#moxbry

[eldesperadont]

violent husbands. moxley/bryan.

[nagdabbit]

built to last

words: 1.4k

rating: gen, it's fluffy as shit

so the other night i was high off my ass and was like, tell me something silly to write cuz im in the mood to accept prompts, and @sarahcakes613 was like,

and then I vomited this out into existence, fell asleep, woke up and forgot it for several days. so, uh. here? have some stupid fluff?

(also on ao3)

.

He woke to the sharp smack of jeans against his forehead and a sharp, demanding, "What the fuck, Bry?"

"What the fuck what?" he muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was still dark out, just a little light shining in from the house next to his own. Everything was still drenched in shadow, but Mox made himself seen.

Mox was standing over him in nothing but his t-shirt and boxers, wide eyed and a little frantic, jeans in hand. His shirt was a little wrinkled from a night on the floor, neck stretched a little from where Bryan had wrenched at it, showing off a few bite marks across his clavicle. 

He waved a frantic hand back behind him, "That, Bryan! What the fuck is that out there?!"

His living room? His kitchen? He couldn't think of anything he owned that would leave Mox looking any kind of spooked. Not really, not like that. "I have absolutely no idea."

He kicked the mattress and gestured again, this time toward the window set into the wall. Toward the house next door, and the dock and the lake outside.

"Oh, that's—"

"That's fuckin' water, Bryan," Mox snapped, and gave him another smack with his jeans. "We are on a boat—Bryan, you put me on a fucking boat."

He lifted an eyebrow. "And let me guess, you don't li—"

"I fuckin' hate boats, Bryan. I hate them. They're dangerous fuckin' deathtraps," he snapped, pacing across the room. "I hate boats."

Bryan rolled his eyes and sat up. "You don't say."

"Oh, don't be cute. You said—you said we were going back to your new house," Mox grumbled and threw himself back down onto the bed, wrestling his jeans on. 

"This is a house."

"Bryan this is a—floaty fucking—it's a death trap is what it is. You can put a stove and couch in it, it's still gonna sink," he insisted, continuing to struggle. "Fuckin' tricked me, you goddamn scruffy fuckin' dickhead, I never woulda gone home wit' you if you'd said you bought a fuckin' houseboat." 

"I did say, but you might not have heard me. Little hard to speak when you're trying to lick my tonsils," Bryan muttered rolling his eyes. He stretched a little, pushing back the warm covers.

"Oh, bullshit, you didn't say anythin' about this," he muttered, beginning the process of looking for his socks. 

"You didn't see the dock last night?" he asked, dryly, and crawled forward so he could drape himself across Mox's back. "The water? The boats?"

"I was half asleep and following my dick, 'course I didn't notice." Mox tried to shrug him off, but Bryan just latched on tighter. "You tricked me."

"It's not a trick if I don't know there's a problem. I just wanted to bring you home with me," Bryan promised, scratching his nails lightly across Mox's chest. "C'mon, go back to sleep."

Mox sputtered and gave another violent shrug, but Bryan fought to hold on. "No, why the fuck would I sleep on a boat?!" he demanded, voice a little strangled. "You can't fuckin' swim if you're sleeping."

Bryan wanted to laugh, but he didn't really think that would actually help, not when it was likely to end with him being single. And, for some reason, he kinda loved the man. Just a little. Not that he'd actually said yet, not out loud. So he soothed a palm up Mox's chest, trying to be comforting.

"Calm down, I promise we're safe. Okay? Just let me get a little more sleep. It's early and we don't fly out until the afternoon." He pulled gently, urging Mox to fall back into bed with him. "I promise, if there were any problems, I'd never have brought you. We'll be okay for a few more hours."

"I don't care, it's a boat and I'll get seasick from this rickety fuck—"

"Jon, shut the fuck up for thirty seconds," Bryan grumbled, and pressed a hand to Mox's frantically running mouth. "Take a deep breath, calm down, and then take a moment to notice that we aren't rocking."

He made an indignant sound beneath Bryan's hand, but did as he was told. He was good at that, most of the time. 

"These things are extremely heavy, and have a low center of gravity that keeps them steady. You're not gonna get seasick, unless you work yourself into a panic," he promised, resting his chin on Mox's shoulder. "The most common problem these things have is the sewer line getting messed up, not sinking. Or having to hire a diver to go get something you dropped off the side."

Mox pushed his hand away, "But it can still—"

"A lot of things can happen," he reminded Mox. Bryan didn't think getting specific by reminding him that planes could crash was a good idea, not when they were going to fly out in a few more hours, so he kept it vague. "Just because it can doesn't mean it will. And if this then ever does sink, we'll have plenty of warning and we'll be able to get to the dock before our feet even get wet."

"And it could sink when we're asleep and then we're just s-o-fuckin'-l," Mox added, but he wasn't as tense as he had been. 

"For a man who keeps callin' me a boy scout, you really don't have a lot of faith in me," Bryan admonished, but softened it with a kiss to his shoulder. "I have an alarm. If anything changes, that thing'll go off. And I promise it's loud enough to wake us."

Mox made a skeptical little noise, but didn't immediately argue.

"I had them install flashing lights, too." It was strange how much negotiation was involved in getting Mox to relax. "It's just as safe as any other house."

"Stop making this all sound so fuckin' reasonable," Mox grumbled, and let Bryan wrestle him back down into bed. "I hate boats."

"You've made that very clear, babe, but it's a little hard to find a new house at four in the morning."

Mox scoffed and let himself be manhandled up the bed. "Don't sell your fuckin' boat, Bry."

He rolled his eyes and dropped his weight down onto Mox's chest, just to keep him from running off again. Definitely not because that was his favorite place to sleep, legs parted over Mox's hips. "Can't bring you home if you're just gonna panic yourself into a tizzy every time you're here."

"But—"

"But nothing, it's not worth it if you're gonna freak out." And it really wasn't. Being in love was stupid, like that.

Mox groaned and kicked one of his heels against the mattress. "I don't have to come here."

"Then what's the point of having this place?" Bryan asked, before he could think better of it. "I don't need it if I just want to be wherever you are."

Beneath him, Mox went still and quiet. 

He went still when he had realizations. Froze up as his entire world view changed and adjusted and righted itself in his head. Like a reset button, or something. It would have been funny if it wasn't so important.

But then he went lax beneath Bryan's weight. Heavy hands settled low on Bryan's back, dangerously low. "I guess I could get used to it," he murmured.

And that was—well, that was as good a declaration as Bryan had ever heard. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. If you're sure, then I guess I can be, too." He smoothed a palm down to give Bryan's ass a squeeze, "'Sides, I bet we could actually rock this thing if we tried hard enough."

He laughed, finally, relaxing into Mox's hands. "I think sinking wasn't the part you needed to worry about anyway."

Mox made an inquisitive sound, hands still kneading Bryan's ass.

"The neighbors definitely heard us last night."

Mox froze. For a few long seconds, he didn't even breathe. 

And then he shoved Bryan off and away, letting him bounce unceremoniously onto the mattress. "Nope, I was right, this is awful and you gotta sell it," he grumbled and resumed his search for his clothes. He muttered under his breath as he went, all manner of plans and ideas. A ranch, far from the city, with room for a couple more dogs and no neighbors for miles. A cabin deep in the woods, where they wouldn't be disturbed. 

A little place in the suburbs, with a patio and a yard and room for—with plenty of room.

And Bryan didn't think he'd ever been so happy. He laid back and watched Mox throw his little fit, laughing all the while. 

[valkyrie-night-103]

Hey! Since time travel fuckery was abandoned I shall use both my ask and my break at the charity shop to ask about the reverse parent trap!

Hope you're having a great day :) <3

You spoil me! Love you <3

Wrote this at 3am a while ago and then had to rework it to make it coherent, so apologies if this makes as much sense to you as it does to my irl wrestling-fan-in-law boyfriend who sent this lovely ask!

Only content warnings that come to mind are Mild injury and bullying, but this is a pretty mellow Single Parent AU

When Jon Moxley is picking up his adopted/foster son from school for the first time, he feels terribly out of place. He’s already getting some judgmental stares from some of the soccer moms, and this does not improve when Yuta meets him in the parking lot, sporting a fresh bruise on his cheekbone, near his right eye.

It comes out on the drive home that he got beat up by a group of kids at school. Though Mox would happily fight a child that messed with his kid, he doesn’t feel like going to jail. So, he takes this as an opportunity to enrol Yuta in martial arts classes to give them something to bond over in the form of combat sports.

He does not expect the instructor to be his high school ex-boyfriend, Bryan Danielson. But he rolls with it, because that’s what he does. Besides, Yuta is a natural, and more importantly he’s having fun.

Over the next few weeks, the bullying persists, and he knows something has to be done after Yuta comes home with a busted lip and the sour attitude of somebody who got caught by surprise. Mox just wants to talk, he swears. It is Friday and after hours, so he’ll have to wait.

He doesn’t have to wait long, as it’s only 10am on Monday when he gets the call that Yuta has been in a fight and he needs to come in to discuss it or some shit.

He’s the first parent to arrive, and Yuta gives him the rundown right away. The kid, Danny, he calls him, was talking shit about their gym teacher, and so Yuta punched him. He says so with a shrug.

