Pairing: Kenny Omega x Reader
Genre: Comedy/a little fluff?
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 749
Characters: Kenny Omega
Plot: Kenny is an adorably needy boyfriend, but sometimes his clinginess gets in the way your productivity, for example, when you’re trying to finish an interview...
Author’s Note: This piece is inspired by @xkennyxomegax ‘s post about Kenny distracting the reader during an interview <3. I hope you enjoy it, dear!
Kenny Omega was a needy man when it came to attention from his loved ones, and most of the time, you were happy to oblige. Being showered in cuddles, kisses, and caresses by the man you loved was endearing. He always made you feel wanted, treasured, even needed.
But sometimes, Kenny’s thirst for attention could be…counterproductive. Kenny was clingy in general - Excited Kenny was clingy, Sad Kenny was clingy, even Frustrated Kenny was clingy. But they all had nothing on Bored Kenny. And, after a nine hour flight, a three hour meet and greet, and a nap, the man had a significant block of time to kill while you did a round of interviews. You’d insisted he go back to the hotel, but he insisted on waiting.
And, of course, he got bored.
It started with your phone buzzing in your pocket. You ignored the first vibration. And the second. Even the third and fourth. But when it started vibrating nonstop, indicating a spam of new notifications, you shot an apologetic look at the interviewer. “I’m so sorry,” you cringed and pulled out your phone, scrolling quickly through the messages:
Hey.
Hey.
Babe, I’m bored.
I miss you.
Are you hungry?
What should we get for dinner?
Matt and Nick won’t respond but I think we should all grab takeout.
I want pizza, is pizza okay?
I don't feel like going out. If we get pizza we can all just chill at the hotel.
You gritted your teeth and shot back a quick reply: “I AM IN AN INTERVIEW.”
You managed to make it a few more minutes fully focused before Kenny ramped up his efforts. “The rehab wasn’t easy, but being back in the ring is everything. The physical therapy hurt, but having to sit at home while everyone else was wrestling, that was definitely the worst -” your sentence dropped off as you heard a small thud.
Kenny was standing at the door of the room, his face pressed up to the glass window. You took a tense breath and directed your attention back to the interview.
You barely made it through the end of your story before the sound of the door opening distracted you again.
You shot a glare at Kenny, who smiled cheekily back at you and took a seat in the back of the room.
You tried to ignore him while you answered the next question, but he kept making funny faces at you - sticking his tongue out, crossing his eyes, pursing his lips. You fought valiantly to hold in your chuckle, truly, but you lost. The poor interviewer’s face crinkled in confusion when you burst into a fit of giggles.
“I am so, so sorry,” your words contrasted with the laughs escaping from your lips and the smile they formed.
Kenny grinned up at you like a menace as you made your way over, clearly pleased with himself and presumably amused with your efforts to school your expression.
“Just because I am laughing does not mean I’m not mad at you!” You poked his chest accusingly.
“But baaaaaabe, I’m -”
“Bored. Yes, I know Kenny. However,” you gestured to the camera, microphone, and interviewer, “I’m a little busy.”
“But babe -”
“Kenny. Sweetie. Darling.” You grimaced and cupped his face in your hands, “If you let me get through this interview without any more interruptions, we can get pizza, cuddle, and watch whatever you want while we eat. I will even play Street Fighter with you. But, please, please let me get through this.”
Kenny’s eyes narrowed in consideration, his head tilting, pulling your hands along with it. “I accept -”
“Good -”
“I accept, if you throw in a kiss.” He grinned like a triumphant child as you rolled your eyes.
“Yes, that’s fine, Kenny, I’ll see you when I’m finished.” You made to turn away, but he caught your arms and pulled you back.
“I mean a kiss right now.”
You sighed, glancing back at the poor, poor, confused interviewer, but Kenny knew exactly the look you couldn’t resist, his blue eyes trained on you, his lips in a slight pout. And, before you could change your mind, you pulled him close, pecking him once on the cheek and once on the lips. “No. Interruptions.”
Kenny nodded at you, grinning at his success, your kiss, and the promise of a night holding you in his arms. You rolled your eyes again as you headed back to your interview, but you couldn’t help but smile too.
