#kentucky himbo writes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thekentuckyhimbo · 2 years

Text

Tender

Pairing: Jay White/Reader

Warnings/Tags: explicit sex, swearing, angst, praise kink

Words: 4.4k

Complete: Yes

Summary: Sequel to Gentle. Can be read standalone.

"You got to know him better as the months went on. You got to know how he looked after a win; face blossoming like a flower. How he looked after a loss; bushy brows knitted together, his cold eyes transfixed on the ceiling in a deep scowl. The latter happened rarely, so what you saw most nights was that stomach-flipping combination of cocky smirk and twinkling eyes. You wondered how he could do it sometimes; show such a wide range of emotions on a single face. How in one moment he could look simultaneously devilish and angelic."

Author Notes: This was written because @elitehoe said Jay had a praise kink. Secondarily it was written to spite @unlikelywrestlingfan

Tender

You got to know him better as the months went on. You got to know how he looked after a win; face blossoming like a flower. How he looked after a loss; bushy brows knitted together, his cold eyes transfixed on the ceiling in a deep scowl. The latter happened rarely, so what you saw most nights was that stomach-flipping combination of cocky smirk and twinkling eyes. You wondered how he could do it sometimes; show such a wide range of emotions on a single face. How in one moment he could look simultaneously devilish and angelic.

He hadn’t come home in his ring gear again (yet) but you thought about him in it often. Tied up on his hotel room bed everywhere from Philly to Long Island to Osaka. You laid there in your restraints and thought of the way his tights hung around his hips, how his hair grew messier with each passing movement. How he looked like a god between those ropes.

When you weren’t with him, you were watching him. Catching up on all the matches you didn’t get to see live because you were locked away like his little treasure. You probably ought to take offence, that you’d never met his friends or been invited to attend a show despite your years together. But some primal part of you ached with the knowledge that he was possessive of you; that he didn’t want to share you.

Tonight you weren’t tied up physically, but spiritually he had a hold on you; a bond that couldn’t be broken. A silent promise made when he’d said ‘I’ll see you tonight’, and sealed with a chaste kiss to your forehead before he left for the arena.

You spread out on the bed thinking of him, fingers grazing your chest as you lifted the silver switchblade necklace he’d gifted you a month ago. You lifted it to your mouth and worried your lip with it, thinking of how gentle he’d been with you lately.

Something in Jay had changed since that night. A certain tension had left his body and his shoulders hung lower around you now. He fell asleep faster, and lately he’d been more comfortable with you touching him. A squeeze of the hand in public here, a kiss to the cheek around the house there. In a way it felt like you were finally dating for the first time.

But it was Jay’s smile, in those rare moments where he truly let his guard drop, that was like a revelation. His murky eyes turned clear and kind, his smile practically ripped open his face and his teeth glowed in the dark. Always in the dark, usually if you were on top and you said something particularly sweet or stupid. Once you’d said ‘I guess this is why they call you King Switch’ and another time you told him he looked beautiful underneath you.

You knew he would be home soon, and that you should be ready for him when he was, but it was a cold evening and your flannelette pyjamas were warm. And so was the jumper of Jay’s that you were wearing. Not the kind you’d think - a hoodie or a zip-up tracksuit top - it was a charcoal grey knit sweater that he hardly ever wore anymore unless he thought no one else was around. You liked it the most because it had holes at the ends of the sleeves for his thumbs, and the thought of him still doing something so reminiscent of youth seemed so innocent to you.

When he finally came home you were sitting in the middle of the bed, legs pulled up to your chest, worrying at the frayed edge of the jumper. You had something on the TV but you’d kept it muted, because that first note of his musical accent felt like the first moment of a hot shower on a cold winter’s night.

But tonight Jay didn’t say anything to permeate the silence. Immediately, you were worried. Catching up on the history of his career in wrestling meant that you had some context for things that you’d never had before. Like the way that there were certain shows that stressed him out, while others he was excited for. You knew that he’d had an Impact taping tonight, and for Jay those were usually the fun ones. You’d learnt why when you’d learned about his history with the Motor City Machine Guns. You knew Jay was supposed to wrestle them tonight, with Chris Bey in his corner. It should have been the most fun he’d had in a ring in weeks.

But instead of your lover’s musical voice, the first sound to break the silence of the hotel room was the clamour of Jay’s phone hitting the bedside table. You looked up at him, startled, but he didn’t meet your eye. Instead, he dropped his bag in the corner of the room and disappeared into the bathroom.

You felt like you’d been hit with one of Jay’s signature knife-edge chops, from the way his sullen mood sucked the air from your lungs. You turned the television off instinctively, needing less distraction to think. Jay wasn’t one for TV anyway, unless there was basketball on. But somehow you didn’t think that would be enough to lighten his mood tonight.

Thoughts of how best to handle Jay like this swam in your head. Part of you wanted to strip off and entice him to unwind with sex, wait for him on the bed while he showered and hope meeting his primal needs would calm the beast. But, truth be told, you were getting sick of doing that. If nothing else, the night he’d lost that match and told you about it - the first night he’d let you in - had shown you that a lighter touch brought him just as much pleasure as the heavy-handedness of your lovemaking.

You heard the water come on in the shower and you made a decision, following him into the bathroom. You were going to get into the shower with him, talk to him while you absent-mindedly washed his body, and then dry him off and get him to bed. Whatever it was, he would feel better if he got it out and then let the water wash it away.

The only problem was, the moment you stepped into the room and actually saw him again, you lost your nerve. Instead of stripping off and charging into the shower alongside him, you found yourself bending down in your jammies to pick up his discarded clothes off the floor and place them on the counter. You knew you should take them out and put them back in his luggage, but as much as you couldn’t bring yourself to confront him, you also couldn’t bring yourself to leave the room now that you were here.

So instead you perched yourself on the edge of the bathroom counter and eyed him carefully through the frosted shower door. His silhouette seemed to be standing completely still under the spray as the room slowly filled up with steam, only thickening the already stifling air between you.

You weren’t sure if he knew you were there, but you dared not move and draw attention to yourself. Instead, you clutched his clothes to your chest like a lifeline and just watched. And watched. Hoping that he would move for the soap, dip his head to wet his hair; do anything to signal to you that he was okay.

After a few torturous minutes, Jay finally did something. His silhouette moved against the shower wall and sunk down into a heap on the floor, taking your heart with it. The image of Jay sat on the shower floor was a horrifying one, finally enough to spur you into action.

You drop Jay’s clothing onto the bathroom counter and then quickly stripped out of your pyjamas, wrenching the shower door open and climbing in with him before you really had a chance to think it through.