That explains the message from Eddie about the younger generation being feral and cursing the mountains of paperwork that a fight creates. Of course it was his kid that decked someone in his best friend’s lesson. Eddie will probably never let him forget it, he can almost hear him chuckling about it now.

Ya really know how to pick ‘em, eh Mox?

He tells Yuta to wait outside, and takes a seat. He does not expect the door to open, and Bryan Danielson to walk in. It seems the universe has it out for him, as the main offender in the group of boys bullying his son is none other than Bryan’s own son, Daniel Garcia. It quickly becomes apparent that the universe is not done, as the coach for the high school amateur wrestling team the year he competed walks in and sits at the desk, looking amused.

(Contrary to popular belief, Mox definitely did *not* have any weird sexual tension with William Regal. Okay, fine, maybe, but Regal started it. Sort of.)

After some accusations are thrown in either direction, accompanied by eye rolls, obscene hand gestures and a varied selection of curse words, Regal gets sick of the bickering that was childish even when they were still teenagers, some 20 years ago. When he raises his voice, Mox and Bryan cease their nonsense, and they actually have a productive conversation.

It quickly becomes clear that Danny is pulling Yuta’s metaphorical pigtails because he wants to be friends but doesn’t know how to show it. Bryan swears it’s just a phase and he’ll grow out of it, but Mox isn’t so sure, at least at first.

The more they talk about the kids, the more Mox and Bryan realise how alike they are. And so, for the sake of their sanity- and their son’s school places- they scheme to get their kids to be friends.

They did not plan to fall in love in the process.

[dunkzillla]

Requesting that you please put moxbry back together because my heart hurts too much otherwise.

hehehehe ok I will. just for you bc I love you

mox/bryan, implies bcc polycule.

the other parts to this can be read here. one | two | three

Mox hates fighting with Bryan. He hates fighting with anyone, but particularly Bryan, because Bryan’s the one who makes him his hot cocoa just right, Bryan’s the one who knows the difference between just a simple tapping of his foot and a the thoughts in my mind are getting too much kind of tapping. Bryan just gets him. When they’re fighting though, everything feels out of sync. Bryan feels too far away and too close at the same time. It hurts.

These past few weeks have been hell, but Mox is hurt. He’s so hurt and he can’t find it in himself to forgive Bryan for hiding his fucking neck and head injury from him. It’s brought too much back, made him feel sick and hurt from deep down inside of him. They don’t keep things from each other, none of them do, Yoots doesn’t even go to the bathroom without informing them all of his whereabouts. They don’t hide anything, and especially not health information. Not health information that’s about Bryan’s old injuries, stopping him form working for god knows how long in the past and doing it again.

But Mox doesn’t know how much longer he can go on like this for. Tip toeing around Bryan and ignoring him whenever he’s tried to apologise. Mox is tired though, and so are Yuta and Regal, who take themselves off every once in a while to give Bryan and Mox space to talk, only to come back and find that they’ve done nothing of the sort.

Which is what’s happened now. Regal announced that he and Yuta were going to the store and then to the dry cleaners to pick up his suits. They definitely don’t need anything from the store, and Mox is pretty sure Regal picked his dry cleaning up yesterday, but, it leaves him and Bryan alone in the house.

Mox has been laying out on the bed watching old wrestling matches that Eddie sent him for an hour now, waiting for the inevitable knock at the door from Bryan. He’s wearing gym shorts and nothing else, because Bryan had brought new sheets and put them on after Mox told him that he wore clothes to bed because the feeling of Regal’s sheets against his skin made him want to crawl out of his body. Bryan had gone out and got cotton sheets instead of the satin that Regal had been previously using. It was heaven, getting to lay out in bed with his bare skin against the sheets rather than wearing sweats, socks and a hoodie to sleep in.

The knock comes just as the bell rings on the match he’s watching, but Bryan doesn’t wait for Mox to answer, just opens the door and steps inside. He’s holding a mug of what Mox guesses is his cocoa, given the mountain of whipped cream, the chocolate flake and sprinkles and marshmallows threatening to overspill.

“I come baring a sugary death? I even used the half and half instead of forcing my oat milk on you?” Bryan is holding the mug up with a sheepish smile on his face. He’s ridiculous.

Mox presses stop on the iPad and puts it on the bedside table. He doesn’t say anything, but Bryan takes it as his queue to come over. He’s careful with the mug, some of the cream is already started to melt and drip down the sides.

“Thanks.” Mox murmurs gently, before taking a sip. It’s not too hot — that’s why Bryan’s the best at making his cocoa, he always makes sure that the milk isn’t too hot, that it’s ready to drink as soon as it’s made rather than boiling the life out of it so that it’s like lava on his tongue (he loves Regal, and Yuta, but they can’t make hot cocoa for shit)

Bryan gently gets in the bed beside him, can tell he’s moving slowly so as not to jostle him, and he ends up pressed against his side, chin tucked over his shoulder and a warm hand smoothing over Mox’s belly. He knows what he’s doing, does Bryan, he knows Mox likes to be petted while he drinks his cocoa.

“I’m sorry, Mox,” Bryan whispers, lips pressing against his shoulder. His beard tickles his bare skin and sends a shiver down his spine. “Should have told you about my neck. Should have told you right away.”

Mox licks cream from his mouth. “Yeah, you should have.”

Bryan lets out another breath and kisses his shoulder again, his fingers smoothing gently over his belly and the hair there. “I should have. But I didn’t because I didn’t want to upset you.”

“But I’m upset now. Either way I was going to be upset, but I’d rather be upset that you’re hurt than be upset because you hid something really fucking important from me, Bry.”

“I know.” Bryan’s voice is full of shame.

“How come Yuta and Regal got to know? Would they not be upset like I was?”

“Yeah but —“

“There ain’t no buts, Bry. They would be upset and disappointed that you couldn’t do a couple of events with them. But they were able to fucking know ahead of time and be there for you while you went through it, I fucking wasn’t, for no reason. You know how shit that makes me feel? That you think I care more about working with you than your fucking health?”

“That’s not—“

“But that’s what you said, Bry. That you knew I’d be upset about not getting to do blood and guts with you. Yeah, fucking sucks, but it sucks more that you’re hurt. That you don’t think that’s more important to me.”

“I fucked up.”

Mox takes another sip of his cocoa, letting the warmth of it melt all the way down to his belly, where Bryan’s hand is still rubbing soft circles around his belly button.

“Yeah you did.”

“I won’t hide anything from you ever again.” Bryan murmurs against his shoulder, and he tangles their feet together. Mox let’s him, because Bryan’s been apologising since it happened, and he knows he’s sincere, Bryan doesn’t apologise unless he means it and the wounded look he’s had on his face for a week now tells him all he needs to know. Mox has had enough too.

“Better not, I’ll kick your ass.” He says around the rim of his mug, cream coating his lips as he takes a drink. Before he can lick it away, Bryan’s fingers are wrapping around his chin and pulling him in for a kiss. It’s been weeks since they properly kissed, and Mox can’t help but let himself be pulled into it, can’t help but melt into it like the cream is melting down the sides of the mug.

“Hey, that’s not, the cream, you bad vegan.” Mox says when Bryan pulls away, and Bryan’s beard has cream smeared in it.

“That’s vegan whipped cream,” A grin breaks out on Bryan’s face. Oh that asshole. “Nice isn’t it?”

“It’s alright.” Mox shrugs. He hadn’t been able to notice the difference, and that pisses him off because he’s always arguing with Bryan about vegan alternatives, they don’t taste the same!

“You couldn’t tell the difference!”

Mox scowls, swiping some cream onto his finger and shoving it into Bryan’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up.”

Bryan sucks the cream from his finger, sucks his finger entirely too long while giving him his comedic ‘sultry’ eyes before Mox can’t take it anymore and tugs his finger back.

“Freak.”

Bryan smirks and leans over to press a sloppy kiss against Mox’s cheek. “Love you.”

Mox shoves him gently, but not enough to push him away from him. He’s not had Bryan leeching onto him for weeks now and he needs it. He needs him close.

He takes another sip of his cocoa before pulling the flake out and sucking the cream off. God Bryan’s hot cocoas are the best.

“Yeah yeah, love you too.”

[doublearmbars]

fic: listen to the slow parts

Ship: bryan danielson/jon moxley

tags: riding, gentle sex, sensory deprivation

word count: 1550

summary: “You gonna fight me? You already lost once tonight. And I don’t like your chances in round two.” “No,” Bryan murmurs, eyes still retaining a little edge despite how tired he looks. “not tonight.” (set after the title match on the 9/21/2022 ep of dynamite)

I’ll upload to ao3 if people want but for now. tumblr exclusive.

It wasn’t planned or anything. Just part of the ritual of it. It was just Mox, knocking on Bryan’s hotel room, even though he had a keycard. Even though Bryan had given him the extra keycard. 

Bry gets…weird after matches. Not that he isn’t finding the freak knob and turning it ‘til it breaks on a regular day. After matches it’s either him immediately post-adrenaline drop, needy and domineering in equal measure, or he’s settled a bit, had something to eat probably, but he’s usually sore and prickly in a way that the kid can’t handle just yet. Mox handles him just fine.

His knock isn’t answered. He opens the door anyway, shuts and latches it behind him. Down the short hallway and around the corner is the king bed. And there’s Bryan; headphones in, hair still wet from the shower, he’s cross legged in his underwear, back against the headboard. 