Fandom: AEW (All Elite Wrestling)
Pairing: Kenny Omega x Reader
Genre: Gen/Fluff
Warnings: N/A
Tag List: @baysexuality @elitehoe
You would go to a resort with a water park
Kenny stops on the way there to get gas and snacks - he also grabs a couple of disposable cameras
In addition to snapping pictures with the disposable cameras to get developed later, Kenny takes endless pictures on his phone to send to Matt and Nick
Even with all the exciting attractions at the resort, the two of you spend a whole day just cuddled up in your room, basking in the chance to sleep in and relax
He definitely starts childish splashing wars with you in the pool
There’s probably also play wrestling in the pool XD
You guys film two segments to send in for BTE - one of you both relaxing in style (which Brandon will set to dramatic music and caption “Couple Goals”) and a goofy skit
Rubbing sunscreen on his back and shoulders (him teasing you if your hands linger “you like what you see, baby?”)
Holding hands as you float down the lazy river, Kenny dramatically letting go and crying out “NOOOOOOO!” as your innertube drifts away from his before paddling desperately towards you with his hands
Pairing / Form: Wheeler Yuta x Backstage Medical Staff!Reader / Oneshot
Genre: Misc
Warnings: Blood, bleeding, discussion of blading (the professional wrestling technique), panic attack, anxiety, wounds
Word Count: 2,719
Characters: Wheeler Yuta, William Regal, Jon Moxley, Bryan Danielson, with brief appearances by Chuck Taylor and Orange Cassidy, because Yuta has alot of dads.
Plot: It’s always somewhat nerve-wracking when a wrestler is scheduled to blade, but for some reason, Wheeler Yuta is different. For some reason, you can’t stop thinking about it - about him. What could it be?
You remembered the first time he came to the back, right after his first TV match. He didn’t really need medical attention, but Chuck Taylor and Orange Cassidy dragged him in, worrying over him like mother hens.
It was sweet, the way they looked after him. And he was sweet too, in his awkward and charming way. Many wrestlers were so used to their bodies being on display that your touch and attention bothered them very little. But Yuta always seemed to get shy; he averted his eyes whenever you touched him to check for damage or to apply some cream or bandage or such. Perhaps he was squeamish? That was certainly nothing to be ashamed of.
Of course, if he was squeamish, that would be an issue tonight, since he was scheduled to blade in his match with Jon Moxley.
Last week, he, Mox, Bryan Danielson, Chuck, and Cassidy had all squeezed into your designated corner of the medical staff’s room to prepare him. It wasn’t the first time you’d gone over the process with a wrestler, but was the first time you’d had such an audience.
“Now, the first step, of course, is to make the blade,” you held up an example. “You’re going to cut it - carefully - so there’s one small, sharp point. I know it’s probably part of the craft and the moment to make your own, but I highly recommend you let me do it-”
“All due respect, ‘doc, but a man’s gotta forge his own weapon, especially when he’s turnin’ it on himself” Mox spoke as he leaned against a counter.
You looked to Yuta, who nodded, before responding. “I understand. I just ask that you show it to me before the match so I can check it. I can make sure it’s both safer and more effective.”
Yuta nodded again but didn’t speak. He knew Chuck and Cassidy well by this point, but it must have been intimidating to be working with Mox and Danielson.
“You’re also going to want to have a spare. I’m sure these gentlemen can show you how to wrap them into your wrist tape. For the blading itself, there’s two main methods: twisting and slicing. Twisting means less scars, less stitches, and a much easier patching up. Slicing means more scarring, more stitches, and me wrapping up your head, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.” You shot a pointed look at Danielson, who held his hands up with a good-natured grin.
“New dogs may be able to learn old tricks, but old habits still die hard.”
“This is true,” you turned your attention back to Yuta, “so start building a good habit - if you’re going to blade, twist, don’t slice.” You held up your example blade again; it was intentionally dulled so you could demonstrate. “Like this,” you didn’t notice the horror in Yuta’s eyes as you lifted the razor to your head, but everyone heard his yelp of surprise as you twisted it and his soft “ah” when no blood came out.
“Sorry, I should have shown you it was dull first!” you exclaimed as Mox and Chuck slapped Yuta on the back and grinned teasingly.
“N-no, it’s fine, I’m sorry.” Yuta’s face was beet red. Ah, he must have been embarrassed about his outburst - was he going to be able to handle the match?
“It’s alright. Although…if you’re feeling squeamish about it, I’m sure the match could still be successful without you blading.” Your voice was kind, non-judgemental. The last thing you wanted was to make him feel condescended to.
“S’not the blood he’s nervous about.” Mox knocked his shoulder against Yuta’s, “Right kid?”
