#ambrosexreader

[greygirlmoxley]

A/N: Song inspiration here. I did a twist on the story in the song, and @alisharay83 may be the only person who recognizes the song. I used to listen to it on repeat though...his voice is so smooth. Hope you like it @lunatichuganomics!

Pairing: Dean Ambrose x Reader

Warning: Language

“Come on, papa!” You call out to your nephew as he makes his way down the slide once more then runs towards you until you’ve lifted his five-year-old frame; settling him on your hip, you adjust your lap top bag on your shoulder and sigh, “What you want for dinner, huh? Usual?”

When his big brown eyes grow, his teeth showing as his smile widens too, you nod firmly and get him away from the playground before he can set his Nikes to the ground again.

Luckily, you know just what to get for his spaghetti. Your little man is very particular from the sauce, to the noodle, to spice of the ground beef. Grabbing a car cart in the grocery store, you keep him occupied with fast walks and the promise of a Popsicle after dinner.

He had been in your “temporary” custody for almost a year, and you had become a mother without ever intending to do so…family was family. You took care of them first.

Standing in line, you start to dig in your purse at the loud vibration of your cell phone. You found it and saw his text.

Dinner tonight?

You swallow hard.

The ice is thin between you and Dean, but you want things to be solid. If you didn’t have your little buddy uprooting your entire life, pursuit of a relationship would have seemed far more possible. Yet, there you were at four-thirty in the afternoon. Ready to eat the meal you might puke upon first bite (redundancy didn’t work well for you) and knew not a babysitter you trusted would be available on such short notice.

Dean lived his life on short and abrupt notices, offering you time when he could and was in town. Your courtship played out primarily through cell phones (of which he hated), and your decline of his offer would surely feel like rejection.

“Auntie!”

Still as your nephew hops out of the car end of the cart and points to chocolate, you know you have no other decision. You shake your head no, signal for him to follow you to counter front of cashier; you begin to text back as your groceries are being checked out, releasing a disappointed sigh that you hope translates in text.

I can’t.

------

You finish tucking him into his Batman bedding and glance around your nephew’s busy room.

It used to be your office, a space devoted entirely to knocking out deals and beginning new projects. Now, that had all been stuffed to a corner of the living room, and it looked like you had never lived alone. You glance down at his figures which were a mixture of mutants, superheroes, and wrestlers; all of them around the room like little land mines – God bless your bare feet. Seeing Dean’s figurine, you pout your lip and wonder how the same thing that got you to meet him in the first place was also the reason you were putting up walls and growing distant.

You had met Dean during a meet and greet which your nephew had begged you for; it was instant. Dean included a number on the back of the photo, and you called the same night after attending the show. Since then, he stole time with you whenever he could…often dealing with your nephew’s hero worship as well.

You reach over to stroke your nephew’s dark hair, smiling as your heart swells with familiar certainty, and tell yourself that everything has to work out eventually. Twisting your ponytail into a bun, you return to the kitchen and busy yourself with the dinner’s mess.

Nearly all the dishes are done when you hear a soft knock on your front door; you hush your yapping dog and take a look through the peephole.

You see a whisp of his dark blonde hair before he leans back, grimacing as he tries to stretch his back; you look at your damp shirt from your careless washing and debate a quick change until he knocks again.

“You really gonna make me stand out here all night?”

His raspy groan makes you melt, fogs your mind, and you open the door, “What are you doing here, Dean?”

“Hello to you, too, darlin’.” With a wink to you, he grabs his bag and struts into your apartment with a soft pat to your behind.

You jump a little in surprise, chuckling sharp, and shut the door, quickly locking up; if he had showed up at your apartment, you would put obstacles in his way rather than readily letting him leave. As he falls into a seat on your sofa, you place his bag on one of the counter stools, “Do you need anything washed? Did you eat at the arena? Could I—”

“(Y/N),” His call causes you to stop rambling as he pats the space beside him, “Come on.”

You would gladly fall into his arms, question him about how much he was hating your half-ass five month back and forth, but you restrain yourself. Rubbing your biceps a little, you begin to explain, “I couldn’t get anyone to watch him today, and—he’s been a little wound up so…”

Dean’s head rolls towards you, resting it on the back of the couch, “Would you just sit with me already?”

Forcing a smile, thinking ‘shut up, (Y/N)’, you take a seat beside him and enjoy his fresh soapy scent. Apparently, he wanted to make an impression on you as much as you hated the one you were making upon him. You circle your arm around his waist, settling your head on his shoulder, and your eyes shut the second his lips place a tender kiss upon your forehead.

“I got him a present in my bag.” Dean bends forward with a groan, beginning to unlace his boots, “Figured I could give it to him tomorrow with breakfast.”

You can’t help but laugh, propping your elbow against the couch and staring at him, “I guess you forgot to book a hotel for the night, huh?”

A playful ‘sorry’ wince plays on his features before he gets to the second boot.