Mox sits down on the edge of the bed. The disturbance must be enough because Bryan turns his head, pulls his headphones out and sets them on the side table before meeting Mox’s gaze. They talk without words plenty often, had a whole conversation in the ring earlier just from glances and touches, but for once, he can’t get a read on Bryan.

“You gonna fight me? You already lost once tonight. And I don’t like your chances in round two.” 

“No,” Bryan murmurs, eyes still retaining a little edge despite how tired he looks. “not tonight.”

“Good. Now where’re you hurting? Head alright?”

    Bryan nods, but doesn’t say anything, just extends his left leg and rubs at his hamstrings, where he’s usually sore anyways, and then taps his ankle, and shoots Mox a withering look. Dick. 

    “Oh don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same damn thing.” 

    Bryan rolls his eyes, and huffs like he’s about to start an indignant rant about sportsmanship and how long a broken ankle takes to heal, but he doesn’t. He does roll over, laying on his stomach with his face pressed deep into the too-plush pillows. 

    “There you go. That’s what I thought.” 

    Mox kneels behind him, draws Bryan’s left calf back to rest in his lap and starts working on his hamstring. He’s no professional, but this is a familiar hurt to him, as he presses knuckles to the muscle and drags them up, then back towards the knee. Repeating the process, then using his thumbs, pressing and fanning out in arcs, which elicits a shaky inhale from Bryan. The muscle gives under his touch like clay. It’s strong, there's no doubt about that, but it yields, relaxes for him.

    Adjusting his grip, he pinches and rolls the tender flesh at the back of Bryan’s heel right where the Achilles tendon is. His gasp is muffled in the pillows, but Mox still quirks his head to one side.

“Good hurt, bad hurt?” 

    Bryan groans in what Mox knows from experience is the affirmative, so he keeps at it, drawing hands down his calf to the ankle again and again until Bryan taps twice on the headboard. 

    Mox slides the leg from his lap and moves his hands up to Bryan’s sides, turning him over onto his back. His face is flushed, and while he doesn’t look any less tired, he does look that pleasant kind of hazy that Mox knows from the inside. He cracks a smile. 

    “There you are, you feelin’ better? Forgive me yet?” 

Bryan is lucid enough to roll his eyes as he pulls himself up on his elbows and props his back against the headboard again.

“Maybe.” He admits, and he sounds hoarse, like he just woke up.

Mox kisses him, can’t help it, stuffs his tongue in Bryan’s mouth when he tries to inhale and cradles the back of his neck. They stay locked up with each other for a while, hot breath, faces close. It’s messy, swapping spit and biting, too much teeth and too little breaking to breathe. 

He pulls back, and it's hard to interpret the little noise Bryan makes as anything other than bereft. Mox tries to keep his smile from being smug, knows this is hard for Bry, giving up even the smallest bit of control, but it lights a fire in his belly to know he’s the one who gets this. 

“You watch. ‘Cause once I’m ready to take you, you’re gonna put on your little sleep mask,” he gestures to the bedside table, “and your headphones and you're gonna lemme take care of you.”

Mox strips out of his hoodie, shorts and underwear, sure to snatch the sachet of lube before he pushes his clothes unceremoniously off the bed. Tears it open with his teeth and starts in on himself with two fingers , kneeling, legs spread. 

He likes it, putting on a show for Bryan, watching him palm himself half-hard through the front of his briefs, looking at Mox with eyes that are soft, softer than he lets himself be most of the time. Gives him a crooked grin, leans his head back and groans quietly. He can feel Bryan looking at him like he hung the damn moon, and it plus the stretch of now three fingers makes his knees wobble. Mox is trying not to get too out of his brain with arousal, he really is, but there's that all-over-warm feeling he likes so much creeping in. He looks down for a minute, catches Bryan with one hand down the front of his underwear and the other at his mouth where he’s biting the knuckle, trying to muffle himself.

“Don't go quiet on me, sweet pea, now’s not the time to get self-conscious.” Bry usually gets to be the smug one, cooing almost condescendingly, projecting an unshakeable certainty, an entirely different beast from the deep growl Mox is giving him, which rumbles through the hollow of his chest like thundering wheels on asphalt. 

He taps on Bryan’s leg and motions for him to move further down the bed. 

“C’mon now, head on the pillows, headphones in, I’ll send you right to sleep.” 

Bryan moves a little slowly, his limbs a little shaky as he pulls his briefs off, then goes for his headphones. He’s quiet like this, a different quiet from normal, uncalculating, almost small. When he finally lays himself down and pulls his sleep mask on the room is almost unbearably silent.

Mox rises to his knees and straddles him, manhandles Bryan’s dick into position, thumbs over the head and fuck if Bry doesn’t look good enough to eat. He presses the tip against his ass and savors the gasp he gets. Loves that he can drag that out of carefully controlled, picture perfect Bryan Danielson. Get his chest all warm and pink not just from palm strikes. 

Mox sinks down onto him, slow, the way he wants it. When he’s finally seated, he pulls Bryan’s hands to his thighs, feeling the squeeze in response. It’s quiet. Then he rocks a little, and the fucking noise Bryan makes, punched out and sonorous, rising at the end with a lilt of desperation. It’s fucking delicious. The hips under Mox buck like they’re unsure, which is bullshit, because they both know Mox likes it more than a bit rough on occasion, but this, this is a time to be slow. Because Mox got to pick. 

He adjusts his angle a little bit and lowers himself again, and it twinges something in him that makes him growl and clench around Bryan which leads to a feedback loop. Mox clenches, Bry thrusts up into him, and Mox grinds back down, rinse and repeat until he’s steadily bouncing, riding Bryan, breathing a mess and cock red and curved hard against his belly. 

When he rests a hand over Bryan’s on his right thigh, he doesn’t think anything of it until Bry is lacing their fingers together all sweet. Mox rubs his thumb across the outside edge of his hand, and the grip tightens as Bryan shudders underneath him and he feels him cum inside and it's the perfect kind of gross for Mox, leaking out of him and onto the skin where they’re joined. That plus a few lazy winded strokes is all he needs before he’s shooting off over both their stomachs. 

    It takes a minute for him to come back to his body, chest heaving, awful empty feeling where Bryan’s slipped out of him. His brain’s not all the way back but he’s lucid enough to lean over and grab a wet wipe from the pack he knows Bryan keeps on the nightstand whenever they fuck, because he’s fussy and if even a tiny bit of cum dries in his pubes he will semi-jokingly hold it against Mox for weeks. He wipes what he can off both of them, knowing more’s just gonna leak out of him and kind of liking it. When he’s done, he tosses the wipe and pulls out Bryan’s headphones gently. 

    Then he lays down on top of Bryan, slotting his head at the corner of his neck and shoulder. He kisses gently at his throat, savors the mix of shower clean and sweat on his lips. There's a gentle hand brushing over his sore ribs, before it settles in for the night.

[llzehs]

The thing is, Bryan/Mox/Eddie storyline is so gay to me, I couldn’t help but write another thing.

If Only For Tonight

Bryan Danielson/Jon Moxley/Eddie Kingston

Summary - Bryan wants Mox, Eddie wants Mox, Mox wants them to get along. Is it too fucking much to ask?

Aftermath of Bryan/Mox/Eddie/Satana/Ortiz vs Jericho and rest of the JAS (5/29/2022).

Kayfabe Compliant. Mention of Violence/Injuries. Casual Relationships. Developing Relationship/Feelings. Love Triangles. Possessiveness/Jealousy. Comfort Sex.

[21st-century-flapper]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Daniel Bryan | Bryan Danielson Characters: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley, Daniel Bryan Additional Tags: Kayfabe Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Headaches & Migraines, Anal Sex, Snugglefuck Summary:

Anyone else would have earned a scoffing “deal with it, Princess” from Mox for complaining about a headache, but Bryan wasn’t anyone else. Bryan’s head was something of a time bomb.

[banannabethchase]

Take a Chance on Me Chapter 5: Gimme Gimme Gimme (click for AO3)

~

Mox tells Wheeler about his encounters with Chuck and Bryan, and we learn about Mox's reaction when he found out Wheeler was on his way.

~

A heads up - there's a discussion of dealing with one's deadname professionally, but no one is deadnamed or forced to interact with said deadname. This is also the chapter where Mox discovers he's pregnant, if that's something that makes you uncomfortable. Also. Heed the tags.

~

“Alright, kiddo, where were we?” Mox says, sitting back down on the couch.

“Regal’d just left, and you and Seth were I think about to go make stupid decisions at a bar.”