“N-no.” Yuta’s face was even redder now. You didn’t want to embarrass him any further, so you let it go.
“Then all that’s left is what to do with the razor afterwards. Some people slip them into their waistband, some people hand them off to the ref - decide what makes sense to you. But if you pull a Shawn Michaels and put it in your mouth, I will personally ensure that you never participate in a match with blood ever again on AEW programming and I will yell at you the entire time I bandage you up.”
Yuta nodded again, looking meek this time.
You smiled, wanting to put him at ease. “And after the match, I’m sure there'll be a couple backstage photos, but you make your way right here as soon as possible. Understood?”
He nodded again.
“Good. And Mr. Moxley, I expect you to hold him to that - don’t let him get lost in the after-match rush. Bring him right here.”
“Of course, ‘doc.” Mox grinned, and Danielseon nodded along.
“Well, I’ve lectured you long enough. Good luck, Yuta - let me know if you have any questions.”
You’d smiled as they all left your space to Chuck chanting “Baby’s first blading! Baby’s first blading!” But for some reason your stomach was churning. You always got a bit nervous when a wrestler was booked to blade, it was dangerous after all, but you usually didn’t feel that worry until you were watching the match on the monitors.
Why was this different?
***
On the night of the match itself, you still had an unsettling, unfamiliar unease. Even as you checked and double checked your supplies, even as you helped Anna Jay stretch out her shoulder, even as you met with the rest of the medical team, Wheeler Yuta was at the back of your mind.
There was no reason you could think of to be extra nervous. You’d gone over the process with him, he was a professional, he was working with one of the best hardcore werstlers in the business, and you had everything ready - a couple blades in case he changed his mind about making his own, bandages, disinfectant, and the juice and snack that were the standard after blood loss.
You chuckled at the memories of older wrestlers sitting in medical with their juice boxes and crackers or cookies - Bryan Danielson, CM Punk, and even Mr. Jon Moxley himself. You took a certain pride in always being able to get the performers to sit down and sip their juice and eat their snack - no matter how “hardcore” they were. The newer wrestlers followed their example, which made everything easier.
“Uh, hey.” Yuta’s quiet greeting pulled you out of your thoughts and brought a small smile to your face.
“Good evening. Are you ready for your match?”
Yuta scratched at his neck. “Yeah, and I, uh, brought these.” He held up two blades, their sharp points glinting.
You waved him over and took both blades from his hand, holding it up to the light, checking for any nicks, making sure it was a straight point. “Perfect.”
You offered a reassuring smile as you carefully pressed them back into his hands, covering them with your own. “Be careful out there, okay?” It didn’t come out how it usually did. With the vets, like Mox and Bryan, it was chiding and somewhat playful. With the rookies like Britt and JB, it was more reassuring. But with Yuta it was almost desperate, and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. You didn’t notice Yuta’s face getting red again, his heartbeat speeding up at your hands on his, his eyes looking anywhere but at you.
“I-I will. I promise.” He squeezed your hands and once again brought you back into the present.
“Are you nervous?” You were still holding onto his hands, why were you still holding onto his hands?
“Honestly?” He swallowed. “There's a part of me that’s terrified. Not of the blood, exactly, but just - I want it to be perfect, you know? But I’m also excited, and I think it’s all kind of mixing up in my head.”
This time, you gave the reassuring squeeze. “Sounds perfectly normal to me.” You looked down for a moment, unsure why you felt a little out of breath. “You’re going to do great. You’re going to blow them away.”
The smile that appeared on his face was warm, spreading like a sunflower to greet the morning light. But before he could reply, a gruff voice startled your hands out of his.
“Hey, kid, production crew’s got a few questions before the show starts.”
Yuta nodded, but he looked…disappointed? He nodded to you again and shuffled out with Moxley.
Beyond your sphere of hearing, the older wrestler nudged Yuta with his shoulder, “Looks like you two were having a moment there, you finally tell her?”
Yuta sighed, “No, not yet.”
Mox chuckled, “Ah, young love.”
Yuta rolled his eyes.
“Don’t wait too long kid. Don’t wanna miss out.”
***
You usually paid close attention to bloody matches, both as a wrestling fan but also out of a desire to analyze as much about the damage being done as you could. But you found yourself transfixed in an entirely different way during Yuta and Mox’s brawl.