You bite your lip, making a quick decision, and stand on the couch; throwing one leg, you slide down into a space you create for yourself behind him. When his body scoots forward a little, your hands begin to work the knots out of his back and shoulders.

As you hear that blissful moan of approval, his body slumps (his boots now settled under the coffee table). Dean moves into your touch when you reach the thicker tension, feeling the pressure of your hands ease his body back to some sort of normalcy.

Tilting your head, you see his eyelids grow heavy; your hands lighten their touch as your puckered lips meet the back of his neck. Feathering your lips along his neck, you hear the growl that signals you have his full attention.

With a burst of laughter, you throw your limbs around him as his arms have hooked around your thighs and begin to carry you in a piggyback ride towards your room. You bury your face against his skin, passing your nephew and being as quiet as possible.

Thankfully, Dean made it a priority to shut and lock your door quietly before indulging you in the adult time you desperately needed.

[greygirlmoxley]

Some Girls Like Simple

Pairings: Dean Ambrose x Reader

Warning: Language

Some Girls Like Simple

This morning had been a complete panic, jumping into jeans and t-shirt. While you knew he would never take your daughter, it was alarming when you got not even a ‘fridge note’ about where they were going and why. Then, you remembered his talk with an old buddy yesterday. You remembered that fond tone in his voice about pre-WWE days, and you wanted to puke. Did you hate his indy days? Of course not, but the permanent scars on his body were a reminder of just how crazy those shows could be.

You were going to kill him. You had pieced the whole thing together, and you were going to nail his ass to the wall with your evidence. You wanted to know if he would really deny taking her to the venue - to see things you couldn’t imagine. You pace the hardwood floor of your living room, barefoot in hopes that your skin against the cool surface will calm you; it does not. It only echoes, reminding you how much you want to strangle him once he comes home. One of the few days you all have off, he makes a crazy decision like this. He takes your child, still distant from five-years-old, to an indy show.

You yank your phone off the coffee table and begin to dial his number again; you shut it off, tossing the phone aside, when you hear the front door open and excited whispers follow.

“Remember, don’t say anything to mommy or she’ll be sad that she didn’t get to go with us.”

“Go with you where?” You know exactly where, but you want him to cope to it before you beat the shit out of him.

“Hey!” Dean stands straight, offering you a sneaky grin, and blocks your daughter, “Babe, I didn’t know you were up. It’s still early, isn’t it?”

“It’s actually late afternoon, but thanks for assuming I keep the sleeping schedule of a lazy housecat.” You push past him, immediately kneeling down in front of your daughter; her Mediterranean sea blues wide and sparkling – in a way that makes you nervous. Faint stains of mustard near her mouth and juice soaked into her pout. She was perfectly fine, even as she glanced up at her dad to help find words. You force a smile forward, smoothing the top of the messy ponytail Dean had put in her hair, “I’m glad you had fun with whatever, sweetie. Could you do mommy a favor? Head up to the bathroom, grab a baby wipe, and see if you can get your hands and face real clean.”

“Can daddy help me?”

“Oh no, baby,” You glare up at Dean, making your intentions clear, “Mommy and daddy have something really important to talk about.” You patted her shoulder as you got back up, “Go on.”

“Thank you, daddy!”

She hugs his legs once, tight, and races upstairs to do as told. Once she disappears around the corner, you grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him into the living room.

“I thought you’d be happy. I gave you a day off!”

“I’m only going to ask you once, and GOD so help me if you lie.” Your tone made it clear that he should panic, but he was cool as he removed his jacket and tossed it to the couch, “Where’d you take her?”

“I don’t know. You seem to be tracking my moves so let me know what you think.” Dean’s irritation adds fuel to your fire; as you cross your arms and tighten your jaw, he releases a heavy sigh, “It was a one time deal, (Y/N).”

“What the hell were you thinking!” You keep your voice down to an excited whisper, aware of the nosy child upstairs, “She is a baby, Dean!”

“She’s not a baby. She’s got more sense than half the people I work with.” His sarcasm causes you to shake your head; he sits, taking a moment rub his hands together, “Why don’t you ask me if she had fun? If she laughed or got scared? What about that, huh?”

“Of course she loved it, she was with you!” You unfold your arms, knowing you are being slightly overprotective; you can’t help it though, “She thinks you control the moon and sun.”

“That’s funny ‘cause that’s how I look at her.” Dean waits for you to turn towards him and extends a hand, “Come here.”

You hate the command especially as it leaves his beautiful mouth; he has the power to bring you down in seconds – something you love and hate him for. You do as he commands, placing your hand in his and following his tug. Sitting in his lap, you shut your eyes when he bumps his forehead against yours, the two of you remaining in that space.

“She’s our kid, (Y/N). She’s tough. She’s not glass…she won’t break.”