“Ah,” Mox says. “right.” He wrinkles his nose. “Don’t judge me for this one, okay?”

~~~

Within a few hours, they’re at a local bar with glasses of soda in their hands.

Mox is twitchy, hands flexing as they ache to grab a glass of beer or a shot of whiskey. But that’s not the kind of bad decision he wants to make tonight.

“Mox, if you’re not comfortable here, we can leave,” Seth says, half yelling to be heard over the music.

“No,” Mox says, bouncing on his toes like he’s looking to fight, not fuck. “Best place to pick somebody up who isn’t gonna hate crime me halfway home.”

Seth shrugs, taking a sip of his Sprite. “Honestly, not a bad policy.”

The gay bar is loud, rambunctious, and full of pretty people. Mox doesn’t have a type, exactly. Warm body is kind of his game, and there’s plenty of those here.

“That girl with the long hair over there?’ Seth says, pointing with his glass. “She seems DTF.”

“Please never say that again,” Mox grumbles. “And she’s here with that girl, yeah?”

Seth squints. “She stole my look.”

“Nah, you’re half-blonde is on one side. She’s got the blonde in the front.” He bumps his shoulder against Seth’s. “No, I’m looking for somebody a little more butch tonight.”

“Don’t say -”

“I wanna get railed,” Mox continues. “Just, like, absolutely fucked up by somebody who might actually hate me a little bit.”

Seth rolls his eyes. “You are,” he hesitates, and Mox raises an eyebrow, waiting for whatever’s about to come next, “fucking weird, you know that?”

“No, I’m 22 and stupid,” Mox says. “You’re the one who’s weird, Mr. Married.”

“Engaged,” Seth says. He holds out his hand, admiring the sparkly stupid ring on his finger. He sighs.

“Stop thinking about getting railed by Roman,” Mox demands. “I’m the only one getting railed tonight.”

“Says you,” Seth mutters, but they continue scanning the bar.

“I’m gonna get another soda,” Mox says, “I’ll be back in a second.”

The bartender won’t look at him, busy tossing his stupid fucking boyband hair out of the way as he flirts with some guy. Hmm.

“Hey, flippy hair!” Mox yells, as loud as he can. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?”

The bartender turns to him. “Not be a bitch, that’s for one.”

“Takes one to know what,” Mox fires back. “Give me a soda.”

“I’ll spit in your drink.”

Mox grins. “Hot. I’ll take two.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Only if you come with.” Mox is having too much fun to quit. But the bartender, after looking him up and down a few times, slides him a drink. And winks.

Mox knows exactly how this is going to go.

“Oh, no,” Seth says, when Mox comes back. “I know that look.”

“I’m gonna fuck the bartender,” Mox says, a little giddy.

Seth sighs. “That’s what I worried you were going to say.”

Mox catches the bartender around twenty minutes later outside on a smoke break.

“Shit, it’s you,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You don’t have somebody else to harass?”

“Nah, you’re good.” Mox leans up against the wall. “You up for a quickie?”

He opens his mouth, closes it. Then stubs out his cigarette. “Why the fuck not. Never gotten laid on the clock before.” He throws the cigarette on the ground. “You got a place, or?”

Mox pulls out Seth’s keys. “My friend’s got a car.”

Chuck shrugs. “Works for me.” They make their way to the car. “You got a name?”

“Mox,” he answers. “Moxley.”

“Chuck,” says the bartender. “Taylor, if it matters.”

Mox unlocks the car and Chuck shoves him up against the door. The man kisses with the kind of focus Mox loves – relentless, demanding, and so fucking mean.

“Turn around,” Chuck says, hand gripping the back of Mox’s neck.

“Hold up a second,” Mox says, and the grip loosens. Pity. “Just – I’m trans. Want to make sure you’re cool with that.”

“Yeah, cool, two holes are better than one or whatever. You still want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah.”

Chuck shoves his jeans down his hips and slides a hand between Mox’s legs, laughing a little at the slickness already pooling. “Jesus, you’re easy for this, aren’t you?”

“I had a goal,” Mox says, twitching when Chuck crooks his fingers, “goal achieved.”

Chuck fucks him rough and fast, hand between the two of them to bring Mox off twice in rough, uncontrolled orgasms that nearly take him out of at the knees. Chuck bites, too, and Mox flies to the moon and back by the time it’s over. There’ll be marks all over his neck after this, he knows it.

“I’m – I’m gonna,” Chuck says.

“Go for it,” Mox mumbles, head still spinning. And Chuck kisses him when he comes, something sweet underneath the mockery.

Chuck is surprisingly careful, when they’re done, helping Mox find his feet before stepping away. “Alright, well,” Chuck checks his watch. “That’s one for the history books. I gotta go back to work.” He raises an eyebrow. “You good or…?”

“I’m good,” Mox says, feeling his breathing level out. “That was fucking great.” He wants to ask for a number, but resists the urge. One night is one night. “Thanks, man.”

Chuck salutes, smile crooked but a lot kinder than anything else he’s given Mox through the night. Well. Except for that kiss. “Drinks on me for the rest of the night?”

Mox winks. “Sounds great.” He swaggers back into the bar, flashing his ID at the suspicious bouncer, and slides in.

Seth takes one look at him and groans. “Please tell me you didn’t fuck in my car.”

Mox tosses the keys back to Seth, who looks at them horrified. “Not in your car,” Mox says. “Against your car.”

“I hate you,” Seth whines, downing his diet Coke.

~

“So, you got it out of your system?” Seth asks the next morning. He’d crashed with Mox, the two of them fighting over blankets throughout the night like they’d done since they were in high school. “Is my car safe from your bullshit?”

Mox puts his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. “Nah.”

Seth groans, shoving his face into a pillow. “Oh, fuck.”

“What?” Mox asks, poking Seth in the ribs. “You love it when I do stupid shit.”

Seth smacks him with the pillow. “Yeah, when I’m not involved. Just. Don’t drag me into it this time, okay?”

Mox turns his head, grinning at Seth. “You think Roman would be game for a threesome?”

Seth legitimately tries to suffocate him with his own pillow. Mox thinks it’s worth it.

His good spirits, though, plummet when he walks into work the next day. There’s a shorter man in the main office, with long hair tied into a bun and a beard so bushy it makes Mox’s haircut look neat. He’s going through paperwork and frowning, like something’s wrong.

“Oh, Christ,” Mox mutters. He goes to pull Seth back, to ask him if he knows anything, but Seth’s already with his morning client. Interrupting, while compelling, feels like a dick move.

He doesn’t get himself out of range in time, though, and the person who’s in the office waves him in before he can escape. Hesitantly, Mox walks into the office.

“Hello,” says the man in the office, eyes kinder than Mox expected. “Are you Mr. Moxley?”

“Mox,” he says, shaking his hand. It’s a firm grip. “Yeah, that’s me. And you are…?”

“Interim manager. Corporate sent me once Regal sent in his request to transfer.” He frowns at the office. “Everything appears to be in order, but I think this extension would benefit from some reorganization.” He claps his hands. “Tell me, Mox, what do we know about this place?”

Mox gives him the run down, very aware of the way the guy makes constant and intense eye contact, and still hasn’t given Mox his own name. He glances at the clock from time to time, wishing his first client had signed up for a nine instead of a ten.

The interim manager tilts his head. “You have a knack for this stuff, Mox.”

Mox shrugs. “I like the business. I like helping people get stronger and meet their goals. And I like that, when somebody pisses me off, I can go off on the heavy bags.” He pauses. “Or, I can call them into the ring and beat the shit out of them there.”

The man raises his eyebrow. “You fight?”

“I do,” Mox says. “Submissions. Suplexes. Throwing a guy around a ring until he begs for mercy.”

Like it’s automatic, the guy licks his lips. Mox follows the movement, transfixed. “Well then.” It’s like a switch flips in his brain. “Pardon me, I forgot to introduce myself.” He sticks out his hand again. “Bryan Danielson.”

“Jon Moxley’s my full name,” Mox says. “It, uh. It may say something else on the paperwork.” He won’t blush about it. He won’t react.

Bryan frowns as he checks the paperwork. “Well, that’s stupid of them. Corporate and I are close, I’ll have them fix it.” He looks at Mox. “Your ID have your real name or your dead name?”

Mox fidgets. “I, uh. Haven’t had the money to get it changed yet.” He’s saved up almost enough, he forces himself not to say. He’s almost there.

Bryan strokes his beard for a minute. “I think I can allocate some funds.” He looks back at Mox. “Corporate is very LGBT friendly, and we have some foundations that support people like you. Especially for such a highly rated employee.”

Mox blinks. “Highly rated?”

“Mr. Regal reported you were his best employee,” Bryan says, checking the files. “Ah, right here. Prior to his departure, he rated you 90 out of 100 or higher on all scales.”

The world feels like it’s spinning a bit around Mox. “He – Regal gave me a good review?”

“One of the top 15 in the company, I believe.” Bryan adjusts some of the papers, files them into something. “Now, I’m only here for a few days to aid in the transition, but, I assure you, all paperwork to support you in your name change will be provided.”

Mox nods. “Uh. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

“Of course.” Bryan’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. The kindness bleeds through into his words. “Anything for such a star employee.”

~

Bryan is only kind when he wants to be, Mox soon finds out. The man is a drill sergeant during classes, working the clients until they’re sweating buckets. He spars with Mox when they have down time, and leaves him with bruises and bloody knuckles by the end of the first day.

“He’s like a fucking animal in the ring, Seth, I don’t know what the fuck is this guy’s deal,” Mox mutters as he and Seth wipe down the treadmills.