It started out fine; you were able to swallow the mysterious dread in your stomach and enjoy the performance. But once Yuta’s blood began to flow, you froze, unable to look away, unable to think, your breaths becoming shallow.
Terror. Utter terror, consuming worry, overpowering concern for that man’s safety.
Your usually calculating, medical expression having given way to panic did not go unnoticed.
“Are you alright, dear?” William Regal’s unmistakable voice was soft, careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. He’d held his hand up when Bryan had tried to follow him to your side, not wanting to overwhelm you.
You turned to him, your eyes wide and your tongue frozen, only able to sputter out the beginnings of a sentence: “I-I don’t-I-”
“Shh, shh, no words yet, dove, just breathe.” Regals’ speech was firm but kind. “Focus here,” he pointed at his eyes, “and breathe with me. Here we go - in,” he breathed deeply through his nose, “and out.”
You followed his lead, your breath falling into a rhythm.
“Yes, just like that, dove, keep breathing.”
Your world narrowed to just his eyes, his voice, and your breathing. And slowly, but surely, you stopped shaking.
“Better, dove?”
You nodded, not yet ready to speak.
“Good. Now, Mr. Danielson and Mr. Moxley have told me that you are very good at your job. All of the performers here at AEW trust you to do what you know well. So, dove, you need to trust them back. Young Yuta is good, great even, at what he does. So trust him to do it safely.”
“Thank you. For helping me breathe, and for that. I’m usually not this emotional about matches. I don’t know what came over me…”
Regal placed a hand on your shoulder, “Really? It seems you’re even more oblivious than our Yuta, then.”
“What do you -”
Regal didn’t let you finish, “Now, now dove, that’s a question for the young lad himself. Right now though, I think you should watch him work and think about it. I’ll make sure he gets straight back to you when the match is finished.”
And before you could reply, he’d stepped away and you were alone again in front of the monitor.
Yuta was still bleeding, and it was still unsettling, but the look in his eyes wasn’t fearful, it was defiant. It was bold, it was confident. Your world narrowed again, but this time your focus was the fire in his eyes, the scowl formed by his lips, the war cries bellowed from his mouth. Your stomach was churning again but not with fear. And when the match ended, he stood proud - beaten - but proud and strong.
Mr. Regal kept to his word and brought Yuta straight back to your station with Mox, who was grinning with pride. “Alright, Moxley, the lad’s in good hands now,” the older man sent you a wink.
You nodded in response, already pulling gloves onto your freshly washed hands and approaching your charge, looking at him for permission before touching him. But where he would normally nod and avoid your eyes, this time he was staring into them. It felt like he could see right through them, see what lay beneath. You had to break away to examine his head, but you could feel him watching you still.
He winced slightly when your fingers grazed over the wound, but remained quiet. Now you were avoiding his eyes; they burned into you as you carefully, gently wiped the blood from his face, the cloth in your hand turning red. “A perfectly fixable cut.” Your voice was quiet, “this will string a little.” You dabbed at the blood and murmured reassuringly as you applied the antiseptic and affixed the bandaging. Now to make sure there was nothing else to tend to. “I’m going to check over-”
You were cut off not by a sound, but by the way his eyes still focused on you, on yours.
It was a look of confidence, of interest, and as you finally let yourself gaze back, there was also fondness. His gaze softened and a small smile started to curve at his lips.
Your heart was growing louder with each beat, and he just kept looking, looking at you as if you were to be treasured. And, as the moment wore on (Was it an hour? Was it seconds?), concern entered his gaze.
His voice was soft when he broke the silence, “Regal told me you panicked during the match.”
You swallowed thickly, “Y-yes. I’m sorry, it was unprofessional-”
This time it was his hand coming to rest on yours that stopped you. “I’m not mad at you, I’m…worried about you. Are you okay?”
“I think that’s my line,” you grimaced, gesturing at the blood still staining his chest and arms.
He laughed, and without realizing it, you leaned slightly forward, drawn towards the warm sound.
“I’m sure I’ll be as good as new with you looking after me.” His smirk returned before he finally broke eye contact, the nervous Yuta you were used to making an appearance. “You know, the other day, Mox was telling me that some wrestlers have signals they do to let the people they care about know they’re okay. Like, little things that most people wouldn’t notice.”
“People they care about?” There’s your racing heart again.
Yuta huffed out a nervous laugh, “I usually don’t get all flustered when someone’s bandaging me up. And I don’t usually look forward to getting checked over after matches.” He looked at you.