“I know that. I just…” You can’t tell him about the panic. How your stomach revolts when you think about your own child experiencing any of the past that you or Dean have lived with. You lift your hands up to his face, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs, and push yourself to be honest, “I worry about the things she sees and hears. As fucked up as it sounds, I don’t want her to be like us.”

“I don’t want her to either.” He pulls back just a little, tunneling his stare into yours and stroking your back, “But she didn’t see or hear anything she hasn’t heard here or on the show. I took good care of her, Mama.”

His last word is accompanied with a playful pat of your backside, and you try to hide your smile, “I’m sorry for jumping down your throat, but I started to think about your scars and I—”

“I’m pretty proud of those.”

“I know and, don’t get me wrong, they’re kinda hot on you.” Your confession causes him to wiggle his eyebrows, “But I just want to keep her away from scars a little longer—metaphorically speaking.”

“Say no more, we will not go to another indy show until she’s ten.” You punch his shoulder, relieved when he laughs. Fixated on your uncertainty, he lightly shakes your position, “You trust me, right?”

“…with our lives.” You give in when his lips catch yours, tender and attentive; yet when he tries to deepen the joining, you cease all contact and leave his lap, “I have to go check on her.”

Dean becomes flustered, “What, wait, can’t you punish me or something? She can nap.”

“Nope, you’re going to have a little bit before you get any kind of show of your own.” You wink and saunter out of the room, well aware the conversation was over; but your anger would have an outlet much later.

[greygirlmoxley]

See, My Sun Won’t Shine

Pairings: Dean Ambrose x Reader

Warning: Language

See, My Sun Won’t Shine

“(Y/N), you are not seriously considering what that crazy bat said!”

You ignored your friend’s words, stomping towards your car with your bag of crystals and books. All you could hear was the reader tell you, ‘It will end horribly. Just as it has in the past. You two are drawn to each other, but you are not meant to mix. It will lead to tragic ends.’

“(Y/N), I know you hear me!” Your best friend steps in front of you just as you are about open the driver’s door, “Okay, let me drive, while you try to breathe.”

You let her guide you to the passenger’s side, breathing in and out as though you are in Lamaze class. You drop into the seat, repeating the words mentally like a mantra. You’re going to lose him, and it’s going to be painful.

“You have to consider the source.”

“You’re going to tell me you didn’t feel her energy at all? That I’m hallucinating that we both got the chills walking by her!” There, you snap, and it feels good. It feels like a small release amidst an oncoming storm, “That’s right, we both felt it!”

“You’re nuts!” She presses the gas, thinking aloud, “I should’ve never agreed to go with you. Dean’s going to kill both of us.”

————————————————————-

You allow her to believe she’s calmed you down when she essentially drops herself off and gives you control of the wheel again. The truth is you just need silence, and you have to heavily consider the news you’ve received.

Dean understood the urge to know things outside of your control and knowledge, would readily listen as you discussed anything supernatural. There was no way to tell how he would react to this news.

You cell phone pings again, and you know it has to be him. You have not been able to move; you parked in this lot hours ago – it was deserted now. You swallow hard, reaching for your phone, and your screen informs you of three missed calls and twice that amount of text messages. You unlock the screen to see Dean’s last message to you.

Are you not coming home?

Not back, not here, but home – he knows you feel at home with him. You rub a hand over your face, starting the car and heading towards the apartment. You have no idea what you’re going to say; how do you break this kind of news?

When you’re aligned in your designated spot, you shut down the car and yourself. Maybe a day to process would be better.

————————————————————-

“No, man, I’m telling you she hasn’t called or anything. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.“

You wince at his words, knowing he has to be talking to Roman as you try to shut the door with no sound; you know it’s impossible to escape when his elevated voice announces, “Never mind, she just walked in.”

You set your clutch and keys on the table, moving towards the bedroom.

“(Y/N), what the hell!” Dean is on your heels, preventing you from crossing the threshold; his hand roots itself to the door frame, forcing you to either stare into his eyes or at his bicep. Either one is going to kill you, “Why didn’t you answer me? You were supposed to be gone a couple hours tops. It’s almost midnight.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” You maintain an even tone and meet his eyes with your own, blank as you can possible be, “I just had some stuff to get done.”

“That’s it? That’s all the explanation I get?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

You attempt to duck under his arm, only to have his hands lock onto your hips and force your body into the space of the door frame. Whether you want to or not, he is going to press this issue.

“Tough.” Dean stands inches away, a hint of anxiety in his darkened stare, “You’re going to talk to me now. Not tomorrow, not at the end of the week, not any second but now.”

“It’s stupid, okay!” He isn’t sure what you mean until you tug on your evil eye bracelet, “This! All of this stupid!”

“You love that shit. We both do.”

“Yeah, well not after today…”

“Why? What happened?”

“I got a reading today when we were at the stupid fair today.” You throw your head back against the frame, now needing to avoid his eyes, “And I can feel in my heart that it was accurate, but I didn’t—don’t want to believe a word of it.”

