❛            𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅    𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈            /            𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉    𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓            .ᐟ        an    independent    single    muse    roleplay    blog    for    jon    moxley    written    in    kayfabe    only    and    broken    loose    from    the    all    elite    wrestling    lore and thrown in every crime, horror, fantasy & other universe to come for you.    𝖇𝖗𝟒𝖜𝖑            ⸺            slayed    and    wrestled    by    𝐦𝐨𝐱𝐢    (    28,    they    /    them,    gmt+1    )    please    be    aware    that    triggering    topics    such    as    death,    violence,    gore,    smut    &    others    will    occur.    heavily affiliated with ; @godflcw &' @biiigtime / find my multi at ; @sickfcks

𝒂    𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒚    𝒊𝒏    ;                having    an    absent    father,    betrayal    by    trusted    ones,    loss    of    family,    being    brought    up    in    midst    violence,    a    chip    on    his    shoulder,    stubbornness,    bipolar    disorder,    adapting    toxic    behavior,    callous    and    cruel    hands,    scarred    skin,    loneliness,    body    dysmorphia,    fighting    to    survive,    growing    up    poor,    substance    abuse,    uphill    battles    

he   kicks   up   his   feet   on   a   chair   that’s   opposite   to   the   bench   he   sits   on.   kicks   up   his   feet   on   a   chair   in   a   locker   room   where   he   certainly   isn’t   welcome.   maybe   moxley   has   never   been   welcome   anywhere   in   his   life   before–   thrives   on   it.   knows   this   and   this   only.   ❛   nah.   ❜   he   chuckles,   hands   folded   on   his   stomach.   ❛   here   is   perfect.   ya   not   annoyed,   are   ya,   darlin’   ?   ❜

❛   oh   yeah   ?   ❜   the   vibration   of   laughter   in   his   chest   half   makes   the   bed   shake.   it   doesn’t   stop   him   from   going   for   the   blanket   again   …   regardless   of   having   his   own.   warmer   when   they   share,   right   ?   just   that   sharing   with   the   size   of   his   frame   is–   a   challenge.   he   knows   it.   crap,   he   is   painfully   aware   that   becky   keeps   tugging   on   the   blanket   because   she   is   just   as   cold   as   he   is   without   it.   what   had   started   as   an   accident   is   now   …   pure   provocation.   ❛   gonna   kick   me   out   of   here   and   then   what   ?   then   who’s   gonna   spoon   ya   ?   who’s   gonna   let   ya   put   your   cold   feet   on   their   legs   ?   ❜   and   as   he   speaks,   sits   up,   lifts   the   blanket   until   it   is   wrapped   around   his   back   and   he   can   roll   on   top   of   her,   now   wrapping   becky’s   body   with   his   own   and   with   the   blanket   ;         cold   tip   of   his   nose   nudging   hers,   hot   breath   of   laughter   kissing   her   chin.   ❛   who,   hm   ?   ❜

fingers   close   around   his   throat,   nails   digging   into   skin   and   …   he   can’t   even   find   himself   embarrassed   for   the   small   grin   it   causes   on   his   lips.   dimples   hidden   behind   the   thickness   of   his   beard   when   he   bares   his   neck   to   her   further–   excitement   flashing   in   his   eyes   regardless   of   a   lack   of   sexual   or   romantic   context.   there’s   anger   in   her   eyes.   anger   or   …   hate   ?   perhaps   both–   even   though   he’s   never   sure   what   for.   never   all   that   in   the   picture   of   what   headache   he   caused   today   and   why   he   hurt   feelings   with   words   and   actions.

not   that   it   matters   all   that   much   right   now.   

❛   do   it.   ❜   moxley   hisses   from   behind   his   smirk.   ❛   tighter–   if   ya   really   wanna   get   rid   of   me.   ❜   as   if   to   make   a   point,   both   his   hands   find   her   hips,   pull   her   closer   until   they   are   chest   to   chest–   the   blue   of   his   eyes   narrowing   to   glare   back   at   her.   ❛   tighter.   ❜   provocative   …   free   of   fear.   if   this   is   how   he   goes,   so   it   be.   

he   frowns   at   her   words.   not   because   of   the   sentiment,   not   because   he   can’t   appreciate   the   worry.   jon   frowns   because–   it   is   the   sole   expression   he   knows   to   wear   when   …   he   doesn’t   know   what   he   feels.   doesn’t   know   what   it   means,   what   that   itch   under   his   skin   is   caused   by,   why   the   tip   of   his   nose   burns   and   is   cold   at   once.   ❛   no   ?   ❜   a   question   loaded   with   the   heaviness   of   unsureness.   is   he   okay   ?   nah.   has   he   ever   been   ?   nope.   a   state   he   is   used   to   and   yet   …   overwhelmed   by   as   he   squeezes   eyes   shut   for   a   moment   ;         searching   for   a   clear   thought,   searching   for   thoughts   at   all.