“He doesn’t do that with me,” Seth says. “I mean, sure, we sparred earlier.” He wiggles his finger, the diamond glittering. “Maybe it’s because he knows you’re single.”

Mox raises an eyebrow. “You think he’s hitting on me?”

“I think,” Seth says, “you are obtuse and you’re bad at realizing when people are hitting on you.”

“Am not!”

“Mox, you didn’t realize Regal was into you until he was literally in you.”

Mox exhales. “Fuck. Fair.” He smacks Seth in the face with the towel. “But you didn’t notice, either.”

“You,” Seth replies, smacking Mox in the back with his own towel, “never asked.”

Mox is a little twitchy around Bryan for the next couple of days. He gets it out by sparring with Seth, who pouts every time Mox plants him on his ass.

“You usually get out your weird feelings by fucking somebody,” Seth says, groaning as he rolls over. “Why the hell are you taking it out on me?”

“Because,” Mox says, aiming a kick at Seth’s head that he ducks, “you judged me the last, like, five times.”

Seth pulls himself to his feet and flips over the ropes, balancing like a bird on a tree branch. “I never judge you,” he says, and he jumps onto Mox’s torso, taking them both down onto them mat. Mox tries to catch his breath. “And, plus, this one makes sense. He’s leaving soon. You can have, like, a cool little workplace romance or something.” Seth kicks at Mox’s hand when it comes up to grab him. “Do the Regal thing, but right this time.”

Mox lets Seth pin him, out of the kindness of his own heart, and slowly gets to his feet. Seth’s not wrong.

On Bryan’s last day, before the new manager is supposed to start, he and Bryan end up closing together.

“Jon,” Bryan says, after lengthy silence as the wipe down the equipment, “I wanted to tell you, I put your name in for manager.”

Mox drops the weight on his foot, and, as he hops around swearing, he’s glad it was just a two pounder. “Fuck. What?”

“It was Regal’s recommendation, and I concur.” Bryan adjusts the stacks. “You’ve been here for, what, eight months? Stellar reviews, highly rated by clients and coworkers alike. There will be some corporate level training, of course, but you would do well in the position and it would allow for the location to seamlessly merge into a new era.”

“Uh,” Mox says, not a bit like the employee Bryan thinks he is, “that’s amazing. That’s – that’s really amazing. Sure. Yeah. Of course.”

“And, if you don’t mind,” Bryan leans against the office desk, “I have to ask something. I’ll kick myself if I don’t.”

Mox blinks. “Uh. Sure.”

Bryan steps up to him, crowding into his space. “Can we have a real fight?” he asks, and it doesn’t like that’s all he’s asking. “You. Me. The ring.” He’s shorter than Mox, yes. But his presence makes Mox want to drop to his knees for him. “Nobody else watching. Right now.”

Mox licks his lips. “Okay.”

They start out simple, trading holds and taking each other out by the knees, but the tension in the room is making Mox want to rip off the rest of his clothes. Sweat stains his skin, his and Bryan’s, as they take each other to the mat, the ropes, to the point of exhaustion. Mox won’t quit, though. There’s something behind this he’s determined to finish. He won’t let it go without a goodbye like with Regal. They trade suplexes, lariats, until Mox has Bryan pinned to the mat, covering him.

“One, two, three, bitch,” Mox laughs, but it’s not funny. “Uh.” He moves to pull away, but Bryan pulls him back down, fingers laced with Mox’s.

“Jon,” Bryan says, seriously, “I would never want to overstep a boundary.” His eyes flicker down to Mox’s lips and back up. “But I have to ask.”

Mox swallows. “Ask it, then.” But he doesn’t give Bryan a chance. He leans down, kissing him, and immediately Bryan’s hands fly to Mox’s hips.

They fuck without reservations in the middle of the ring, and it feels like an extension of their fight. They trade kisses like punches, press shoulders to the mat like a pin, and Mox rides Bryan like it’s a submission hold of a whole new kind.

“Don’t stop,” Bryan gasps, fingers biting bruises into Mox’s hips. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

“Same to you,” Mox laughs, but, in the second he allows his eyes to close, Bryan gets the best of the moment and flips him.

“Jon,” he says, lips sucking hard at the side of Mox’s neck, “can I come in you?”

“Yes,” Mox chokes out, “fuck, yes. I gotta come first though, you dick.”

“Duly noted,” Bryan says, laugh harsh and almost as bruising as his teeth. He pulls out so suddenly that Mox almost cries out, but then his head is between Mox’s legs, lips against Mox’s clit, and any complaints are dead and gone.

Bryan eats Mox out like he’s a drowning man desperate for water, and Mox has nothing but Bryan’s hair to grip onto as he grinds up against Bryan’s mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” Mox moans, “fuck, right there”

Bryan sucks one last time, hard, and Mox comes, seeing stars scatter across the ceiling of the gym. He’s never seen the ring from this angle. He probably never will again.

Bryan doesn’t let up, though, and, through Mox’s desperation and whimpers, brings him off again, fingers stroking inside Mox.

“Fuck,” Mox whines, oversensitive but desperate for more.

“Not done with you yet,” Bryan laughs, and he begins pounding into Mox’s body with single-minded determination. Mox can hardly do much but hold on, riding the aftershocks, but when Bryan comes, it feels like a victory.

Bryan slumps against him, face buried in the space between Mox’s shoulder and neck, as he breathes heavily. “Fuck,” he laughs.

“Yeah,” Mox says. His eyes lock up into the beams in the ceiling. “Fuck is right.”

Bryan pushes himself off of Mox, and gathers their clothing. He tosses Mox’s clothes. “For when you’re ready.”

“Oh, I’m good now,” Mox says, and he feels like a god. “So, like. You’re not gonna be here tomorrow?”

“Nope,” Bryan says. He pulls his shirt on, then extends a hand to Mox. “It’s all you from now on, Mox.”

Mox takes his hand and leaps to his feet. He feels a lot more relaxed, more calm than he’s felt since he found out Regal left earlier in the week. “Thanks, Bryan.”

There’s a knowing little smile on Bryan’s lips. “For what?”

“Oh, fuck, don’t be smug, you asshole,” Mox says, rolling his eyes. “For recommending me.” And then, because he can. “And for fulfilling one of my gym fantasies. Always wanted to fuck in the middle of the ring.”

Bryan throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah. It was fun.” He holds out a hand. “It was great working with you, Mox. We’re glad to have you in this position.”

And, Mox wouldn’t swear it, but he thinks Bryan winked.

~

The next two months are a whirlwind – Mox is caught up in running a business, the financial system and HR trainings from corporate sucking up more of his time than he expects. It’s not until eight weeks after Regal left that he realizes something isn’t quite right.

“Mox!” Paige says, walking into his office. “We’re out of the good tampons. How did we run out of tampons?”

Mox frowns. “We are?”

Paige nods, throwing open the random drawer of the file cabinet in the front of the office. “See? Empty.”

Slowly, like through water, Mox checks. And it strikes him that it’s been a while since he’s even had to go into that drawer.

Panic floods him. “Paige, I’ll talk to you later.”

He rushes out onto the floor as she asks after him, but, mercifully, she doesn’t follow him onto the floor. “Seth,” Mox says, anxiety coursing his entire body. His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. “Seth, I gotta talk to you.”

Mid laugh, Seth walks over. “What’s up?”

“When’s the last time I complained about the secret store of tampons being raided by Paige?” he asks.

Seth frowns. “Oh. Weird. I don’t know.”

Mox stares at him.

Seth’s jaw drops. “Oh, fuck.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Mox waves it off. “I’m probably late or something. I’ve been working out more or whatever.” His hands are shaking. “I’ll get a test or something.”

He texts Eddie I need you to come over tonight without context, though. He’s gonna need all the help he can get, whatever happens next.

Seth is sitting on the couch, leg bouncing frenetically, and Eddie is pacing the living room when Mox comes out of the bathroom later that night. The stick is trembling in his hand, but not from fear. Somehow, he’s excited.

“Guys,” he says, “it’s positive.”

Eddie brings his hand up to cover his mouth, and Seth goes completely still.

“What do we gotta do?” Eddie asks, steady and calm in a way Mox has never seen. “Totally your call, man.”

“Of course,” Seth says, gentle. He stands, hand on Mox’s shoulder. “And you don’t have to decide now, okay?”

“No, I’ve decided,” Mox says. He rests his hand on his lower belly, wondering if he hasn’t just been bloated from all the Little Caesar’s lately. If it’s from whatever has made its way into his life. “I – guys, I’m gonna be a dad.”

Eddie flops against the back of the sofa, exhaling so hard his lips wobble. “Jesus Christ, Moxie,” he says, shaking his head.

“I know,” Mox says. “But – I kind of.” He looks at Seth, who’s got a knowing little smile on his lips. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted this until it happened.”

They’re silent for a few moments. Mox is pretty sure Eddie is having a near existential crisis, and Seth might be crying, just a little bit.

“I gotta ask,” Eddie says, “who’s the – other dad?”

Mox frowns. “Well…”

Eddie groans, rolling over to face plant into the couch cushions. “Please tell me you aren’t fucking Chris again.”

“I haven’t fucked Chris in a year,” Mox retorts. “And, uh. No. It’s – I don’t know which of the three of them it is.”

Eddie leans forward on his knees. “Three?!”

“I had a rough week! I was sexually irresponsible!” Mox says, throwing his hands in the air. “So sue me!”

“Okay, well, we know it’s Regal, that Chuck guy from the bar, or Bryan, right?” Seth says. “Why don’t we just – talk to them?”