“Okay,” Dean stars to caress your arms, moving his fingers soothingly along your skin, “What was said that was so accurate?”

You can barely say the words as they are backed by bile; you swallow hard before whispering, “We aren’t supposed to be together.”

His eyes struck yours, nearly knocking you over with the hurt you saw – a similar reaction to your own. Dean stops his touch, backs up to the opposite side of the frame, and begins the nervous habit of tapping his collarbone.

You decide to continue, pinching your hands together, “She said this wasn’t our first go round. When we’ve met in past lives, we couldn’t stay away from each other. That we would always end up in some tragic situation. She said it would never work because our attraction doesn’t change the fact that we shouldn’t mix together.”

“And you believed her?”

You both did. Why would he act so surprised? You take a deep breath, “Dean, think about it. We’re great in the bedroom. That is phenomenal. But besides that? This interest in things beyond us is the only possible thing we have in common. We don’t like the same music. You hate my television shows, and I hate your movies. We argue whenever we feel like it, with little resolution outside of sex. We’ve never discussed marriage or children despite being together for almost two years. Her words make sense!”

Dean shakes his head, tucking his arms behind his neck, “I hear the things we do wrong, not hearing you say one thing we do right besides sex.”

‘’That’s part of the issue.”

“What about what we do for each other?” He invades your space again, his arms slithering along the walls on either side of you and creating another barrier to trap you, “You make me think before acting. I make you take chances. You make me laugh when I wanna punch a hole in the wall, and I make you feel safe.”

You can’t resist the urge to give him a sad, thoughtful smile.

“I get why you got scared by her. I might have been too. But it wouldn’t have lasted.” Dean takes your hands and rests them against his chest, crouching slightly and forcing you to become hypnotized by his gaze, “This lets me know that we’re beyond anything that anyone could ever tell us. No one else could be mine, not like this, and I could never belong elsewhere.’‘

“We are a ticking time bomb.” You poke at him, slightly relieved and still stressed, “Just waiting to blow everything up around us.”

“I like explosions, baby.”

Dean’s smirk erases everything but your love for him; as he backs towards the bed, somewhat dancing, you follow. If there was one thing true about the reading, it was that you would never willingly walk away from him. You would always have to play it to the very end in hopes that this time you two would get it right.

[greygirlmoxley]

Everything’s On Me

A/N: I loved this idea! I hope you like the outcome!

Pairing: Dean Ambrose x Reader

Warning: Language

Everything’s on Me

“We’re about an hour away.”

Your announcement only amplifies your anxiety about the trip; not only did you have to worry about Thanksgiving with your nosy family, but your cousin planned to announce her pregnancy during the weekend from hell.

“It can’t be that bad.” Dean keeps his eyes on the road, well aware you are giving him a death stare, “It’s two days, (Y/N). Everything will be fine by the time we leave.”

You yank down the visor, continuing to check your image in the mirror, “The fact that I have to ask you, not only a friend but a co-worker, to pretend to be my boyfriend as everyone goes nuts this weekend should tell you something. And, trust me, they will interrogate you during the holiday hideaway from hell. You will probably ask me for a large a sum of money in return for your generous donation of time.”

Dean leans back in his chair, eyes still focused on the empty road, “Okay, so let’s get our stories straight. How long have we been dating?”

You slap the visor up, blowing out a breath, “Let’s keep it small. That way they won’t ask too many ‘history’ questions of us. Like funny couple stories that neither of us would be good lying about.”

“You think I can’t lie?”

“Not well. I’m already worried about how this is going to go without them seeing through your adorable dimples.”

He flashes them in response, glancing over at you, “You think they’re adorable, huh?”

“Shut up, and pay attention.” You tap your hands on your knees, “We met at work, and things progressed naturally. We only started dating a few weeks ago. Since it’s so new, I could probably get the questions to you cut in half.”

“Wait, wait, you know what else this means, right?” Dean’s question causes you to shake your head and shrug, “We have to be into each other. Hand holding, stupid jokes, a bunch of crap that newbies have to pretend to do…”

“Oh, you mean like each other?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, just do your best to be attracted to me, Deano.” Your comment caused him to narrow his eyes at you before they return to the road, “We can make it work.”

“Okay, so since we have time, let’s talk about our hypothetical relationship.” He scratches his chin with one hand, steering with the other, before setting it on the arm rest, “What kind of girlfriend are you?”

“An amazing one obviously.” You laugh at yourself, suddenly self-conscious. Thinking back to the last relationship you had, you tried to focus on the beautiful beginning and not the disastrous ending. You hang your head a little, beginning to think aloud, “I like to cook for you, and you love it. I care about how your day’s gone, and I’m as happy about your success as I would be for mine. I hate to admit it, but I love it when you let me do things for you.” You fail to notice how quiet the car is as you voice your ideals, “I love it when you hold me at night and kiss me in the morning. Stuff like that.”

Dean waits for you to be silent for a moment, your eyes wandering out the window, before asking, “And what kind of boyfriend am I?”