“And I don’t usually panic about patients bleeding…or feel like my heart's going to burst out of my chest when they look at me.”
The smile on his face couldn’t have been bigger, couldn’t have been brighter. You fought the embarrassed urge to look way - missing this would be a crime. So instead you spoke again. “I’m still going to make you eat them, but I’m guessing after that match, you’re going to need more than just juice and crackers. And, um, I was too nervous to eat dinner so, maybe we could…” you trailed off, still nervous. What if you were jumping to conclu-
But Yuta was still smiling and interrupted your doubts before the thought could finish: “Only if it’s a date.”
You laughed, feeling the tension draining from your muscles, butterflies flitting in to take its place. “Of course.”
You were wrong before - Yuta could smile even harder. He hopped up from the cot he was perched on and slipped his fingers over yours, looking around to be sure you were alone before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.
Both you and Yuta were too wrapped up in the moment to notice the members of his new faction hovering around in the hall.
William Regal smiled in satisfaction as both Mox and Bryan fished cash out of their pockets. “Spilled blood can lead to spilled feelings, boys. Never bet against an old man.”
“Would have been another week if he didn’t bleed like a -”
“Now, now, Moxley,” Regal chided, “What’s done is done.”
Bryan laughed, “He’s just hiding how giddy he is about it finally happening.”
And so, the three veterans looked on (with varying levels of obviousness in their fondness) as Yuta held your face in his hands, gently, tenderly, gazing at you like you were the sun, the stars, the galaxy.
Wrestlers as Types of Kisses: ii. Ace Austin - Kiss to the Wrist
Fandom: Impact Wrestling
Pairing/Form: Ace Austin x Commentator!Reader / Blurb
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 935
Plot: Part of your role as a commentator is being the biggest Bullet Club hater in Impact, but your offscreen relationship with Ace Austin is actually quite friendly. Just friendly as in just friends though, you definitely have no interest in him romantically, not even a little, not at all!
“1! 2! 3! And that’s another Inevitable win for Bullet Club’s Ace Austin!”
You rolled your eyes as Matthew Rehwoldt raved. He playfully elbowed you, “Come on, aren’t you going to comment on that finish?” He was messing with you, playing up your well known on-screen distaste for all things Bullet Club.
“I’d be more excited about it if it wasn’t Ace Austin, and more impressed if he didn’t cheat.”
Rehwoldt laughed. “Aw, come on, one little card, one little papercut, and what the ref doesn’t see, doesn’t count!”
“You’re not wrong on that last part, unfortunately, and I’m not wrong that it’s time to move onto our next match! If Ace ever stops his celebration and leaves the ring, that is.”
Naturally, at that moment, the “Inevitable One” made eye contact with you, smirking when he saw your disdain, and blowing you a kiss for good measure. You rolled your eyes again as the crowd hooted and hollered.
While Ace eventually left the ring, you stayed under the lights for the rest of the show, manning the commentary desk with Renwoldt and Tom Hannifan. Doing commentary combined all the things you loved most - analysis, comedy, teamwork, and watching wrestling. The action in front of you and the antics of your co-commentators (including occasionally needing to wrangle them out of their arguments enough to call the action) drew you in and wiped the stain of Ace Austin and his Bullet Club shenanigans from your mind…mostly. Almost entirely. Absolutely entirely.
Okay, so maybe your mind kept flickering back to his wink and to the way his lips looked when he blew you that kiss. Maybe. Just a couple times.
Not that you would ever tell him that; his ego was bigger than his thighs (which you also never thought about) already, and that was saying something.
Ace was so far from your thoughts that you nearly jumped when you heard him call your name backstage after the show. You’d been checking your email on your phone when he sidled up.
He chuckled at your reaction, “You alright there, beautiful?”
You rolled your eyes but smiled and nodded. Your offscreen dynamic with Ace wasn’t nearly as hostile as your onscreen one. Really, you were friends. And that was all you wanted to be. Despite his flirtations. Just friends.
“Good,” Ace grinned. “So Rehwoldt said you were saying all kinds of mean things about me on commentary again. So rude!”
“Of course I was,” you grinned back at him, dramatically pointing at yourself, “Hello? Number one Bullet Club hater here!”
Ace playfully poked your arm, “You’re a great actress, pretending you hate us, pretending you hate me.”
“And you’re a great actor, pretending to be a total douchebag. Of course, the part of your character that’s a total dork is all you.”
