Characters: Maxwell Jacob Friedman, Samoa Joe (Professional Wrestling)
Additional Tags: dubcon, it's dubcon to me but more than dubious enough for the non-con tag to apply, Alternate Universe - Police, Police corruption, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Cameos
Series: Part 2 of Jurisdiction
Summary:
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: All Elite Wrestling
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Relationships: Maxwell Jacob Friedman/Samoa Joe
Characters: Maxwell Jacob Friedman, Samoa Joe (Professional Wrestling)
Additional Tags: Horror, Supernatural Elements, candyman au, mjf-typical attitudes to poor people, MJF-Typical Fatphobia, i probably softballed it but - it's definitely still there, other wrestling cameos, Other: See Story Notes
Summary:
[Candyman AU/fusion] Researcher Max is looking into urban legends, particularly the ones about 'Samoa Joe'. Unexpectedly, he finds out about a community that seems to believe in Joe wholeheartedly - and decides that's IDEAL for his research. And of course, he doesn't believe in any of that stuff himself.
Untitled (excerpt)
Fandom: Pro wrestling/AEW
Pairing: Samoa Joe/MJF
Trigger warnings for the general Red Riding Hood themes of stalking and threats of violence
Who the hell came into the woods wearing red?
And bright red, at that. Almost garishly bright – covering their whole back, and even up over their head, in a hood.
But it wasn’t Joe’s problem – if anything, it made his work easier. And he couldn’t see the guy carrying any weapons, and he smelled human enough – he smelled good. Never mind whatever he had in that basket, for afters.
And Joe couldn’t hear anyone else too nearby.
So he sidled up on him, falling in behind him as he walked the path.
“Are you alright there, all alone?”
The guy stopped and whirled around. Pretty, under that hood, and fairly young-looking. And he blinked big, dark eyes up at Joe.
“Oh – hello sir,” the kid said, smiling. “Yes, I’m fine, although it is my first time in the woods. The path is fairly easy to follow, though.”
Joe smiled.
Didn’t he have a mother to tell him not to talk to strangers out here?
Untitled (excerpt)
Fandom: Pro wrestling/AEW
Pairing: Samoa Joe/MJF
Summary: He's always on the clock
Trigger warning for mention of MJF-typical fatphobia
Reserved lounge chairs by the pool with no-one else sat nearby, check. Drinks already laid out on the table, still cold from the fridge, check. High-quality sunscreen lined up by the chairs, check. It seemed like his ‘word’ with the hotel staff yesterday paid off.
Joe, behind him, wasn’t wearing a suit of course – he refused to wear one in this kind of weather, when they were by a pool. He looked like a vacationing deadbeat in those shorts. So things weren’t perfect – but Joe was still working out a lot better than Wardlow did, and seemed to intimidate people no matter what he wore. So Max was willing to overlook some small issues.
He settled down on his lounge chair, picked out some sunscreen, and started lathering it on. He could see the bar staff eyeing him nervously. Good. It’d keep them on their toes. Plastic and metal creaked next to him as Joe settled down too – if he wanted to take risks with the cheap hotel furniture, that was his lookout. As long as he did his job.
He checked his phone, periodically. There wasn’t actually much to do today, besides tan, but it was always worth keeping an eye on what the world at large thought of him. And being ready to correct mistakes. That was the large part of the work he’d done so far on this trip. Until the merger went through, there wasn’t much to actually get on with. At least the accommodations were passable. And he did prefer to keep his tan topped up.
He noticed, suddenly, someone watching him. A guy – maybe twenty feet away. In his trunks, presumably another guest. Watching Max put his lotion on. He didn’t look away when Max caught him looking. Held eye contact for a few moments, gaze occasionally flicking back down to Max’s chest.
Tall guy. Decent looking. Broad shoulders.
There were a lot of ways to pass the time.
He glanced at Joe – to find Joe looking right at him, studying his face assessingly.
Untitled (excerpt)
Fandom: Pro wrestling/AEW
Pairing: Samoa Joe/MJF
Summary: Mercy's a rare thing on the sea
Trigger warnings for references to a shipwreck, near-drowning, and brain injuries
Maxwell woke up slowly, to a pounding head and a rocking sensation. Was he hungover, or still drunk?
“Easy, lad, easy…”
There were fingers in his hair and he relaxed automatically – before he realised he didn’t recognise that voice at all.
He started to struggle, as best he could.
“Shh, shh, shh – it’s alright…”
The fingers disappeared, at least. He blinked awake, despite the pain and the groggy feeling it gave him.