The image of the real Jay, sopping wet like a drowned rat, eyes shut and jaw clenched, was far worse than the Jay you had imagined. You’d seen a lot of emotions pass across Jay’s face, especially lately, but none of them prepared you for the raw disappointment that twisted his features now. He looked so… defeated.

He ran a hand over his face, and without opening his eyes, he asked, “What are you doing in here?”

You should have answered, probably, but instead you sank to the shower floor opposite him, like a mirror. It was cold because he had most of the spray, but in that moment you didn’t care.

You thought back to a time last week, where you’d been out at dinner together. Jay was never one for public displays of affection, but he had bumped his foot against yours enough times for you to catch his eye and realise that it wasn’t by accident.

Now, you tentatively reach out your leg and brush your toes against his calf. He doesn’t look at you, but he lowers his hands away from his face.

Progress, you think, stretching out your leg until it's flush with his. One of Jay's hands finds its way to your leg, running along your calf until it finds your knee, where it settles with a firm squeeze.

You watch the rise and fall of Jay's chest, looking for a sign of what to do next. But he is stubborn as ever, giving nothing away. You've learned now from all the matches you've been watching, that his steely resolve comes from being under the watchful gaze of cameras at all times. Having to be perfection in the ring, striving to never miss a trick.

Huddled on the floor of the shower right now, he looks anything but perfect. But that only makes your affection for him grow. The leg hair he let grow out once he transitioned to long pants in the ring, his hair sticky against his face, fake tan streaking under the water.

Every minute that he doesn't push you away makes you bolder, and you soon find yourself crawling between his legs to press a gentle kiss to his lips. The spray hits your back now and you feel blissfully warm in his arms, sinking into him as he tentatively returns your embrace. You kiss his neck sweetly and feel him relax against you, though only a little.

Neither of you are comfortable, but there's no place you would rather be. You know that soon you will have to get up and drag him with you, help him get cleaned up and then coax him into bed so that he doesn't spend the night staring bitterly at a wall. But for a moment, it's just the two of you.

After a while you reluctantly stand up. His eyes are open now, and his gaze follows you upward. There is something still smouldering behind his eyes, but you can see he's reigning it in for you. You reach out your hands and he takes them. He lifts himself up mostly with his own power, but you appreciate the symbolism of him holding your hands nevertheless.

Once you're both standing you wrap your arms around his waist and tilt your head up to press a kiss to his jaw. But you keep it chaste, because you know it's time for business now.

You reach past him for the bar of soap and slowly begin lathering Jay's body up. He watches you at first, rubbing down his arms and over his chest. When you reach his stomach, his eyes flutter shut and so you bend down to do his legs, paying careful attention to his thighs.

He's half-hard and your face is level with his growing erection, but you ignore it for now. You push yourself back up to your feet and push his hip, indicating for him to turn around. He does easily and the spray rinses his front, while you lather up his back.

When you get to his lower back he makes a small noise, so you work it for a while. You can feel it's tense, but you're not a masseuse and you'd hate to do something to hurt him, so you try to just soothe the sore spots with your palm. You're not sure if it makes a difference, but he leans into your hand, so maybe it's the thought that counts.

He turns back towards you again and this time he swoops down and plants a long, slow kiss on your lips.

When he pulls back, he presses his forehead against yours and looks at you with a ferocity you've never seen before. It's like the allure of a flame, drawing you to it but simultaneously scaring you away.

"I'll get your towel," you say stupidly, feeling drunk on his touch.

You step out of the shower and the cool night air sobers you. You wrap a fluffy white hotel towel around yourself and then get one ready for him.

You hear him turn off the water after a moment, and then he steps out silently and takes the towel from you.

He towels his hair first, tussling it into a frankly adorable mess that contrasts with his chiselled figure. You can't help but smile a little bit watching him, as you dry off your own body.

Jay catches your smile reflected in the bathroom mirror and he smiles briefly back, catching your eye through the mirror.

You get lost in his back muscles for a while as he dries off with his back to you, though you know he's still watching you through the mirror. When you finish drying yourself he's picking up his toothbrush, standing over the sink.

You quickly redress in your pyjamas and disappear into the room to find him a pair of sweatpants. You worry that he'll take this as a sign you don't want to make love, but it's so damn cold and it's bad enough he won't wear a shirt around the house.

When you re-enter the bathroom, Jay is finished brushing his teeth and takes the sweatpants from you without a teasing comment about how neither of you should be wearing clothes.

You leave him in the bathroom to finish his night time routine, returning to your side of the bed. You sit cross-legged waiting for him, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. You're trying to read a tweet, but your brain isn't taking in any of the words.

Jay comes into the room then, and you expect him to join you on his side of the bed. He always sleeps on the left side, you on the right. But tonight he rounds the right side of the bed and sits on the edge beside you. He leans across you, one hand on the middle of the bed. He looks at you for a long time, then past you at the wall.

Jay seems pensive, like he's trying to find the right way to talk to you. For a moment you think he must be about to end things, or pull you into line for the way that you've been with him lately: too gentle, too close, too intimate.

"The ref botched our match tonight," Jay says plainly after a while.

You blink at him, shocked into silence because he's never talked shop with you like this before.

"Sorry," Jay says, which shocks you even more, "those words probably make no sense."

"No," you reply hurriedly, his sad eyes drawing your secret new wrestling hobby from you, "You were meant to wrestle the Guns tonight, right?"

Jay's eyebrows nearly shoot up into his hairline in surprise.

"With Chris Bey, right?" you add.

He nods slowly, his eyes searching your face for where this knowledge has suddenly come from. He doesn't speak, so you continue.

"Were you guys meant to go over?"

His shock only grows with the use of the term "go over". You know that he knows you've been doing your homework. He nods his head.

"So what happened?"

Jay sighs, rubbing his face. "The ref counted three and called for the bell when he wasn't supposed to."

"Oof," you say unthinkingly. It's your genuine reaction, and one of the first times you've ever spoken to him without thinking about your words first, "I bet he copped it for that," you chuckle, thinking of Jay's intensity in the ring.

Jay smiles, another surprise. "He did," Jay admits sheepishly.

You laugh then, leaning forward playfully to kiss Jay. Jay lets you for a moment, then pulls back with an eyebrow raised.

"When did you start watching wrestling?" he asks.

There is mirth in his eyes, which calms your concerns that he would be upset you were watching him without his permission. Still, you feel your face flush with his eyes on you.

"When you started telling me about it," you reply bravely, meeting his eyes.

Jay's brow raises even further, if that's possible. "Do you just watch my matches?"

You blush even deeper. "At first…" you trail off.

Jay's incredulity grows. "And now…?"

Your face feels so red now that you think you must look crazy. You don't want to admit to your little wrestling crush, but you know better than to lie to Jay.