Ace laughed, “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings? Because I am proud of my nerdiness, thank you!”
“As you should be,” you laughed too. Ace’s laughs, his smiles, they had that effect - they were contagious.
“Well I know I’ve said it before, but I’m glad our beef is only on screen.”
“Me too,” you playfully poked his arm. “I’m glad we’re friends.”
“Me too too!” He beamed, poking your arm in turn. “I hope we’re friends for a long time.”
You nodded, and the two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. Well, it was mostly comfortable. Comfortable as in you felt safe, you felt secure. But you didn’t feel relaxed. He was much too close for you to feel relaxed. His pretty eyes kept glancing over at you. His broad shoulders flexed as he leaned against the wall. His hand nearly brushed against yours.
“Hey,” There were those pretty eyes again, demanding your attention as he spoke to you. “Friends can hold hands, right?”
“Uh, sure?” You raised your eyebrows.
“So can I hold yours?” His glance flicked away for a moment before he met your eyes again.
“Uh, y-yeah,” you held your hand out, hoping it wasn’t shaking, and he took it, wrapping his fingers around your palm. You looked away, sure that you were blushing.
Ace stayed quiet for a few moments, but it wasn’t long before he squeezed your hand and said, “Hey, so friends can hold hands…can they give each other a kiss-”
Your eyes widened, but Ace finished off his sentence with, “-on the cheek? Or the hand?”
“O-oh,” you were so blushing, anyone would blush about that, right? “Sure, yeah, friends can do that.”
Ace scooted closer to you, still leaning against the wall, his face now inches from your own. “You know, if I got this close to you on camera, I’m not sure you’d be able to pretend to hate me.”
You sputtered a bit and then rolled your eyes. “Of course I would. I’m a professional.”
“I don’t know,” Ace smiled, “your pulse is speeding up.”
“Wh-what?” A nervous laugh escaped before you could stop it.
“Yeah,” Ace wouldn’t look away from you. He smiled again before slowly, gently lifting the hand he held closer to his face, “I can feel it,” he pressed his lips to the inside of your wrist, “right here.” The last words were breathed against your skin as he lingered there.
Your head was much too fuzzy at the moment to question if he could really feel your pulse, and you would only roll your eyes about that hours later; for now you simply looked up at him, caught in his eyes, blushing at his smile. Ace pressed his lips to your wrist once more before lowering your linked hands.
Fandom: WWE
Pairing/Form: Pete Dunne x Reader / Drabble
Genre: Gen with a pinch of angst
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 243
Plot: Of all the people to run into backstage, it had to be the scary guy?
You were walking through the backstage area, not in a hurry, but also not really paying attention to your surroundings. Last week’s match was replaying in your head, your mind picking apart what you could do better this time. Walking, walking, walking, BAM!
You nearly stumbled over when you ran into something - someone - but their hands on your forearms steadied you…and didn’t let go.
You looked up into the eyes of one Pete Dunne. Cold eyes, that were beautiful yes, but also? Downright terrifying.
“S-sorry,” you stammered out, wanting to scuttle back, but you were held in place, both by his eyes and by the grip he had on your arms.
He simply stared at you, his seemingly default scowl making you feel like shrinking directly into the ground. But after a moment, he rolled his eyes and let out a quiet, “S’fine” as he released you.
The broken eye contact and broken grasp allowed you to shuffle back in earnest. You were no coward, but Pete Dunne had an aura of intimidation - could anyone really blame you for feeling freaked out? After all, the encounter had caught you off guard. And it’s not like Pete wasn’t used to people shying away from his intensity…so why did he look disappointed? Why did he look…hurt? The expression only lasted a second, and perhaps it was just your busy brain imagining things, but the image stuck in your head all the rest of the day…
Fandom: WWE
Pairing / Form: Pete Dunne x Reader / Drabble
Genre: Fluff, Comfort
Warnings: Panic attack, anxiety
Word Count: 135
Characters: Pete Dunne, Reader
Plot: Pete can’t get rid of Reader’s panic attacks, but he can be there, holding her close.
Tag List: @elitehoe @baysexuality @poisonouspixiedust
Warm.
It was the best way you could describe it - both him and the way he made you feel.
Even now, as that tightness gathered in your chest, your breaths shallow as you worked through another unwelcome onset of anxiety, his presence was soothing. He couldn't take away your suffering (which drove him crazy, he much preferred when you had enemies he could punch), but he was there.