He was – where was he? There was a man looking down at him who he didn’t recognise, and he didn’t recognise the room behind him either.
Wood. A cabin. He was – yes, he was at sea.
But – this wasn’t the cabin he’d been staying in.
He was – oh, there’d been – violent rocking. A storm. Loud banging. Shouting. Screaming. Smoke.
Where were – where was Wardlow? Shawn? Harwood?
He looked back up at the man standing over him. He had messy light hair and a long beard – and piercing blue eyes. But he was looking kindly at Maxwell, although he seemed to be staring. His hands were held out like he thought Maxwell would fall at any moment.
“Your ship went down,” he explained. “We found you amongst some wreckage, and pulled you out of the water. You and a few of your friends.”
A few?
It explained the headache, though.
“Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”
Maxwell glanced sharply at him. He opened his mouth to reply – and coughed at the unexpected dryness. He coughed and coughed, as the faint taste of salt flooded his mouth.
“Here.”
A cup was held out in front of his face. His arms didn’t seem to want to work properly, but he made an effort and reached out and grabbed it. He glanced at the contents – it seemed to be just water – and then brought it to his mouth and drank.
It felt like the most blessed thing he’d ever experienced.
“You’ve been asleep for a few days – since we brought you aboard. Your friends believe you hit your head in the wreck. You won’t have had enough water since then – which I’m sure makes a change from having too much of it.”
Maxwell gave him a withering look at the attempt at humour. It didn’t seem to phase the man though.
A few days? How long, exactly?
He glanced around the cabin again – and startled as he realised there was another man in the room. A large man, leaning quietly against a desk, watching him. He gave Maxwell a faint smile upon being noticed.
“So – can you tell me how you’re feeling?”
Maxwell grimaced, and looked back at the first man. He cleared his throat and then worked it, testing it as best he could.
“Like I was in a shipwreck,” he said, finally.
It was raspy, but he got it all out.
The man burst out laughing.
“People don’t always recover well from a knock to the head,” he explained. “It’s always worthwhile to check with a little conversation.”
Maxwell nodded, and held out the empty cup. He glanced around the room again, subtly. There was no-one else there, unless they were hiding. The man took the cup from him and put it on a nearby table.
“Do you remember the wreck?”
Maxwell looked up at him – and frowned. His head was still pounding, but – he dimly recalled. There was a storm, yes. The crew had claimed they could handle it – but things just got worse and worse, until it was clear that wasn’t true. He’d stayed belowdecks with Wardlow until they’d heard the sailors openly panicking – then he’d made his way to the deck.
He remembered the water splashing in his face, and not knowing if it was rain or waves. It was so dark – except for one bright flash of lightning.
“Somewhat,” he replied.
He knew he should have booked on a navy vessel. Even if their accommodations were lacking.
He looked back at the men in the room. They were – staring at him. With rather open interest.
He noticed, suddenly, that the man in front of him was dressed rather raggedly. While the man by the desk was – unusually dressed, in dark, unassuming clothing. But it was considerably finer than the clothes of the other man.
Neither of them were wearing uniforms.
Maxwell licked his lips.
“The friends I was pulled out of the water with – ” he asked – coughing to clear his throat one more time. “ – Where are they?”
And why weren’t they here?
The two men exchanged looks.
The man by the desk stood fully, and walked a few paces over to them.
He was wearing a sturdy-looking leather belt, holding a pistol and two swords.
“There was a Mr Wardlow,” he said, in a deep, rumbling voice, “a Mr Spears, a Mr Wheeler and a Mr Harwood. As well as a few other men who were part of the crew from your ship. But those four claimed to be your travelling companions. Is that true?”
Maxwell nodded up at him.
No reason to lie about that.
The big man was regarding him, quite calmly.
“They – and the others – weren’t injured as badly as you. They’re staying in the crew quarters. I brought you to my cabin to recover – where the doctor could see you more clearly.”
He gestured at the raggedy man.
His cabin. Captain, then. Right.
Maxwell glanced around again. It was bigger than the captain’s cabin on the Artemis, from what he remembered of it. It was – quite finely decorated. There were ornaments on display. A few shelves of books. The desk he’d been leaning against looked intricately carved. Maxwell could see a few flashes of gold, even, around the room.
Perhaps they were privateers.
“Is he well then, Mr Danielson?”
Maxwell looked back around to see the ragged man nodding.
“Waking up’s a good sign,” he said. “And his brains seem to still be in his head. I’d say he’s well.”
The larger man nodded.
“You may leave then. I’ll let you know if I you’re needed again.”