"I really like Orange Cassidy, okay?" you sigh, ducking your head in embarrassment.

You can't bear to look at him, but after a moment you hear him chuckle low and long from his chest. It's such a warm, rare sound.

His hand comes under your chin and he tilts your head up until there's nowhere for you to look but him.

"You started watching just for me?" he asks, voice musical and sweeter than you've heard it with your clothes on.

"Yes," you admit sheepishly.

He surprises you again, this time with a kiss. This one isn't just a kiss, though. It deepens and he tangles his fingers in the back of your hair, leaning over you until you're flat on your back.

When Jay pulls back he has a smirk on his face. "Were you wearing my jacket all night?" he teases.

You nod, breathless and light-headed from the kiss.

Jay just grins and kisses you again, this time climbing on top of you in the same effortlessly fluid way he climbs into a wrestling ring. You didn't think it was possible for you to be more attracted to him, but now that you've watched him wrestle every movement he makes drives you crazy.

He settles in on top of you, his long hair curtaining your face. All of his earlier fire seems gone now, maybe because he's got what happened off his chest. He's in no rush with you tonight, opening up your mouth with his tongue. For now he seems content to press his hard length against you through his clothes and yours, stretched out between your legs.

Jay props himself up on his elbows so that he can tilt his head towards your neck, leaving wet kisses and the occasional love bite for you there.

"Ungh," you moan, "You're so good at that."

Jay's hips shift closer to yours and he stills his lips for a moment.

"What else am I good at?" Jay drawls, before resuming his kisses.

"Well," you begin in a cheeky voice, which disappears nearly immediately as he nips at your jaw, "you're the best wrestler in the world." You meant to say it lightly, but it comes out breathless and dead serious.

To your surprise, that earns you a low growl from Jay and a renewed vigor.

"What else?" he growls in your ear.

His hands are moving lower down your body now and snaking their way into the waistband of your pants. You love it when he touches you, you crave it the moment he's near you, so you'll do anything to get his hand between your legs.

"Talking," you say stupidly.

"Oh?" Jay replies, his fingers dancing just above your clit now. It's agonising, but at the same time you need him to know you're being sincere.

"In the ring," you explain, teeth clenched in frustration as you try not wriggle under his touch because you know he'll punish you for it, "whenever you have a microphone you're so good."

Jay chuckles against your neck, running his finger over your clit for a second and then pulling back.

"Best in the world?" he teases.

"God yes," you reply immediately. "And when you talk to me in bed," you babble.

Jay laughs again, this time nipping at your neck. "Seems like you're doing all the talking tonight."

You moan, turning your head so you can look at him. "So shut me up then," you dare.

But Jay only shakes his head, shit-eating smirk across his face. "I like this side of you," he says easily.

He sits up on his knees between your legs, yanking off your pants without fanfare. He pushes your t-shirt up over your breast and tugs at one of your nipples, then stares down at you with renewed intensity.

"Tell me what else I'm good at," he demands.

You're getting the idea now, seeing his erection leaking against his abs. Of course King Switch would like hearing about how great he is, you think.

You must have smirked at your own thought, because he frowns at you. "Something funny?" he asks darkly.

You shake your head. "I like this side of you too," you say honestly.

Jay flashes a soft smile at you, then his fingers find your entrance.

"Tell me," he orders.

"The way you touch me," you start, and he pushes two fingers deep inside you as a reward. "Just like that," you gasp, back arching off the bed. "You're so good at that."

Jay seems pleased, so he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly. You know it won't keep him sated for long, though, so you start thinking up other compliments to give him while you still have your mental faculties.

"You're so good at fucking me," you say through moans.

You can feel how wet you are around his fingers, and when he pulls his fingers out briefly to suck on them you see them glistening with your juices.

You moan just from seeing him taste you on his fingers, and search your head for another compliment to unleash. It feels like swimming through molasses, trying to collect your thoughts enough to voice them.

"You're so good at eating me out," you tell him breathlessly.

Your reward this time is him pressing his thumb against your clit while he fingers you, working you effortlessly. If he keeps going like this you're going to cum, and you're chasing that orgasm so bad.

"I love the way you tease me," you babble on, "you know exactly how to drive me crazy."

He ups the intensity now, leaning over you and working his hand faster, his mouth hanging open as he stares down at his fingers entering you, focusing completely on your orgasm. It's so flattering, having him forget about his own pleasure just to work on yours. He's never been like this before, so fully focused on you. It feels like it means something, but your pleasure-addled brain is too hazy to figure it out.

"I love how you keep me here all to yourself," you say somewhat mindlessly.

You're getting close now, eyes drifting shut. You turn your head to the side and squeeze your eyes shut, knowing he can feel your pussy clenching around his fingers. Knowing that he'll know what it means.

"I love that you take me everywhere with you," you continue, as your stomach starts to grow tense and warm.

"I love it when you let me hold your hand," you gasp as your whole body shudders in pleasure, "when we're out together."

You're so close to the edge, your whole body clenched and ready to release.

"I love it when you tell me about your work," you finally gasp.

When your orgasm hits Jay is there, kissing you through it with abandon, his tongue and teeth finding every corner of your mouth as you rock your hips up into your hand.

The second you finish, he's pressing his length inside you and snapping his hips into yours. He cradles your face in his hands and you grasp his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

His strength is bruising but you wouldn't have him any other way, and you tell him as much, earning a groan from him.

"Yes, God, Jay, you're so good," you chant, earning an even more brutal pace.

Jay's going to cum quickly like this, you know, chasing his orgasm like it's the only thing in the world. Like you're the only thing in the world.

"It's so good," you cry, wrapping your legs around him and arching your back in an effort to get closer to him.

"God, Jay, you're everything," you finally say.

"Fuck," Jay bites out, hips stuttering and then slamming into you one last time as he leans his head back and cums deep inside of you.

He somehow feels deeper inside you than he's ever been, and he stays there for a long moment before his whole body unclenches and he collapses on top of you.

"God you're beautiful," you sigh against his hair.

Jay reaches out and finds your hand, squeezing it tight while his breathing slows. You wonder if he's taken your earlier feedback about the hand-holding thing to heart.

Jay rolls off eventually, laying beside you. But to your immense surprise, he throws one arm over you and settles onto his stomach to sleep close by your side.

You reach out and turn off the lights after a while. Right after you do, Jay turns his head to the side to face you.

"You know," he drawls, his usual sparkle back in his pale green eyes, "You could come to AEW next week…"

It's yet another gesture that Jay wants you in his life, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. Maybe this is what he means when he says breathe with the Switchblade.

Jay grins devilishly. "And I could introduce you to Orange Cassidy."