You grin, resting your head against the seat and rolling it in his direction, surprised to see his stare awaiting you, “Aren’t you supposed to answer that?”

“I’m curious what you think.”

“Okay, basing this solely on our friendship,” You chew your lip for a minute, considering the ways he already makes your life better, “I think you would make it your job to make me laugh when the world was getting on my last damn nerve. You’d hate being affectionate in front of everyone, but you’d love it when it was just the two of us. You’d tell me how you felt about everything, even it might hurt me, and I’d appreciate your honesty. You’d make sure I knew I had someone watching my back at all times.” When you see a crooked grin emerge on his lips, you look away – bothered by the slight twitch of your heart, “Stuff like that.”

He licks his lips, voicing his own thoughts, “So what kind of couple are we?”

“…the epic kind.” You conclude, the two of you smiling your way to silence.

—————————————-

When you get to the large cabin, the place rented out by your cousin’s new in-laws, you feel more intimidated than ever. Dean gathers your two bags, one slung over his shoulder and wheeling the other, and uses a free hand to take yours. You thank him with a squeeze of your fingers and lead him into the weekend of people in his business.

Dean claimed it was fine, mainly because he assumed the food would be better at your family’s place rather than in his fridge. Crossing the threshold, you are bombarded with hugs and awkward kisses – consistently announcing Dean as your man as you work the room. When he asks who’s who, you have to admit you don’t even recognize half of them. The headache is building from the back of your head forward, until your cousin offers to show you two to your guest room. You jump on the opportunity, relieved when you two find you are at the end of the hall on the first floor. You two are away from most of the family, as they’ve got huge rooms upstairs.

The room is a little small, mainly because of the huge bed, and you thank God that Dean’s a simple man; he just needs a spot to sleep, a full belly, and he’ll be fine. You wait for your cousin to disappear, her eyes lingering a little too much over Dean’s frame, and your shoulders slump in relief when she leaves the two of you alone.

Dean puts your things down, falling back onto the bed and bouncing up; you follow his lead, occupying the space beside him, and you can’t help yourself, “Have I told you how much I appreciate you doing this?”

“Yeah, you can stop now.”

—————————————-

You did not dream last night, exhausted after a blur of a dinner and the long car ride. As you hear the low rumble of people waking up and filling the downstairs, you become aware that you’ve made it through the first day.

Smiling to yourself, you adjust a little in your space and feel a heavy weight around your waist. You open your eyes halfway, looking down to see his arm curled around you, and roll over with caution. He’s still asleep and his warm breath grows a little heavier at your movement. You have seen him like this before, but it’s different when it’s right beside you – not accidently on your couch. You hate yourself for staring but can’t help it. He looks so damn at peace that you’re jealous, and you vaguely wonder when he had gotten this close last night.

He had handled everything perfectly yesterday, questions with ease despite his private nature. It was doubtful that you could ever repay him for his work this weekend, for saving your sanity and from embarrassment among all the fools of your family. You are racking your brain, trying to figure out what kind of huge gift you can get him as a thank you. You draw a blank.

Dean intakes a deep breath, slowly blinking his blue eyes open, and seems pleased to find you staring back at him. You open your mouth to say something, but the knock at your door interrupts your thought process.

Apparently, it doesn’t do the same for Dean as his lips are immediately pressed to yours; you react without thinking and hear the door creak open.

“I’m so sorry!” She’s not. Your cousin is one of the nosiest people in the world, and you know she was hoping to see more, “Um…we’re getting breakfast together whenever you two are ready…take your time with—whatever.”

Once you hear the door snap shut again, you tear your lips away from his and stifle a laugh, whispering, “That was perfect! She’s going to go flap her gums!” You are distracted until you feel his hand reach up to your cheek, his fingers somewhat tangling in your hair. Facing him again, you lose all sense of humor as you note his look. Curious, you lay your head on your pillow, “What’s wrong?”

Dean continues to stroke your wild strands, sighing, “Nothing, I was just…thinking about what you said yesterday.”

“What about it?”

“Maybe there’s some truth to it.” He moves his fingers down to your shoulder, massaging your muscle, “Maybe we would be good together.”

“Dean, don’t get confused by my bulldozing family.” You had thought about it too after watching him interact with them. The way he smiled some things off, honestly answered other questions, and the warmth of his hand in yours or his arm around you…it felt better than you wanted to admit. But the last thing you wanted was to push your good friend into some bullshit, “We have less than twenty-four hours to deal with them.”

“You haven’t thought about it?”

You gaze into his eyes again, too hypnotized to lie, “…I’ve thought about it.”

“And?”

“That line gets crossed…you can’t uncross it.”

“I’m aware.”

“And?”

His lips are on yours again, his arms holding you tight against him, and your senses completely dissipate. Your arms slide around his neck, your mouth welcoming his. You somewhat laugh in your throat when he hunches a little over you, pinning you to the mattress, and you realize this weekend was exactly what you needed, despite the pain in the ass it originally seemed to be.