Mox considers it. He doesn’t even know if Chuck still works at that bar. Regal left without a trace, didn’t even tell him he was going. And Bryan’s long gone to another part of the company.

“No,” Mox decides. “No, I’ve got this. I want to do this on my own.”

“Fuck you are,” Eddie says. “Uncle Eddie, bitch.”

The next months are chaos, with Eddie moving in to be a support system and Mox’s life turning upside down and inside out in ways he couldn’t have imagined. But, when he holds his son in his hands, ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes and big brown eyes so warm they melt his heart, he decides it’s all worth it.

“I’m getting my titties chopped off and my uterus yanked out of me, ASAP,” he says, exhausted, when Wheeler is eight weeks old and miserable with colic.

“Whatever you gotta do, man,” Eddie says, rocking from side to side as he feeds Wheeler. “I got you.”

[blackpoolcombatwriter]

ooo for lyric prompts, moxbry 10?

I have no idea how it ended up being like this. Still trying to come up with a non-paranormal twist for a secret. My brain couldn't figure anything out that wasn't cheating so it came up with this instead.

Bryan has a secret need and Mox helps with it. We’ve got secrets between us that nobody else would believe if we told them(Alien Like You - The Pigott Brothers)

[swervestrickland]

bryan committing the screwdriver crime on hangman but his husband getting punished for it

the moxbry of it all. the hangmox of it all

[dunkzillla]

"When was I meant to find out? When it was too late?!" Mox/Bryan 👀

oh goodness. this. i should have known those prompts would hurt me. this follows on from this piece, because it fits too well.

when was I meant to find out? mox/bryan, implied bcc poly

It wasn’t good news in the docs room after the Anarchy in the Arena match. He wasn’t going to be cleared for a couple of weeks, but Bryan knew that ‘a couple of weeks’ was the good estimation, and most likely, he’d be out for a lot longer.

Which is why when two weeks go by, and he goes for his check up and the doc tells him he’s not cleared for Forbidden Door or Blood and Guts, he doesn’t say anything to anyone for a couple of days, then he tells Regal and Yuta. He tells them not to tell Mox.

It’s not that he’s going to ignore the doctors orders, or that he thinks he’ll be mad or anything, just — Mox was so, so sure he’d be okay by Forbidden Door, and Blood and Guts, that they’d get to keep doing what they love together (beating people bloody and senseless), and he can’t bring himself to tell him. He knows it’s wrong, Regal tells him it’s wrong when he tells him, and Yuta just gives him a ‘okay, on your head be it’ and a kiss on the cheek when he tells him. Mox is going to be mad, he knows, but he’s been practically buzzing around for the last few weeks since getting the news that he’d have a match for the interim title. Bryan doesn’t want him to lose it a moment too soon.

So it’s not surprising that, when Bryan comes back into the locker room after announcing he wouldn’t be cleared to compete at either event and a replacement would be announced, Mox is sat tapping his foot and wringing his hands staring at the door blankly.

“Jon…”

“Don’t you fucking ‘Jon’ me, Bry. When was I meant to find out? When it was too fucking late along with all the other schmucks in the audience? Fuckin’ wonderful, Bry, thanks, makes me feel real special!” He spits, and he actually spits, it trails down his chin as he gets up, fizzing with energy like he’s going to explode. “You told Regal, and you told Yuta, but you didn’t fucking tell me!”

Bryan sighs, feeling like the piece of shit he is. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to get upset or be worried—“

“Am I not upset now? Am I not fucking worried?” Mox turns to him and snarls the words, hands going up into his hair, and then, in true Mox fashion, he reaches down to take the chair between his hands and launches it at the wall. It clatters and clangs and rattles around him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re a fucking piece of shit. How could you not tell me you’re not cleared? That you’re not fucking okay, Bryan? You think I don’t want to know that shit?” Mox kicks the locker, hands thrown up in the air for emphasis and Bryan shakes his head. He doesn’t know what he can say to him. What’s going to make him feel better.

“We’ve been having so much fun. I didn’t — you’re getting a title match. I didn’t want to put a damper on that by telling you that I couldn’t fight. You wanted to do blood and guts with me so bad.”

“Yeah I did, but what did you think I was gonna’ do if you told me you couldn’t do it? That I’d be pissed? Fuck you.” He points a finger at him, and it feels like a stab to the heart. Whenever Mox is mad at him it’s usually about trivial things, or they’re posturing, alpha to alpha and it means nothing, they brush it off within a day. This. This doesn’t feel like brush it off in a day type fighting.

“Jon. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

“We’ll always have IT you fuckin- Jesus Christ. You think cos you’re injured for a couple a weeks or months what we got going on right now ends? Think cos you’re gone it all falls apart? Bullshit Bryan. We didn’t bleed and have the old man slap us in front of thousands of people, and do the same to the kid only for it to crumble cos what? You’re not gonna wrestle two events? That’s thinking real fucking highly of yourself.” Mox laughs, but it’s devoid of any humour, and there’s a vicious tug on his lip.

“I’m sorry. Jon, listen I —“

“Save it. Fucking save it.” Mox kicks the locker again, it’s loud and makes Bryan wince. He pushes past him out of the room, and Bryan dips his head in shame.

A minute or so passes before Bryan feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Give him time petal. He’ll come around.”

Bryan looks up at Regal. The man’s got a soft, sad smile on his face. But he knows. He knows that Regal doesn’t really believe the words he’s saying.

“Yeah,” He says softly, guilt lacing his words like a thick caramel. “Hopefully.”

[doublearmbars]

fic: listen to the slow parts- b-side

ship: bryan danielson/jon moxley

tags: oral sex, puppy play, collars, leashes, ao3 doesn't have a tag for leg humping but it’s in this

summary: so even before their match on the 9/21 ep of dynamite i was writing what was going to happen after. I was pretty confident Mox would win, but not certain, so I started this in case Bryan won, and picked it back up because he needs a win right now. the title of this in my docs folder is "moxbry woof woof bark," and i couldn't come up with anything better or more serious.

ao3 link

His knock isn’t answered. He opens the door anyway, shuts and latches it behind him. Down the short hallway and around the corner is the king bed. And there’s Bryan; he’s sitting on the bed in that stupid white t-shirt, hair still down and sweaty from the match, and he’s fiddling with-

“You brought it.” Mox’s mouth is dry. His eyes on the length of fabric in Bryan’s lap, with the little clip at the end where it attaches to. His collar.

“Of course I did,” Bryan says, feather-light, then he pulls the leash taut between his hands. “I have to remind my guard dog how to protect what’s mine.” He nods towards where the title belt rests on a side chair. “Are you up for that tonight? Being my good dog?”

Mox nods dumbly, pulling off his hoodie, surprised he’s still got the coordination for it with how honey-thick and heavy his head suddenly feels.

“Then sit.”

His knees hit the floor hard but he barely feels it. Already he- yes there it is, Bryan’s hand gently petting at his scalp, blunt nails giving him a scratch under his jaw. He tilts Mox’s head back, just needs to barely tap under his chin for Mox to understand. Then there’s worn soft leather around his neck and the quiet metal click of his tags bumping against each other as he breathes, and everything feels a little more settled, like his brain has tuned out the extra noise. 

“There you go” Bryan coos, condescending. “There’s my good boy.”

Mox hardly notices. He almost starts to relax, kneeling there, with Bryan sitting on the edge of the bed, murmuring in that possessive way he does. The hands on his head, massaging his scalp, the spot where his jaw muscle locks up, the straight scar at the back of his head, they’re so warm, they make his head all fuzzy, like looking at the world through a gauzy curtain. His brain wanders a little until he comes back to a hard tap on the shoulder. 

“Sit pretty for me, don’t slouch.” There’s a hint of disappointment and Mox can’t- a whine starts as he straightens his back, his shoulders and draws himself up. He can’t be a bad dog, not tonight, doesn’t have it in him tonight. 

“That’s better.” He can hear the purr in Bryan’s voice, and the small click when he clips the leash to his collar. His hands linger there on Mox’s neck, thumbing at the scruff under his chin. 

Then Bryan snaps his fingers, whistles sharp and points to the belt, that calculating smug look in his eyes. 

“Go, get it. Bring it back to where it belongs.” 

He drops to all fours, relishing the feeling of hotel carpet under his fight-worn palms. It feels right. The leash tugs his head upright, not enough length for him to continue. His collar presses across his throat, and he leans into the pressure, cuts off his own air until he starts to see stars at the edge of his vision. 

Bryan lets some slack into the leash, and Mox collapses forwards onto his elbows, ass in the air, breathing hard and fast. 

He freezes when he hears Bryan click his tongue and get up from the bed. Then he feels the smack, stinging against the meat of his ass, Bryan’s hand staying there, groping it a minute before pushing Mox forwards. 

“Look at you, pet, so desperate for me that you can’t even walk right. Keep going.” Bryan’s tone is flat, but the hand on Mox’s ass was possessive and rough. 

He lets out enough length that Mox can get to the chair, to the belt. The carpet’s nice enough on his hands that he crawls comfortably, the hot feeling of-of his owner, the dog brain supplies, watching his every move as he reaches for the belt with his hands. 

“Ah-ah no paws on the furniture.” 