A fit of giggles engulfs you both and you think to yourself, No, this is what it's like to breathe with the Switchblade.

#jay white/reader #jay white x reader #jay white imagine #jay white #king switch #kentucky himbo writes #jay white smut

166 notes · View notes

panther-os · 2 years

Text

I have been working on a giant project as a follow-up to this post where I redesigned Alpha Squad in the Halo 4 customizer, and I have finally finished the bare bones of it and consolidated the pictures into an amount Tumblr won’t hate.

Behold, my Freelancers! (under the cut)

Some of these agents appeared in Temple’s murderfridge, but I have no way of telling who’s who and no access to any armor that’s in Halo 5 but not in Halo 4, so I just yote them all and started over.

First up is Alpha Squad once more - Tex, Carolina (MAJ Rebeca Church), York (MAJ Joey Marchesi), Wyoming (SPC Reginald Winthrop-Covington VI), North (CPT Ustin Voronin), Wash (CPL David Ortez), Maine (MAJ Moses-046), South (MAJ Viktoriya Voronin), Florida (CPT Butch Flowers), Connecticut (LT Iona Blair).

And then we get into my OCs starting with Bravo Squad. Georgia was an absolute dick in Season 14, so he gets to be an incompetent and self-important white boy followed by eight increasingly terrifying women and one himbo. Left to right, top to bottom - Georgia (PFC James Wright), Kansas (SSG Elena ”Wheat Thin” Campo Escarra, ODST), Indiana (SPC Tereza “Zippy” Kudrna), Louisiana (SPC Takara “Swamp Lady” Mori, ONI), Michigan (LT Ravid Wolff), Nevada (MAJ Antonia “Tony” Marchesi), Tennessee (LT Yona Keyes, ONI), California (CPT [REDACTED]), Hawai’i (SPC Zoe Choi), Massachusetts (CPT Jean Martel).

Michigan is a nonbinary Jewish person who chose that name because I, a nonbinary Jewish person, think it’s a fucking awesome name. California does not have a name yet because I have a very specific facecanon in mind for her and I’m waiting to hear back from a direct source on a respectful name for her background.

Charlie Squad is entirely OCs! There’s Arizona (CPL Naomi Blum), Kentucky (LT Miles Parker), Oregon (Dorian “Dory” Teague), Mississippi (SGT Justice Hawkins), Arkansas (SSG Noelle Abrams), Vermont (SSG Colby “Cheese Man” Leafield), Oklahoma (SPC Skylar “OK” Ned, ODST), Wisconsin (CPL Ernst “Ravioli” Kasperson), Rhode Island (SPC Lovel Short), and Montana (SSG Daisy Feng).

Dory doesn’t have a rank because he was recruited straight from mercenary work. You might recognize Montana from this fic series I published recently featuring North/York/Montana.

Delta Squad has a familiar face (potentially a second if you’ve seen Zero, though I forgot that guy’s real name, if it was ever revealed) and also, accidentally, the most agents that look alike. There’s West Virginia (COL Rasmus Lucassen), New Mexico (SSG Lars Korhonen), Utah (LT Oriole Vives), Pennsylvania (SPC Sladjana Novak), Puerto Rico (CPT Dina Abbing), New Hampshire (SPC Phoebe Daugherty), Delaware (SGT Jeremiel Carver), Alabama (SPC Priyanka Devi, ODST), Illinois (SGT Roger Lennox), and Maryland (SPC Tuana Demirci).

Echo Squad has the triplets, but I wanted to mix it up a little. Ohio (SPC Vera Czajkowski) actually leads this squad, with Idaho (CPL Ezra Katz) as her second. After them are Alaska (SGT Faraj Nejem), Colorado (SPC Marvin Cole), Minnesota (SSG Anton Peerenboom), New Jersey (CPL Kyung-Hee Moon), Nebraska (LT Armann Gunnarsson), Virginia (SGT Zarina Zaman), and then Iowa (PFC Michael Gutermuth, ODST) at #49, followed by Missouri (PFC Fabiano Necchi) at #50.

After the triplets are abandoned, this squad falls apart in a major way and all the other agents in it leave or are made to leave.

(I want to start leaning into the leaderboard really just being arbitrary bullshit but not starting that way in my writing, and the not starting that way is most clear with Echo Squad.)

And, then, because I used Puerto Rico but haven’t seen anyone use any of the other inhabited US Territories in RvB before, I also put together the Quality Assurance Squad, aka the Counselor’s snitches among the non-agent personnel, the crew running the day-to-day of the Mother of Invention and, later, Freelancer Command.

This is Guam (CW2 Isabela Hernandez), American Samoa (CW2 Lee Michaels), US Virgin Islands (CW2 Ulysse Desrosiers), and Northern Mariana Islands (CW2 Erik Bergstrom). They’re not a part of the leaderboard and most people - including the other agents - don’t actually know they exist. They all report directly to the Counselor, but Samoa, Virgin, and Mariana also all report to Guam. Mostly, though, she’s only in charge of Quality Assurance as another one of the Counselor’s experiments, they’re all equally capable. Of all Freelancer personnel aside from the Director and Counselor, these four know the most of what’s going on - and they actually are encouraged to work together as a team - but they still don’t know everything.

Please feel free to send me asks about all these agents! They’re still very much in development, but I had a lot of fun with this project and got really excited and wanted to show everyone! ^_^

#rvb #project freelancer #freelancer ocs #rvb ocs

9 notes · View notes

driedgreentomatoes · 3 years

Text

Masterlist

I’ve been trying to write again for a long while now and while it’s coming very slowly, I might as well share what I already have.

Declassified: HR File_Daniels, J. (Whiskey) - ongoing Collab with @just-here-for-the-moment. One day we just decided what if this mustached yeehaw bitch had to face some consequences for his numerous shenanigans. So here’s our (hopefully funny) drabbles about the himbo:

File 01_Subject: Accounting Clerk

File 02_Subject: Agent Whiskey’s expense report, behavior

File 03_Subject: Agent Whiskey - report of inappropriate language

File 04_Subject: Accounting clerk Georgia S. resigned this morning

File 05_Subject: Kudos from Senator Tan

File 06_Subject: New Agent Vodka coming Monday to Kentucky HQ

File 07_Subject: Polaroids in the Ladies room

File 08: Subject_Distracting Vodka and inappropriate nicknames in the office

File 09_Subject: Minor issue on mission report, good job this Fall

File 10_Subject: Out sick Tues Dec 21

File 11_Subject: Statesman HQ 2010 Holiday Party

File 12_Subject: Wardrobe Department incident

File 13_Subject: Agent Whiskey’s behavior at the gun range

File 14_Subject: Venice mission this weekend

The Origin Story A salacious rumor about Jack? Say it ain’t so! Another rumor? This time at the gun range… Series tag list: Please use this Google Form signup if you want to be added to our tag list for this series only!