[greygirlmoxley]

Testing Waters - One Shot (theshieldimaginerequest)

A/N: This is the fulfillment of an @theshieldimagine​ request. Please visit and enjoy their blog (where I’m one of the writing staff). Support fanfic!

Warnings: Language

Pairing: Dean Ambrose & Reader

Title: Testing Waters

Weeks later, you still can’t get him off your mind; clumsy kisses faintly laced with alcohol and grabby hands before you see him leaving, your vision still fogged by your inebriated state. You had no courage to speak to him, avoiding him. If he had snuck out in the early morning, Dean must have wanted to avoid conversation about this.

That was somewhat fine with you. You didn’t want to be known as the diva for a one night stand; you were embarrassed enough as is because women like Naomi made a point of telling you how shameless you were in your flirting that night. It was not becoming of a diva that had recently made the jump to the main roster, so you took it as a sign to work harder.

You were first to the local gym, first to the arena, and always meeting with other divas to go over ring performances. The mistake with Dean Ambrose may have made you a better wrestler, as much as you may hate to admit it. If you happened to pass him, you kept it casual and offered a polite smile, moving your feet a little faster in the opposite direction.

You wandered into the stands to take in the arena layout; headphones blaring as you mentally planned your entrance and went over the match in your mind on repeat. It is then when you feel a hand lightly squeezing your shoulder, causing you to yank your headphones back and shoot your eyes over your shoulder. When he gives a small nod, wearing a tiny smirk, you roll your eyes and lean back in your seat, “What’s up, Reigns?”

“How very formal of you, (Y/N)?” Roman leans forward, propping his arms on the back of the chair right beside you, “You good?”

You take a minute then nod, “Yeah. Why?”

“Nothing, I just—got the idea that maybe you had something going on.” He waits, gazing at you expectantly, only to have you shrug your shoulders and return your eyes to the ring, “All right, let me try a different approach here. You got someone waiting for you back home?”

“What?” You know there’s no way he’s asking for himself, not with his beautiful family at home. Narrowing your eyes, you cross your arms and tilt your head, “Who’s asking?”

“Me.”

It hits you. Now, you know the looks aren’t in your head. Dean’s been watching you since that night, but he’s done nothing to get a clear answer for himself; he’s done nothing to make you believe it will ever be anything more than that one night. You stand to your feet, giving Roman your best glare as he winces in a way that says ‘oh, crap’ without you say a word, “If you have a friend who has a question for me? Have him find his balls and talk to me himself.”

Ignoring his breathy call after you, slightly amused, you pull your headphones back on and look for a corner you could hide in backstage. You are so pissed that you nearly punch a wall, but instead find a nook blocked by a black curtain and lean back against the wall, head against the brick as you force deep breaths. You just need the edge to go away before the show begins.

Breaths almost even, you feel a hand clasp yours and a rough thumb over caress your knuckles; it’s him. It’s Dean. You know it without opening your eyes and swallow hard, “You haven’t talked to me in weeks. Sure it’s safe to just grab my hand?”

His free hand eases your headphones off your ears before his graveled tone interrupts the still air, “Thought I’d take a shot since I found my balls and all.”

You smile in spite of yourself, opening your eyes and leaving your hand within his, “What are you doing, Dean?”

“Possibly making myself look like an even bigger asshole than I already have.” Dean’s comment caused you to frown, as he draws a deep breath inward, “Is it too late to start over?”

You want to ask him if your night was that bad together, but instead just take your hand out of his and try to melt further into the wall. This action speaks volumes as you look away from him and try to think of a witty escape.

When his hands slide onto the curves of your hips, his body centimeters away, your eyes can’t help but drift upward into his, the steel shade causing your heart to pound out of control.

“I’m screwing this up. I’m sorry…I’m still kicking my own ass for walking out.”

“You are?”

He must have spotted the hope in your stare, a crooked smile curling the corner of his mouth, “Yeah…I just—I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable about—”

“I was more uncomfortable waking up alone.” You hate that you’ve admitted it, but you’re ecstatic that he gives the small tilt of his head which signals he shares your sentiment. Brave, you cover his hands (still on your hips) with your own and curl your fingers around them, “I’d be happy to start over if it meant you stop walking away.”

“From now on, I can promise I ain’t walking anywhere but to you, (Y/N).”

[greygirlmoxley]

Requested by: @comeonerleen

Song Inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bQbxaLa2Qo

Warning: Language

“You don’t want to stay tonight?”

You have to laugh at the way he asks you questions; you roll onto your side, propping your head up - your elbow planted in your pillow, “If you want me to stay, you could just ask me.

“Yeah, but that would be like admitting I like you and shit.” Dean laughs loudly as you bite his shoulder with a playful growl, “Ow…”

You hug his bed sheet tighter to your chest, gasping sarcastically, “God forbid you have to admit you like the girl you’ve been sleeping with for—”  Counting mentally, you are completely thrown off guard when he rolls and throws his arm over you, kissing at your throat, “Just say you want me to stay, you stubborn jackass.”