His arms wrapped securely around you, holding you to his chest as you watched the TV, he grounded you. His periodic murmurs of "Breathe, love," kept you from gasping over the edge. The soft kisses to your hair gifted brief, precious distractions.
It wasn't magic, it wasn't a cure; your panic attacks still came, and he couldn't make them disappear. But you did not face them alone.
Pairing: Bryan Danielson x Reader
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: N/A
Tag List: @thebestintheworld @elitehoe
Bryan is always scolding you for not watching where you’re going, but he does it while chuckling.
He laughs whenever you walk into stuff but also presses light kisses onto the collection of bruises you have from bumping into cabinets and doorways and tables.
When you’re out and about, Bryan always insists on walking on the side closer to the road.
Whenever you trip, Bryan rolls his eyes and takes your hand, but he loves having the excuse to touch you.
He teases you mercilessly if you still trip while holding his hand. “What, do I have to carry you?”
And sometimes you end up just getting a piggyback ride or being carried bridal style.
If you injure yourself beyond your usual bumps and bruises, he’s hovering and taking care of you - wrapping the injury, setting timers for heating and icing, keeping a log of when you take what meds, etc. He would be very strict about sticking to the recovery regiment you’ve been prescribed.
Lots of gentle, tender forehead kisses as you rest <3
Overall, Bryan would tease you for your clumsiness, but he finds it adorable <3
Keep Your Heart Off Your Sleeve and In Your Chest Where It Belongs - Part 1: He Can Never Know
Pairing / Form: Kenny Omega x OFC / Drabble?
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Angst; presumed unrequited love, age gap mention (but everyone’s an adult)
Word Count: 599
Plot: The Young Bucks’ little sister thinks about all the reasons she shouldn’t be in love with their best friend, and all the reasons that no one can ever know she is.
Part 2
The trouble with loving Kenny Omega was you weren’t the only one.
Not even close - even if you discounted the hundreds of fans carrying a torch for him, it was a crowded category to find yourself in.
Kenny’s heart, of course, was spoken for, even if he didn’t admit it.
That was okay with her though, because it made him less likely to ever find out she was among those who loved him.
He could never know.
Being the little sister of the Young Bucks came with plenty of positives, of course, but it also meant that she’d known Kenny for years. And like so many, she'd found herself getting lost in his kind smile, his sparking eyes, his soothing voice. And even though she knew nothing would ever come of it -that nothing ever could come of it - she fell anyways.
She was always careful to keep her heart off her sleeve, to hold the butterflies he summoned to her stomach at bay. No lingering glances, no longing looks, no sighs, no swooning. He could never know, and neither could anyone else.
Why?
A hundred reasons. A thousand. A million, but mainly these three:
1. Kenny’s heart, as previously mentioned, was already spoken for. Whether they were happily teaming in DDT, pushed apart by ambition, or separated by the sea, as they were now, you’d have to be exceedingly ignorant to not see that “Golden Lovers” was more than a tag team name. And she did not begrudge them that.
2. She’d make a fool of herself. Kenny’s friendship might not be all she craved, but it was too precious, too long standing to throw away over a doomed confession. And even if the mere thought of his reaction and the mere concept of parting their ways wasn’t heartbreaking, there was the Bucks. Even if she could stomach the pain of losing Kenny, there was no sane way to avoid him, to give him space from her shame, to give her space to heal. He was too enmeshed in their lives.
3. She was too young. Yes, she was an adult, but when she’d first met him, she was just sixteen. She’d always be the Bucks’ kid sister, and even if he didn’t care, others would. That was part of why she was so careful to never let her feelings show. What if someone wrongfully accused him of making advances on her years ago when she was a minor? He’d only ever been respectful and friendly, but rumors don’t care what actually happened.
So because she knew his eyes were cast across the sea, because she knew she couldn't escape his presence, because she knew she couldn’t risk his reputation, she held it deep within. A secret that felt dark and dirty but only seemed to grow with the pressure of denial.
It wasn’t just him she had to hide it from - no one could know. Not the Bucks, not the other girls backstage, no one. So yes, it hurt, but she would carry on. She would stand by his side, she would listen to his rants of both pain and passion, she would help him spray tan his back, she would laugh with him at 3AM with her brothers, she would cheer for him at ringside, she would clap at his wedding one day.
And maybe, maybe someday, she would be able to cut him out of her heart’s desire and truly see him as just a friend. Maybe she would find someone who she could love out loud.