Thank you for reading!

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #kingsman fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #agent whiskey fanfiction

11 notes · View notes

thekentuckyhimbo · 2 years

Text

Hey Jealousy

Pairing: Orange CassidyxReader

Warnings: smut, 18+, explicit sex, relationship jealousy

Words: 1.9k

Complete: Yes

Summary:

You and Orange Cassidy have been fooling around for a while. But considering his usually apathetic demeanour, you hadn't expected him to get jealous when another wrestler flirted with you.

Author's Note:

The most embarrassing thing about this is that I felt inspired to write OC smut because I rewatched The Fish Video™

When MJF started flirting with you, you hadn't realised what he was doing at first. You were hanging out backstage in catering, waiting for Brandon to come and film your next bit for BTE.

The pandemic had been hard on all of you, and sometimes it felt like it had sucked the life out of the industry and the air out of the Daley's Place wrestling ring. But in such a young company and with so many motivated people, they'd managed to find positives in it.

The main positive that you saw was days and evenings like this. Spent milling about the backstage area of Daley's Place, sometimes vlogging, sometimes filming BTE, sometimes working out or practising moves on one another. Sometimes just talking and spending time with your fellow wrestlers while you avoided going back to your depressing quarantine hotel rooms.

That was how you'd ended up realising MJF wasn't such a bad guy after all, and how you'd ended up in bed with Orange Cassidy.

Speaking of Orange, he was watching your conversation with Max. Orange wasn't convinced about Max being a good guy, and despite his sunglasses you could feel the harsh way he was looking at Max, eyeing him closely from behind the silver lenses.

Max leaned in towards you then and said something under his breath with a wink. You didn't really hear what he said because suddenly you could feel blood rushing in your ears. Your ears always turned red when you were embarrassed, and immediately you thought of the way Orange would point it out in bed and nip under your earlobe.

You were embarrassed now because, thinking back on the conversation you were having and Max's body language, it should have been painfully obvious that he was trying to pick you up. You wouldn't even call it flirting at that point, he had a look in his eye that told you he was looking for a warm body in his bed tonight.

Your eyes flicked towards Orange and then back to Max as you processed Max's words. You could practically feel how cold Orange was across the six foot distance between where you stood and where he sat. Max was asking if you wanted to hang out once your scene for BTE was done, you realised.

"Um... Maybe," you said weakly.

Max's eyebrows knitted together and he looked icily at Orange and then back at you. Max began to say something and you were terrified of what it might be, but then Brandon was walking into the room and calling you over.

You laid in bed tossing and turning that night. It was 2AM and you'd been up since 5AM the previous morning. Exhaustion should have been hitting you by now, but you were up thinking about Orange instead.

He'd seemed so upset to see Max flirting with you. You figured it was just because Orange had wanted to hook up tonight, and had been disappointed that you might be busy with Max instead. For some reason that thought made you a little sad. Did you want something more than friends-with-benefits with Orange?

As if he could hear your thoughts, there was a small knock at the door. Orange always knocked quietly when he came to see you late into the night, knowing the surrounding rooms were filled with other wrestlers trying to sleep.

You got up quickly, not bothering to put on pants over your underwear and tank top. He'd seen you in plenty less anyway.

When you reached the door, you took a deep breath before you pulled it open. You couldn't pinpoint exactly why you were nervous, but you had a feeling Orange was going to be mad at you when you opened the door.

Finally, you bit the bullet and pulled the door open.

There was Orange, standing before you. No sunglasses, no double denim, hands clutched by his sides rather than in his pockets. He was wearing a worn old Chuck Taylor t-shirt, the one that looked like a whiskey label. And beneath that, a pair of worn grey sweatpants.

To be frank, he looked like shit. His spray tan had rubbed off of most of his face and neck, but was patchy and bright orange in some places. His eyes were red, and his usually perfect hair stuck up at all angles.

He took a step forward without saying anything, and you took a step back and to the side to get out of his way.

"What's wrong?" you asked, fearing the worst.

That someone might be hurt, that someone might have COVID. That maybe the pandemic was just too much and the whole company was folding. TK finally seeing business sense and cutting his losses.

Instead, Orange said:

"I didn't think you'd be here."

His voice cracked on the last syllable.

"It's 2AM. Where else would I be?" you asked dumbly.

"With Max," Orange snapped back immediately.

"I told Max 'no'," you replied truthfully.

You'd texted Max once you finished filming BTE with Brandon and told him you weren't interested in dating right now. Not the complete truth, but enough. He hadn't replied to you.

"Why?" Orange asked. His jaw was clenched like he was trying to be angry with you, but his voice still sounded hoarse and on the verge of tears. "It's not like we're dating," he muttered.

Orange looked down at his feet then - he was barefoot - and you felt your heart drop into your stomach.

You moved further back into the room and sat down on the bed, staring at your feet too. You dragged your toes through the carpet. You didn't want to reply until you were sure what to say.

Orange was playing tough, but you weren't stupid. He was hurt. You could hear it in his voice. And the rational part of your brain knew that the only reason he would be hurt was because he was jealous. Because you weren't dating, but he wanted you to be.

"Are you upset because I flirted with Max, or are you upset because we're not dating and you wish we were."

Your question seemed to suck all of the air out of the room, and you didn't dare look up at Orange to see what his face looked like.

You heard him cross the room towards you, and you felt yourself shake a little. You figured this would be the end of whatever this was, and it made your chest ache.

But then Orange's hand was under your chin, forcing your face up to look at him. His features were hard and unreadable, which scared you even more. But this position, sat on the edge of the bed while he stood over you, was intimately familiar. A wave of arousal washed over you, mingling with the fear you felt.

"I want you all to myself," he said confidently.

The crack in his voice was gone now and his hand felt like it was burning against your skin.

"I want that too," you croaked weakly.

Then Orange was all over you. He pushed you down onto the bed and covered your body with his. Instinctively you wrapped your legs around his waist and in seconds he was pushing your panties to the side and shoving his own sweatpants down to free his dick.

He pushed inside of you immediately and you bit back a cry, throwing your head back and wrapping your legs even tighter around him. Your ass arched off the bed and he held your hips so that you stayed off the bed, thrusting into you hard enough that it hurt.

"No one else gets to touch you like this," he growled, pulling you up towards him by your hair so that he could kiss you.

The kiss was gentler than you expected. He opened you up slow and sweet, licking the inside of your mouth. While he did he let your hips down so you were sitting on his lap, which freed up his hands to pull your tank top off over your head.