“Maybe I want you to stay.” He maneuvers himself back on top of you, smirking as your legs encase him, “Maybe I’ll make it so you can’t leave…” Drifting his mouth along your collarbone, he adds a promise that makes you shiver, “...can’t walk.”

-----------

“She thinks it’s a good idea to date a wrestler. You know the ones who are all over, doing whatever, before banging the hometown lay.”

You try ignore the sting of his words, a friend of a friend who was no friend of yours. When your friend moves to smack his shoulder, you try not cringe at his look towards her when you cell phone rings. When you see Dean’s name, your heart is instantly a little healed – more than a week, and you were anxiously awaiting a visit from him, “You in town yet?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way to your place. Meet you there in—” He’s cut off by the jackass getting into your friend’s face and grabbing her.

“Hey!” You drop your phone and close the distance, pushing him off her, “What the hell are you doing, man!”

He smells of cheap beer as he closes in on you, “Oh, I see someone else needs a good spanking.”

“Back the fuck up!” You roar as loud as you can, wanting to gain some attention and planning your attack; when a stranger steps in, the two men start exchanging blows so near your face that you scream and push them both with all your might. You friend pulls you over to her, somewhat fascinated by the bar fight that has now received the attention from a bartender and cook.

When things finally settle down, you grab your phone again to see your call was ended. Texting as fast as you can, you hope he checks his phone long enough to see, I’m okay. Stupid fight. I’m on my way home. I can be there in ten minutes.

-----------

You pace your living room, praying he reads your text message rather than seek you at some your local spots; you don’t need him reacting to something so minimal.

When you hear the loud pounding on your door, you rush to the door and swing it open, “Dean, did you get—”

Dean comes into the house, slamming the door shut, and immediately examines you, “I have to know if someone put their hands on you, and I need you to take me to find them.”

“It wasn’t like that I swear. It was—pointless.” You wrap your hands around his wrists as he brushes your hair behind your shoulders, “Someone said something stupid, got handsy, then got their ass kicked by someone else. It was fine.”

Gently cupping the curve of your neck on either side, his eyes suddenly drill holes into yours, “I’ve never heard you scream like that.” 

“I—it—they were just close…I was surprised more than anything.” You kiss his palm, moving his hands down and around you, “I didn’t mean to scare you, Dean. I—that usually doesn’t happen, but – of course – because we might be getting serious…it happened.”

“I don’t want to hear that again.” He walks with you in his arms, him stepping forward as you step backwards – trying to hide your smile, “I need you to take better care of yourself, (Y/N).”

“Just can’t admit you like me, can you?”

“I don’t like you. You piss me off more than any woman I’ve ever met.” The two of you fall onto your bed, you slightly deflated as he begins to stroke your hair, “It’s probably the reason I’m in love with you.”

You weren’t even trying, and he had sent you soaring with the admission. Part of you wants to ask him a thousand questions, tell him how much it means, but you know better. Pulling him into a kiss, you know that Dean appreciates more show than tell.

[greygirlmoxley]

Requested by: @thelookingglassalice

Song Inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vP2fBgxOpCs

Warning: Language

You have never felt this way before, but you do about him; the kind of man you’d be willing to do just about anything to get.

He lives on the level below you, quiet and unassuming. You’ve seen him just enough to know his days off are erratic, and he works a night shift. The only time you hear noise from his apartment is when you hear the arguments between him and his girlfriend. She doesn’t live with him, but she may as well with how often she imposes herself upon him.

You shake the feeling off as you descend the stairs again and head off for your morning run; this guy cannot always be on your mind when you’re home. Maybe you should move, maybe get a second job, anything but sit there with the knowledge that he’s right downstairs.

You manage to get a couple of bags of groceries from the corner market on your way back to the apartment. You have nearly made it upstairs, when the bottom of one of the bags begins to rip, “Shit!” You try to juggle your groceries, looking to see a few of your apples tumbling down the stairs, “Really?”

“I got it.” He husks, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing the fallen fruit; when he looks up, his light blue eyes nearly knock you over, “I can take one of those for you.”

“No, I got it.”

“Oh, you’re one of those females?”

You are temporarily released from your daze, snapping, “What kind of females?”

“Yeah, what I thought.” The corner of his mouth curls as he takes one of your bags, “Lead the way.”

Still irritated by his comment, you narrow your eyes and head upstairs. You get your apartment open, stepping in with the full expectation that he’ll follow and you’ll be stuck with that fantasy for weeks. When he doesn’t, you look back over your shoulder and narrow your eyes, “Don’t worry, I’m also the kind of woman that can kick your ass if necessary.”

His smile is so deep now that his dimples (which you’ve never had the pleasure of seeing before) are on full display; he enters your apartment follows you to the counter, setting your bag down.