Mox’s head turns and he whines, pulling back his hands, tensing them into fists for a moment. He can be good, he can do it, he knows his owner rewards a good dog. One of the ends of the belt is closer to the edge of the chair, so he takes it in his mouth, the leather giving under his teeth, and pulls until he can get his mouth on the centerpiece. Then he bites it, a little harder, just the leather border, and makes sure he has a good grip on it. When he turns there's a tug on his leash and he moves a little faster, eager to get back to where Bryan stands at the edge of the bed.

“Good. Now drop it.” 

Bryan holds out his hands to take the belt when it drops from Mox’s mouth and fastens it around his waist. It gleams, even in the low light. He hooks his fingers inside his underwear and pulls them off, dick standing to attention. 

Mox doesn’t put the dick in his mouth, even though he can practically taste it. Instead he nuzzles into the join of Bryan’s hip, placing sloppy kisses and licks at the base, before nudging past and taking his balls into his mouth. He takes Bryan’s shaft in one of his hands, part to hold him out of the way, but also so he can stroke gently, almost reverently.

He hears the muffled, high pitched “oh fuck” before Bryan somewhat collects himself. Mox’s eyes start to water. His mouth is so full and the smell of sweat and arousal fills his nostrils and he dreamily wonders if he’ll smell like Bryan forever. 

He pulls off just enough that he can lick the dip between the balls, then starts from the base of his shaft, following one of the veins with his tongue. When he gets to the tip he sucks just a bit into his mouth, holds it there, not fully sucking.

 “Good boy, fuck that’s perfect.” 

Mox stays there, holding it in his mouth, bringing a little more in until he’s nearly gagging on it when there's a tug on his leash and he’s pulled off Bryan’s cock with a whimper. 

Bryan’s staring down at him and the light fixture above the bed gives him a halo and Mox kneels there at his feet, a line of spit coming out of the corner of his mouth, half dog and half supplicant. He stares as Bryan strokes himself off, rough and quick, until his thighs are tensing and he’s falling back onto the bed because his knees gave way. He can hear when Bryan comes, the shudder in his breath. And when he pushes himself back up on his elbows Mox can see: he came all over the belt. On purpose. 

“Lick it clean.” He whispers, breathless, panting. 

Mox’s brain was already fried but this, the idea of this. Of cleaning Bryan’s cum off the belt with his tongue, the belt that still has Mox’s name plate on it, it draws a whimpering noise out of his throat, breaking and hoarse. Bryan’s looking down at him with those clear blue eyes and he is not asking. 

“Go on.” This is an order, not a request, emphasized by the yank on the leash as Bryan coils it another time around his hand. Mox’s face is inches from the championship and he can almost see his reflection in the metal, his eyes wide and hazy. His head is spinning so he puts his hands on Bryan’s thighs to steady himself. 

When he finally makes contact with the belt he moans, open mouthed and shameless. The taste of metal is harsh under his tongue as he slides into the crevices, licks over the rhinestones, chasing any trace of Bryan. He laps at it, hears the gross wet sound it makes as he pulls cum into his mouth, swallows, then goes back for more. His eyes flick up to look, and Bryan is watching him like he’s impressed, like Mox is a good dog. One who deserves a reward. 

“Up, c’mon doggie.”

Mox tilts his head, then goes as Bryan pulls him up so sit, one thigh between Mox’s legs, pushing up where he’s hard, at the wet spot on the front of his underwear. He grinds down onto the warm, sweaty muscle and it feels so good, like the feeling is spreading from between his legs to his whole body.

“Humping my leg like a bitch in heat, you like that?” Bryan whispers in his ear, nipping at the side of his neck. 

Mox nods helplessly, rocks forwards and back and he was so close the whole time he was blowing Bryan that he’s already almost there.

“Yeah I bet you do, bet you’re sad I didn’t come in you, huh boy.” 

Another nod, this one accompanied by a shattered noise as Mox buries his face in Bryan’s shoulder and ruts against him, desperate and moaning for it. 

Then he feels teeth, right below his collar, and Bryan bites him and his vision goes. 

He can’t feel anything and yet is feeling everything, his toes curl, there’s the wet sensation of him coming in his underwear, the hot breath against his neck, and Bryan running a hand down his back, soothing. 

“There you go, there’s my good dog.”

[saturatedsinset]

Here's a message you can pass on to Lucy tell them I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on with my Ricky story cause it started going down a weird breeding path and I didn't know WHY and then I realized I was fucking channeling their moxbry puppy play scene from spreadsheets cause I had just reread it a few days ago.

- definitely not 613 cakes in a Canadian tuxedo

oh my god they do love a breeding kink puppy play and So Do I

[joeyvotto]

moxbry LIVES?

[romegaketh]

if you are open for snippet requests I would like to humbly ask for any speculation au writing you have 🥺 (esp the conflict of moxbry telling yuta to go off his suppressants and the conflict therein. also danny i love him)

ok this is from wheeler yuta is not a therapist and i am genuinely crushed i did not finish it lol. bcc-typical gore! thanks for the ask ❤️

BOSTON. 

The Best Friends used to do team meetings in a hotel room, around a table packed with preferably-vegetarian takeout, and Fast Five on in the background with the volume turned way down. Chuck Taylor would write up an agenda on his phone, and Orange Cassidy would pretend to pay attention but fuck up by gasping at the big chase scenes, even though Trent was halfway through some long complaint about something or other. 

Surprising nobody, Blackpool Combat Club is different.

"Is that all you got?" Jon Moxley spits. Blood bursts from his cut lip and spatters across his chin. He’s on his hands and knees on a pile of mats in a boxing gym outside Boston. 

In front of him - above him - is the American Dragon. Bryan Danielson’s laugh is low and mean. "You know it's not." The crack of his hand across Moxley's face rings through the air. An angry red stain sinks into Moxley's cheek. 

Moxley pushes himself up onto his knees. His tank top is stained with his own blood. His jaw set with determination and real, clear, rage. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you,” says Danielson, grabbing the back of Moxley’s neck with vicious glee. His hair has fallen out of the little ponytail, and is loose around his face. He looks - not angry, but not not angry. Like something dark is inside of him and he is grateful to let it out. 

If Wheeler wasn't wearing blockers right now he is sure he would be choking on the scent - even with them, he's breathing in fire and copper, as thick as it would be in rut. It’s a shitty little gym but it’s empty; it’s theirs. It feels like being downwind of a forest fire. And not downwind enough to feel safe, either. 

Wheeler signed up for this. He did it clear-eyed and hopeful. He didn’t know how swift it would be, how immediate. One day he was outside, but today, he belongs. 

"Boys will be boys," William Regal sighs, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped under his chin. It’s strange to see him in a hoodie and sweats instead of the suit, but everything about today is strange. "I'm glad you're here. I think they're behaving better now that they have company." 

Yesterday, Wheeler wrote BCC in blood on his chest. Today, he’s here, watching Moxley and Danielson try to kill each other. It’s supposed to be a demonstration. What, exactly, it’s a demonstration of still appears to be in question. 

Moxley raises his head. His eyes flash to Regal, and then to Wheeler. Hot, sharp, furious. When Wheeler crossed the ramp - when he turned away from his friends and came to the future - he thought, now Moxley will know who I am. Well, he does. But maybe now Wheeler is learning who Moxley is. 

Yesterday Wheeler bled like a fountain, but Moxley matched him. Right now Wheeler is sitting next to Regal, with a protein shake the size of his head and a power bar; right now Moxley is pinned beneath Danielson, while Danielson bends his head so his mouth is against Moxley's ear. 

Normally they're better matched. It feels good to know Wheeler did some damage: Moxley isn't slow but he's slower. Wheeler had to scrape himself out of bed this morning. His head still hurts. 

“How’s he looking?” Danielson asks, looking up for Regal's approval like an alpha half his age. Moxley snaps at him, teeth out, but Danielson darts away with the same easy grace he shows in the ring. 

Regal laughs. "Bryan," he says, fondly. "You're showing off."

Danielson shrugs. Moxley's blood is on his cheek; it makes his grin look feral. "You heard the boss," he tells Moxley. "You want a nap?" 

Moxley growls, a low deep sound, big enough to fill the whole building. He looks like a kid, too. A baby alpha, tussling, for the attention of a bigger one. But Moxley is Jon Moxley. And that's Bryan Danielson. Everyone who's ever watched a wrestling match knows how sharp their teeth are. 

Regal puts his hand on Wheeler's shoulder. Gentle, careful. He's not possessive with Wheeler like he is with them. Wheeler is grateful for it, though he feels like he shouldn't be: he didn't sign up to be treated with care. But maybe he did. Bryan said he would be - under a wing. A dragon's wing, he'd thought, tossing and turning, before the day he made the decision. 

Regal isn't a dragon. Regal is a man. Because only men have power like this: the power to speak, and be obeyed. "Settle down," Regal tells them - both of them, it's clear. "Don't make me come over there." 

Danielson wipes Moxley's blood off his cheek and the dragon recedes. He's just a man on a mat, with Moxley a foot away on his knees. The warmth comes back to Danielson's face, and to his hand as he reaches down for Moxley -  long fingers extended, palm wide and open. 