You clawed desperately at his shirt to take it off and he huffed out a laugh at how frantic you were, fingers slipping on the hem more than once before you finally got it off.

Once his shirt came off and you saw him smiling down fondly at you, you fell apart.

You kissed Orange desperately on the mouth and then he was thrusting into you again. You buried your face into the crook of Orange's neck and the way he was rocking into your body made you purr against him.

He was still chuckling at your antics, even as he wove a hand between your bodies and found your clit. He was an expert at making you cum after all the nights you'd spent together, and you felt yourself coming undone even more.

"I love you like this," he hummed into your hair, pressing a kiss there.

You must have misheard him, your brain going to mush as he rubbed his thumb in circles over your clit. You were already getting close, and your legs began to shake around his waist.

"I love you too," you replied breathlessly.

You froze when you realised what you'd said, but Orange just wrapped his free arm around you and kept pushing you closer towards your orgasm.

Orange laid you down gently onto your back as you got close and when he thrust as deep into you as he could go you couldn't help but cum, clawing at the sheets and throwing your head back as a strangled moan escaped your throat.

Orange didn't relent after that, rocking you through your orgasm until your hips squirmed underneath him. Then he laid his hand flat on your stomach and held you still, snapping his hips in a quick rhythm.

You knew him well enough to know when he was close now. His knees would get a little shaky and he wouldn't be able to help but let a stray moan or two out as all of his brainpower focused on maintaining his rhythmic thrusts.

Tonight he was staring right into your eyes, leaning over you like he was searching for something.

"Tell me you love me again," he dared, eyes not leaving yours.

"I love you," you gasped immediately.

"Oh shit," he replied appreciatively.

Normally Orange was quiet when he came, and you couldn't help but feel like you were being trusted with another side of him that you didn't usually get to see. Greedily, you wanted more. You wanted to hear all the noises he could make.

"I love you," you said again, chanting it now, "I love you, Orange."

When Orange finally came he bent his head and groaned long and low into the pillow beside your head. You rubbed his back through it as his hips stuttered and finally stilled above you.

Orange didn't move until he caught his breath, and when he did he turned his head to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

"I love you too," he said, as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

Neither of you said much after that, laying quietly beside each other in bed like you'd done a thousand times before. You were starting to wonder if you'd hallucinated the whole thing when Orange rolled towards you and draped one arm over your side, being your big spoon.

"I meant it," he said quietly, voice cracking like it had when he'd first walked through the door tonight.

You grabbed his arm with both of yours and tugged him closer to you, so that your whole bodies were flush against each other.

"Me too."

"So no more flirting with Max," he said with a laugh, smacking your ass playfully.

But when you turned your head and looked up at him he looked anything but playful. He looked ready for round two.

#orange cassidy x reader #orange cassidy imagine #orange cassidy #orange cassidy fanfic #orange cassidy fanfiction #kentucky himbo writes

122 notes · View notes

thekentuckyhimbo · 2 years

Text

Insatiable

Pairing: Jay White/OFC

Warnings: sexual references, implied sexual content, mentions of food and eating/hunger, swearing, physical violence

Words: 9k

Chapters: 7 Complete: Yes

Summary:

“What’s goin’ on with you, man?” Anderson asked, echoing Chris’s words from the previous week.

Jay shrugged. “Nothin’,” he replied coolly.

Anderson looked to Gallows for an answered, clearly not satisfied with Jay’s response.

“It’s a girl,” Gallows said matter-of-factly.

“Ahh,” Anderson nodded sagely.

Jay narrowed his eyes, looking between both of them. “There’s no girl,” he said flatly.

“Remember when I first met my wife,” Gallows told Anderson, pointedly ignoring Jay’s words. “I gained damn near thirty pounds.”

Anderson laughed at the apparent memory. Jay had no idea what either of them were talking about, if he were being honest.

“I haven’t gained any weight,” he protested. Admittedly, he hadn’t been on the scales in a while, but his abs were as defined as they’d ever been. That had to count for something.

“Man,” Anderson said, exasperated, “You could eat McDonald’s every meal of the day and you wouldn’t gain a pound.”

“That don’t mean you ain’t been eatin’ more,” Gallows added helpfully.

Jay thought about it. He had been hungry a lot lately. And he was contemplating his fifth slice of pie even as the Good Brothers called attention to his eating habits.

“I changed up my gym routine,” he said too quickly, wondering if the Good Brothers picked up on the waver he heard in his own voice.

“Sure you did,” Gallows replied with a smirk. The other man snatched the last slice of pie from in front of them before Jay could, letting out a low chuckle when Jay stared at the slice forlornly.

Anderson seemed to have picked up on Jay’s gaze as well, because he snorted.

“You’re down bad, huh man,” Anderson chuckled.

Notes:

Loosely follows current Bullet Club stuff, but don’t hold me to that

Chapter 1

Jay was hungry. It was a pang deep within his stomach that he'd felt creeping up on him since he got off his flight from Japan.

But his connecting flight left in ten minutes and this airport seemed to go on forever. Jay was walking briskly now, calves tight from hours spent cramped in an airline seat designed for a smaller body than his, his stomach growling in protest of yet more physical activity without a pitstop to refuel.

He pushed his bodily needs aside in his mind and disregarded them. Caught his reflection in a long window out onto the tarmac as he finally approached the gate for his flight. A couple more hours of rest on the flight, he thought, and then he could catch breakfast before the day's Impact tapings.

This was not to be, however, as the flight got delayed due to bad weather in their destination - Philadelphia. Jay texted the group chat to tell them he'll barely make it in time, while stuffing complimentary in-flight peanuts into his mouth. Disappointment and a string of frankly too many emojis from the Good Brothers followed, alongside a cool 'It is what it is, man' from Chris Bey.

By the time Jay got into the hotel in Philadelphia, he was on his way upstairs to throw down his bags while his fellow wrestlers were on their way downstairs to go to the arena. He flashed a tight smile at some of them on his way by.

Jay stuffed himself and his bag inside an elevator, the fluorescent lights harsh on his weary eyes. A woman stepped in after him, who Jay scanned up and down. She was wearing all black, t-shirt and jeans, a tattoo of some sort peaking out above her neckline, just below her hair.

Jay's stomach began to trouble him again then, and he remembered last night when he thought he'd have time to catch breakfast before the show. The woman got out on the same floor as him and Jay brushed past her. He was probably being a little rude, but to be fair he is in a hurry. He thought he heard something like her door clicking open as he opened his, but he didn't turn to look.

He frantically rushed to collect his things for the show, grateful he always packed prepared, and gave himself the momentary joy of a two minute shower so he didn't reek of aeroplane upholstery anymore.