‘Danielson’ ducked his head.
“Thank you cap’n.”
He gave one last smile to Maxwell, then turned, and left by a fairly ornate-looking door. When it shut, Maxwell glanced quickly around the room again. He still couldn’t see anyone else. As far as he could tell, he and the ‘captain’ were alone.
He looked back at the big man.
He was smiling down at Maxwell.
Maxwell held his breath.
He licked his lips.
“Can I ask what ship I’m on now?”
It came out as strong as he hoped it would, without too much croaking or nerves.
The ‘captain’ grabbed a chair that was over by the wall, pulled it over in front of the bed, and sat down on it. The wood groaned under his weight as it settled.
“My name,” he said, “is Captain Seanoa, and you are on my ship, the Blue Glory.”
He was still smiling at Maxwell.
It wasn’t a particularly pleasant smile.
No ‘HMS’, or any title, before the ship name, either.
Maxwell licked his lips again.
“Well,” he said, “I certainly thank you for the rescue, captain. You saved my life. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”
The captain didn’t move much, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
Maxwell licked his lips again.
“Can I ask what your current destination is?”
The captain didn’t answer right away. Just regarded Maxwell for a few moments.
“St Lucia,” he finally said.
The Caribbean. That didn’t tell Maxwell much. Although it wasn’t a good answer.
“Although we don’t expect to be there very soon.”
Maxwell’s breath hitched again.
There were a few moments of silence in the cabin. He and the captain just looked at each other. The captain still smiling that small smile.
He’d already moved around subtly under the covers, and was fairly sure he was wearing his undergarments – or someone’s undergarments. He didn’t know what had happened to his other clothes. He could still feel the weight of his diamond ring on his finger, though.
There was of course the chance that this was a private vessel – an explorer, or something. A rich man who ran a ship purely out of passion for the sea. And that that rich man was just – a little eccentric, or unpleasant.
But there was also the chance that it wasn’t.
He tried to work the ring off his finger without moving the covers too much.
Captain Seanoa just looked at him, smiling.
“Well, if you’d be willing to take us that far, I’d be very grateful,” Maxwell said, voice hopefully light. “Or we can leave the next time you make port, if you dock before then?”
The Captain narrowed his eyes at him again, but kept smiling.
Untitled (excerpt)
Fandom: Pro wrestling/AEW/WWE
Pairing: MJF/Samoa Joe
Summary: [Soulmate AU] Aftermath
(set post Max and Joe's first meeting in WWE, spoilers for the end of Joe's match with Nakamura on that show)
He’d pushed the stagehands away. The adrenaline was wearing off, and his body was starting to let him know what had happened to him in the ring.
He’d lost his belt.
His belt.
Staggering down the hallway, he wasn’t totally paying attention to his surroundings. But he’d always had a sixth sense for when a fight might be on the cards.
It took him a while to realise what he was looking at. Yellow shirt – pissy expression.
It was the security guard from earlier.
Leaning against the wall – maybe the same spot Joe had left him in – and glaring at Joe.
Joe wanted to laugh, but he wasn’t really in a laughing mood.
He’d think maybe the kid was waiting for someone else – something else – and it was just a coincidence. But his eyes stayed firmly fixed on Joe.
“You’re missing something,” the kid said.
Okay. Okay then.
He walked – right up to the kid. Right up to him. In his face. Because if he wanted his ass kicked, Joe was ready to oblige. There was a flash of fear on his face, but it disappeared unadvisedly quickly. Back to that angry, belligerent expression.
“Do you have a problem,” Joe asked, “kid?”
His dark eyes flickered over Joe nervously. He was breathing a little too quickly. He was a lot shorter than Joe.
“You’re the one who has problems.”
Joe stared at him for a moment, incredulously.
The kid’s shoulders were up, and he was tense – but he didn’t actually make a move towards Joe. He kept his arms folded over his chest, and just kept staring at Joe with that sulky look on his face. And – something else. Like he’d been expecting something else. Like he was hurt.
Oh God.
A starstruck baby fan.
Joe laughed. Loud.
He only vaguely registered the growing rage on the kid’s face. It was almost enough to make him feel better, for a moment – what was he, a teenager? Mad that the TV star hadn’t given him a dream experience, when he’d been lucky enough to score a job backstage.
This wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t even worth it to blow off some frustration. It was – beneath him. He shook his head, and moved away, past the kid.
He was halfway to his locker room when the boy spoke up again.
“My name’s Maxwell,” he called out. “By the way.”
Joe stopped.
He stood there for a couple of moments. Arm tingling.