But Moxley glares, turning his face away, to spit onto the floor on the other side. 

Something flashes in Danielson's face. Not anger, something quieter. Before Wheeler can look deeper, it's gone. "Gross," Danielson says, easily. "I'll get you a paper towel for that."

Moxley rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." It takes him longer to come back to himself. Wheeler is maybe glad. He's not sure how to feel. He knows that - for whatever reason, rightly or wrongly - he fought Moxley and Moxley fought him. And it mattered. 

Danielson is crossing the floor, the bright, easy smile on his face. "How are you feeling, today, Wheeler?" 

Wheeler holds up his power bar. "Perfect," he says. "I even got snacks."

"Fantastic," Danielson says. You wouldn't think he is a predator, like this. He just looks like a cool alpha you'd meet at the gym. Except for the blood. "You were great last night. Really gave Jon a run for his money."

"I did my best," Wheeler says. The cut on his forehead itches. "But thank you. It means a lot."

Danielson smiles. "Good. We're very happy to have you."

To have Bryan Danielson standing in front of you - in shorts and a bloody white t-shirt, with his hair up, with his hands bruised - it doesn't feel like it happens every day. It feels like another world. But Wheeler fought to get here. He did. He earned this. "I'm glad to be here," he says. 

"I'm certainly glad we got you away from the Best Friends," Danielson says, amicable and easy, like he'd say, buddha bowl hold the tempeh. "I hate to think about how you'd have been wasted staying longer under Orange Cassidy." There's a cruel smirk when he says the name. Something uglier. The dragon peeking out from behind the man's eyes. 

Wheeler's shoulderblades prickle. He feels his own hands form fists. Just because he’s not on Orange’s team anymore doesn’t mean Orange didn’t train him.  

"Hey." That's Moxley. All of a sudden he's at Danielson's back, his hand on Danielson's shoulder - the difference in their heights enough that Moxley is looming. His voice snaps through the air. "Cut it out, Bryan." 

"He was a good teacher," Wheeler says, looking at Moxley. It feels like, when he was bleeding, and he almost got that pin, and Moxley looked - Almost. Not quite. "I'm grateful to him. To all of them. I'm glad to be here, now." 

Danielson looks up at Moxley. "Yeah?" 

"Bryan," Moxley says. It's so clearly about something else that Wheeler looks at Regal, whose mouth has compressed into a thin line, and whose hands are curling into balls against his thighs. He can't read it; he doesn't know Regal. He could guess. If he were to guess he would say - nervous, uncertain, and a little remorseful. But that doesn't sound like William Regal. Not William Regal, who headbutted Moxley when he was dripping in Bryan’s blood. 

A conversation passes between them. Not so much a conversation as an unmoving fistfight. Moxley, scowling; Bryan, a contemptuous shrug. Wheeler really did think they liked each other. Maybe he just got used to the Best Friends. Even when Kris was being a jerk, he knew she liked him. 

Moxley wins. Danielson spreads his palms open, shrugging.

Moxley spends a lot of time looking awkward. You don’t realise that when you spend most of your time with Moxley with him kicking your ass, but actually - he’s kind of tentative. Feeling things out. Like he thinks Wheeler is going to say, fuck off, and turn around and go back to the Best Friends.

Wheeler likes it. Maybe he just likes Moxley. Maybe he just has a CD full of Mox matches in a drawer somewhere in his mom’s house. Who can say?

"Anyway," Danielson drawls. "I wanted to say." He taps his fingers against the side of his neck. "Do you wear them all the time?" 

Wheeler's stomach drops through one of those trap doors in Indiana Jones, right into an extremely culturally insensitive pit of snakes. "To the ring, yeah." Regal is looking between them like a sunning lizard, so Wheeler explains, "Blockers."

The patch on his neck doesn't itch. It's only been on for a minute. He slapped it on in a hurry. 

“You’re an alpha,” Regal says. 

“Yeah,” Wheeler says. Maybe it’s generational. Maybe Regal’s actually an asshole - the wrong kind of asshole - and Wheeler needs to get out now. “I wrestle in them so it makes sense to train in them, too.” 

Danielson raises an eyebrow. “Well,” he says. “You might gain some reaction time if you lose them. Usually it’s about half a second.”

Mox says, “Cut it out, Bryan.” His hand moves, but he doesn't grab Danielson's shoulder. He just puts his hand on his own hip and rolls his eyes. "The kid's been here a minute. Let him do some fucking pushups before you completely overhaul his life."

Danielson doesn't move. He keeps his eyes fixed on Wheeler, but it's very clear that Wheeler is not who he is talking to. "Improving his technique is not overhauling his life, Jon."

Wheeler clears his throat. "Company policy," he says. "Everyone's entitled to their preferred presentation." He’s paraphrasing from a lecture he's been given multiple times by Daniel Garcia. "Up to the point at which it encroaches on someone else's presentation." (That's a reference to wrestling in heat. Also rut, but in practice it's only really omegas who get in shit for wrestling under the influence. That's also a paraphrase from Daniel Garcia. Wheeler wasn't the object of the lecture. He was just in the vicinity and it stuck.)

Danielson tilts his head. “Is that a moral stance, Yuta?”

“Kind of.” Wheeler swallows. “Actually, you know what? Yeah. It is. You wore them at WWE. I wear them here.” 

Mox looks at him. A longer, deeper look. Like he did after he got the pin, when Wheeler was lying there on the mat. 

Danielson smiles. The smile is broader, wider. “Okay,” he says. “We can work with that.”

Regal says, “If you’re quite finished, I think now would be a good time to demonstrate some holds for young Wheeler.” His voice shades into calm reproof. “Since he certainly didn’t learn any from whatever you were doing before.”

Mox ducks his head but Danielson just laughs, a big laugh, like a bell. “All right, all right,” he says. “Point taken. C’mon, Mox.” 

It's just Wheeler and Regal on the bench again, both of them watching Danielson turn Moxley into various shapes while Moxley grimly allows himself to be bent.

“To be perfectly honest with you,” Regal says, “I’m very glad you came along. They were about to kill each other.”

“Great, now they can kill me.” Wheeler is only half-joking. It’s not like he knows if Danielson is a good teacher, or Moxley. But he was taught well before. He’s confident in his own ability to figure out what he needs.

“We’re lucky to have you,” Regal says, abruptly. “I hope you know that we know that.” 

“Oh,” Wheeler says. He thinks about Danny and Lee - Danielson wanted them, too. He wanted them so much he’d have bled for it. But Moxley bled for Wheeler, and now Wheeler is here. “Thank you.” 

“I know it’s a lot,” Regal says. “I know -” and he gestures, with a big sweep of that broad, scarred hand, “they’re a lot. But they’re good. They really are. And you’re good. They’ll make you better. And I will, too. We’ll do our damnedest.”

“I never had any doubts,” Wheeler says. That’s not a lie. He could have turned around. So many times. All the times. But he didn’t. He stayed the course. He’s here. 

Regal’s eyes crease. “They’re hiding something from me,” he says, quietly.

“Oh,” Wheeler says. 

Regal smiles at him. It’s a wistful smile; the craggy face of a mountainside, stretching onwards and upwards, despite snow and sleet and spring avalanches. “It happens,” he says. “Sons hide truths from their fathers. I hope one day soon you’ll come to hide the truth from me, as well.” 

Wheeler swallows. “I’ll do my best.”

Regal’s laugh is soft. “Good. I’d expect nothing less.” 

Wheeler lets himself look. Regal is an old man. You can see it here, in this shitty gym, with its bad lighting and the smell of sweat; the lines around his eyes, the tremor in his hands. But there’s something else there too - not just the man Wheeler watched on tape for years, not just the myth - but kindness, too. A deep well. Wheeler did not expect to find that. “They know you love them.” He didn’t mean to say it like that. Abruptly, out of nowhere. Too obvious. Chuck Taylor would say, get it together, kid. Chuck Taylor is very good at talking to people. “They couldn’t not know that.” 

But Regal says, “Oh,” his voice softening a little, with a little joy. “Thank you. I’m glad you see it.” 

“Anytime,” Wheeler says. 

Regal rakes his fingers through his hair, leaning back so he can look at Wheeler with the full force of his gaze. “I’ve got a question for you, young Wheeler,” he says. “Who is the most important member of the Blackpool Combat Club?”

It’s like the slap: it’s a test. There’s a right answer and three wrong ones. Maybe more than three.

Wheeler aced the slap, though. Full marks, gold star. Extra credit. He looked right into Regal’s face, but he didn’t hit him. He stood his ground; he didn’t lose it. 

Stand your ground; don’t give it away. He takes a breath. Bryan is the unstoppable force and Moxley is the immovable object. Maybe it's the other way around. Either way, they destroy each other if left unchecked. So there's only one option. Give me a place to stand and a lever and I can move the earth. Regal is both the lever and the place to stand. “You.”

Regal laughs. It’s a warm laugh; it settles in Wheeler’s chest like apple cider on a cold day. "Thank you," he says. "But not quite. Think about it and get back to me."

[faggotmox]

wrote "a new hold" abt moxbry having their first kid. next one i wanted to do was them naming the kid. but i had to figure out a name first which is like...this has to be a good name. this name ties up this story, its gotta be perfect. a name moxbry would agree on.

not one of you can guess the name i figured out. im like insanely proud of this. yall, its so good. if anyone can guess it ill fucking give them 5$ s2g