By the time he was changed and slinging his duffle over his shoulder on the way out of his door, the woman from earlier was waiting for an elevator back down.

Jay felt calmed by the chocolate bar he snuck out of the bar fridge and this time gestured for her to enter the elevator first, flashing her a tight smile.

She stepped in and squeezed herself into the corner of the elevator, thigh against the handrail, doing her best to stay out of his way. He stood comfortably in the remaining space, wondering if he should apologise for earlier.

He thought better of it, reminding himself he's never going to see this woman again. Instead he slid his phone out of his back pocket and texted the group chat again.

What's the catering like? he asked, knowing the Good Brothers would know the answer by now.

I wouldn't bother if I was you, replied Doc with a green-faced emoji and several thumbs down.

Jay tilted his head back in defeat and stepped out of the elevator.

An hour later, Jay tilted his head back again, this time in an uncomfortable pleather seat as he waited for one of Impact's makeup girls to do his hair. He let his eyes fall shut for a precious moment but opened them a second later to the sound of a quiet tap on the table in front of him. A trestle table serving as a makeshift counter for makeup, spray tan, and a bunch of other "beauty" items he didn't recognise.

Sat before him was a fresh cup of coffee in a takeaway paper cup from catering. He assumed it was for the makeup girl, but in the mirror Jay could see that she was drinking hers. He assessed her for a moment before he decided to take the offered drink. Black t-shirt, black jeans, tattoo poking out above the neckline of her shirt.

Shit.

But Jay was tired, and the offered caffeine was too good not to take. Maybe she brought it as a peace offering because he'd scared her earlier, or maybe it was something she did for everyone. Either way, he'd take what he could get.

She didn't say much, but eventually offered her name gruffly.

"Winters," she said tersely, taking his hair in her hands and beginning to brush it.

There was something in her voice that hit Jay with a pang of familiarity. Something about her accent. She definitely wasn't American. But he was too busy lingering on the tone of her voice; she didn't sound impressed with him. And really, he couldn't blame her.

But his mind was already formulating excuses. He was in a hurry, his flight was delayed, he just came from halfway across the world. 'Surely you understand that this business is hard at the best of times,' he imagined saying to her.

But it was Winters who spoke first.

"Heard your flight got delayed," she queried, though her tone was still unimpressed.

Ah, there was the familiarity. She was Australian. She didn't sound like Tenille or The Iinspiration though; her accent was rougher and lower, like she was from the country. It reminded Jay of his own upbringing. A little slice of almost-home in the middle of a famed Philadelphia wrestling arena. Jay had spent so much of his adult life in wrestling arenas he sometimes forgot anything existed outside of it.

Despite her gruff demeanour her hands were remarkably gentle on his hair. He knew for a fact he hadn't brushed it in a week and yet he could hardly feel what she was doing as she detangled it.

Somewhere low in his belly he began to feel hunger creeping in again. The lifestyle of a New Japan wrestler didn't exactly leave much time to treat his body right, but usually Jay didn't feel quite this bad. Just a bad week, he figured.

"Don't they always," he said plainly, which seemed to kill all hope of a conversation.

Better this way, Jay reasoned, since his time would be better spent drinking his coffee anyway.

When he tasted it, he realised it was full of milk and sugar. Normally he would have protested, but he wasn't sure the girl who currently had a fistful of his hair in her hand would take kindly to it. Besides, if the way his stomach felt was any indication, he could use the calories.

Jay finished his coffee mere seconds before Winters finished his hair. He got up without saying much, leaving his coffee cup on the counter. He thought about thanking her for it, but by then hunger had once again settled in his stomach and he went blindly off in search of more crappy catering food.

Bullet Club's match that night went great - it really was his era - but something in Jay's body still felt off. Chris gave him a funny look after the match, when Jay declined their invitation to get dinner together. Jay just shrugged, ready to write it off as the rough travel day if any of them questioned it further.

But none of them said anything, and Jay ended up at a greasy restaurant a block down from the hotel, ordering enough food for three people. His stomach really wouldn't let up today.

Jay made his way slowly back to the hotel room and up the elevator yet again. He thought about Winters, wondering idly if that was a last name or a nickname.

As he fumbled around for his keycard, the 36 hours it had been since he'd last slept properly catching up with him, he heard a click behind him.

Had he remembered who he'd seen in this hallway earlier, he might have kept his back turned. But in his exhaustion he turned around, just in time to see blonde hair and an all-black outfit slip inside the door of the room opposite his.

Jay's stomach growled again and he shook his head clear of her.

Chapter 2

A quiet week was exactly what Jay needed. Nothing more than a few meet and greets, and plenty of time spent in his apartment were all he needed to forget about the chaos of the previous week. He'd home cooked nearly every meal he'd had all week, and every flight and uber had run seamlessly on time.

So when he got into the week's Impact tapings early he was buzzing. He floated on the balls of his feet, whistling lightly to himself as he wandered into a cafe near the hotel.

He got stuck behind a man who was being unreasonably specific about his breakfast order, but he didn't even mind. Jay's eyes flitted around the building, taking in its generic modern industrial furnishings. Jay often found a cafe's décor could tell you a lot about the quality of the food. From the exposed beams in the ceiling, to the naked Edison bulbs hanging down from them, he expected the food to be perfectly average.

Jay looked around, expecting to see faux brick wallpaper somewhere. The guy in front of him was taking an eternity, so Jay swivelled his head around to truly take in the surroundings. And yep, there on the wall behind him, the unconvincing texture of brick wallpaper.

After a moment Jay spotted a black silhouette against the faux brick. Black jeans, black t-shirt, blonde hair.

Jay snapped his head back towards the front of the line a little too quickly. She'd had her head in her phone, so thankfully she hadn't spotted him.

Just then, the man in front of him finally finished his order and Jay stepped to the front of the line. He made his order quick and painless, taking pity on the cashier. Ordering his coffee, he thought of Winters standing behind him.

"See the girl in all black behind me?" Jay asked the cashier quietly, leaning over the bench a little.

The cashier raised his eyebrows at him. "Yeah?"

"Shout her a coffee on me, will you," he said with the fakest smile he could muster. He suddenly felt like he needed to compensate for something, almost as though he could feel Winters' eyes on the back of his head.

Jay rounded the entire dining area with a casual swing in his step, pulling out his phone and pretending to read a text message. He kept his eyes down and looked around casually, ensuring he didn't meet Winters' eye.