You notice his look around your sparse apartment, unloading your groceries, “What?”

“Nothing, I just thought this spot would be more—artsy or something.”

Shit, did he just admit he’s thought about your apartment? About what you do? You let out a sharp laugh, putting some things in the fridge, “What do you mean?”

“I mean I always hear music and movement up here so I just kinda thought…” He sees your amused expression towards him and stops, “Nevermind. Guess I really have no clue what you’re doing.”

“You could always just ask.” His eyes are on you, intrigued, so you flirt without shame, “I’m an open book. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

He leans on the counter, arms crossed, “Okay, what’s with the music all the time?”

“I tend to listen to music to get out of my head.” You lean on the counter right next to him, looking over into his eyes, “It’s a dangerous place to be.”

“Hmph.” He dismisses your sentiment, “You dancing around with your music, too?”

“Who doesn’t?” You use every ounce of strength to keep your senses about you and avoid shivering at his smirk, “You don’t dance?”

“Not in a way anyone approves of.” He tilts his head side to side, slightly bumping your elbow with his, “Maybe I need a teacher. You give lessons, Ms…?”

“(Y/N),” You stand straight, extending your hand, “and maybe, Mr…”

He shakes your head, announcing the name you’ll never forget, “Dean.”

[greygirlmoxley]

Requested by: @jadedtinks​

Song Inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgFiWGIVP6s

Warning: Language

You shut eyes behind your shades, hands out the window and grabbing at the passing wind, as his hand stays parked on your thigh. While he left his adrenaline music loud in the car, you had your own smooth beat streaming out of your earbuds, as you enjoy the early Nevada morning.

Dean had urged you to come with him a few times; today, you thought what the hell - anything to see your shirtless man sweat anyway.

When he finally pulls off the road, drives into the desert, and shuts the car off, you are immediately out of the car to stretch. There’s no way you are going to pull a muscle in the midst of kicking his ass during a workout. You lean down to touch your toes only to have him lay down in the dirt and stare up at you; yanking an earbud out, you can’t help but laugh, “New stretch for you?”

“Just waiting for you to be ready.”

“Where we running?”

“There.” His smart ass points towards the horizon as you come to a straight stand again, “You game?”

“Yeah,” You pull your white over shirt off, standing before him in black shorts and matching sports bra, “Call time and let’s go.”

Dean feels a little over dressed, immediately pulling his t-shirt off and tossing it into the car, “Let’s go.”

You sprint before he can finish his command, plugging back in on your way off, and ignore his calls after you, too amused by his irritation.

---------------------

When you make it back to the car, you down a bottle of water after tossing him one. Damn, Dean is hot – figuratively and literally – as he drinks the water so quick some mixes with the sweat on his skin and cascades on down. You reach into the small cooler you packed, grabbing a couple an ice cubes, and turn away from him.

You and Dean are an item in the early stages; there is still plenty of courtship that has to take place. Yet it’s there all the time, the desire to skip to the next part and claim him in the way that really counts, mark your territory. You bring the ice cubes to the back of your neck and lean against his car, focusing on making your breath even.

His finger curls around the cord of your earbud, removing it from your ear, as he heaves a breath, “Guess you win, huh?”

Your adrenaline is on high and another glance towards him; the sun hitting the blue of his eyes as he aims his crooked grin towards you. You lean over to kiss the corner of his mouth, pleased when he uses it as an opportunity to grab the back of your neck and give you the type of kiss worthy of an appreciative moan.

Your body is pressed to his, imagining what it will finally be like with him as his moist body comes against yours; you pull away, his fingers dig a little into your back as you do so, “As great as car sex sounds after a workout, it could be pretty disappointing.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“You’d really have our first time be like that?” Part of you is excited at the prospect, but the larger part of you knows that you want every ‘first’ with him has to be perfect; you are pretty damn certain he was last your someone, and you want every memory to be worth bragging about years from now. But you weren’t about to tell him any of this.

His hands move to your hair, slightly squeezing a fistful, as he concedes with a groan, forehead pressed to yours, “No.”

You pout your lip sympathetically and press into him, awaiting his eyes before you speak again, “Listen, you know how I feel about you, right?”

Dean’s mouth perks up a little, his eyes still glowing, “I got an idea.”

“And if you want to go at it, right now, I will.” You get ready to jump in, he stops you, “I just want something different with you…a real something. But—don’t think it’s because I don’t want to rip your clothes off because I do. And I’m sure car sex is somewhere in our future.”

“Funny, well, any sex would be good at this point.”

“All right, let’s make a deal.” You stretch your limbs, well aware of where his eyes are traveling, “You take me out tonight, get a little romantic, and take me home with you. There, you can have me wherever you want in any way you want. Deal?”

Dean says nothing, kissing you as he opens the passenger door, “We gotta get you back to your place.”

“What? Now?”

“Yeah, you got a date to get ready for.”