He found a booth seat with his back against the faux brick and watched as Winters made her way through the line. On her feet she wore a pair of scuffed Chelsea boots that reminded Jay of his rural New Zealand upbringing. Her boots looked like they should be pulled on every morning by a sheep farmer. Though a little too young to truly appreciate the film, Jay had been asked many times about Crocodile Dundee since he had been working around Americans in Japan and the US. He was almost certain Paul Hogan had worn a pair of boots exactly the same in that film. He wondered if any Americans had ever pulled her up on it, and if she had any legitimate reason to own them beyond aesthetic. The irony of shoes designed for a farmer being on the feet of a makeup artist was not lost on Jay. He rolled his eyes at the thought.

Just as he did, Winters turned her head and locked eyes with him. She blinked at him a few times, her expression blank, before turning back to the cashier to pay for her food. To Jay’s surprise, when she was done she turned and walked straight over to sit down at the chair opposite his booth seat, cheap stainless steel table between them.

She made no move to say anything, perhaps waiting for him to mention the coffee. He didn’t, instead deciding to wait her out. Maybe it was childish, but honestly he wasn’t sure there was anything to say. She shouldn’t have sat with him to begin with, should have taken the coffee as a peace offering and moved on.

Thankfully their coffees arrived a moment later and they had an excuse not to speak to one another.

Jay was beginning to feel hunger creeping up in his stomach, so he busied himself by people watching over her head as they awaited their food. She really was at a convenient height for it. Jay was only 6’1, but Winters couldn’t have been more than 5’6 so he could easily see over her head. Directly behind her sat the man who had ordered in front of Jay. His food had already come out, and the way he was eating made Jay uncomfortable. A sandwich with a knife and fork, and as if that weren’t bad enough he was drinking both coffee and orange juice, as though the coffee was a shot and the orange juice was the chaser.

“She’s going to notice,” Winters said suddenly, preventing Jay from further judging the man.

“What?” Jay asked curtly. He had no idea what she was talking about. He wondered if she had even meant to say it out loud.

“The barista,” Winters replied, rolling her eyes, “If you keep staring at her like that you’re going to drill a hole in her skull.”

Jay puffed out a laugh at that. Of course that’s what she thought he was doing. Jay looked over behind the cafe counter, to see the barista Winters was talking about. She was pretty, Jay had to admit. Bright red hair, dark brown eyes, tight high waisted blue jeans that hugged her figure.

Jay wasn’t sure how to respond. Did he play into it? Winters already thought he was an asshole, and he supposed it wouldn’t hurt his heel reputation to pretend he was the type to try and flirt with his server.

Something about Winters’ unimpressed tone made him want to prove her wrong, though.

“No,” he said emphatically, leaning over so that the guy couldn’t hear them. “The guy behind you,” he corrected, “he’s drinking orange juice and coffee.”

Winters’ brows furrowed at him. “Maybe he wants orange juice and coffee,” she replied simply.

“No,” Jay muttered, “He’s alternating them.”

“What do you mean he’s alternating them?” she whispered back.

“Like, one sip of coffee, then one sip of orange juice.”

“Oh.” Winters wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

At that moment their food arrived, brought over by the pretty red-haired barista. Jay flashed her a tight smile and Winters offered her a thank you before they tucked into their food.

Jay watched the barista go, looking her up and down. From here her butt looked great in her jeans and he wondered if Winters was right, that he should be flirting with her.

“You people watch a lot?” Winters asked him casually.

Suddenly Jay was aware of the fact that he’d opened a window into his personal life for this woman. One of Impact’s makeup artists didn’t need insight into the inner workings of his mind.

“I don’t think that’s your business,” Jay snapped.

That seemed to kill her curiosity, because she looked down at her food and ate quickly. Jay felt guilty for a moment, but pushed the feeling away. He was the leader of Bullet Club, he was the Switchblade. He didn’t need to concern himself with the feelings of this girl. She shouldn’t have sat down with him. He should have told her when she did to move away. They weren’t colleagues, she was just someone who did his hair.

She finished her food before him, getting up immediately and leaving without a word. She didn’t even look him in the eye. Good, he thought to himself. She should be intimidated by him. All she took with her was her half-drunk coffee, the one he had - stupidly - paid for.

Jay made his way down to the arena at a leisurely pace. He told himself it was because he was running early today, because he didn’t rush for anyone. But a small voice inside his head told him it was to make sure there was a wide berth between Winters and himself.

When Jay arrived he bypassed the people he would usually greet on his way in, making a beeline for the nearest bathroom. Once there, he splashed his face with water from the sink and took a long look at his reflection.

He was slouching, so he stood up straighter, rolling his shoulders back. He was King Switch, he was the catalyst of professional wrestling. He was… an asshole. But he was the leader of Bullet Club, so he should be an asshole.

Chris Bey sought him out in the bathroom after a while. He caught Jay staring darkly at his own reflection. He was thinking about everything and nothing, emotions washing over him that he lacked the introspection to unpack. He pushed them all aside the moment he saw Chris, his friend grounding him in reality. The reality of the business that had taken over his life since he was a teenager. He thought of Winters and her stupid accent from a faraway place that had once been close to home for him. What was close to home now was this Philadelphia arena, the one in Kentucky, the ones all over Japan.

“What’s going on with you, man?” Chris asked.

Jay shook his head, eyeing the two of them side-by-side in the mirror. Despite having just eaten, Jay felt something like hunger rising in his stomach. It must have been his new workout routine; he was hungry all the time these days.

“Nothing,” Jay replied, watching as the King Switch mask melted back over his face, concealing his insecurities from view. “Wanna go check out catering?”

Chapter 3

A week later saw Jay in catering again, this time backstage at an AEW show. He wasn’t wrestling that night, but he was there to make the Bullet Club’s presence felt on television. Absent from the Bullet Club’s ranks tonight was Chris Bey, who Jay would have much preferred the company of. But he was still glad to have the Good Brothers around. AEW’s catering was much better than Impact’s, so for once Gallows and Anderson were in good moods.

Jay was on his third slice of pumpkin pie when some of the production crew began filtering into the catering room, alongside members of the roster who had their hair and makeup all done. It reminded Jay that he still needed to go and get his hair done.

For Impact tapings he’d started doing it himself just to avoid Winters. She hadn’t done anything to be worth avoiding, but she set something off inside of him that he didn’t like feeling. But doing it himself on this show wasn’t possible. The TBS cameras made it too obvious when you weren’t put together by a professional.

Jay watched the crew pour in, noticing they all wore black from head-to-toe. The production crew at Impact technically had the same dress code, but adhered to it a lot less rigidly. Except Winters. He’d never seen Winters wear anything colourful in the time he’d known her. Not even her makeup would have a pop of colour in it. Not that he was paying her any attention to how she looked when they ran across each other in the Impact halls.

He stuffed a fourth piece of pumpkin pie in his mouth absently.