Ahh, nothing like eating Skittles before noon on a Sunday, furiously typing a fic for two hours. What a time to be alive.
I recently posted a “Give me a number and wrestler” thing and a lovely anon who was having a bad day requested one with Dean, so here you go! Is this cheesy? Yes. Is it fluffy? Yes. Do I need Dean cuddles now? Yes.
Prompt numbers: 6, 12, 93. Here’s the list (of Jericho) if you want to see the numbers or request something! Enjoy!
———————————————–
The misery of the past few weeks set on like a rolling thunder wave; slowly, rumbling as a warning sign for a while, before letting loose with no hesitation. Funnily, or not funnily, depending on how you viewed it, the shit weather outside the car matched the feeling inside. It had been a long time since you felt a low this bad, but it was due.
“It was in my hands, damn it.” You muttered to yourself.
“Wha’ was that?” Dean looked over for a second from the driver’s seat before turning to look ahead again. His attention was still on you, since this was the first thing you had said since leaving Smackdown.
“Nothing, Dean. Just talking to myself.” You rested your head on the car window.
“Ya know you can talk to me, right? I mean, I get tonight was pretty shitty-”
“Understatement.” You cut him off quietly.
“So I’m here for you if you wanna talk.” He persevered in spite of the interruption and didn’t seem to get too mad about it.
“If I want to talk, I’ll talk. But right now…” You controlled your voice to stop from shouting or crying, whichever came first. It made you sound tight, cold, unnatural.
“I get it.” Dean replied after a while and fell silent the rest of the drive. He looked impassive, focusing his attention on the road for good. You briefly wondered if you had hurt his feelings.
‘You’re just on fire today, Y/N. Great job.’ You thought bitterly and looked out the window for the rest of the car ride at the violent storm.
———————————————–
You could’ve sworn that the thunder was shaking the whole hotel as you and Dean got to your floor.
“Do you wanna share my room?” It was usually custom since you had started dating that when possible, you roomed together without question. The fact that he had to ask increased your feeling of gloom.
“Yeah, sure.” You hitched up your bag and followed him. He seemed glad when you got in that you had accepted his offer. “I’m gonna shower, if that’s alright.”
“Yeah, go knock yourself out.” He shrugged and you tried to avoid the gaze that followed you as you went to the bathroom.
The water felt nice and warm after a long and tiring match, relaxing your muscles. The downside was that without distractions, the shower gave you time to reflect on what had happened, even though you really didn’t want to.
It was a Number One Contender’s match. You had been working for it for almost a month now, training. You could’ve won it. You should’ve won it. You would’ve won it if Carmella hadn’t decided to interfere, hitting Nikki from behind when she was outside the ring and disqualifying you. It had all happened so fast that you couldn’t even react in time, or had time to process the emotions that rushed through you; rage, shock, disbelief, and an overwhelming sadness that your shot was lost. But the real stinger came in the form of what she shouted over the crowd’s boos.
“Dean Ambrose could do a hell of a lot better than you!” It hit you like a ton of bricks, almost actually making you stumble and fall. It wasn’t the first time you had heard it, but every time you did it knocked all the wind out of you.
Carmella had scurried out of the backstage by the time you were able to hunt her down. Outside the locker room was where you had been when Dean had found you, quietly fuming and pacing.
“I saw what happened out there. Are you alright?”
With his every word you felt the anger leave, the hole it left being filled by the sadness permeating you now. The memory of Carmella had increased it.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Let me get my stuff and we can leave.” You didn’t even look at him.
“Why am I so useless?” You asked out loud this time. The only response you got was the running water that was slowly turning lukewarm. With a sigh you shut it off, wrapped yourself in a towel, and rubbed yourself dry as you went back into the bedroom for a change of clothes.
Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over. He looked up and smiled when he heard you.
“Hey, feel better?”
“A little. What’re you doing?” You asked to take the attention away from yourself.
“Just thinking. Dangerous, I know, but I do it sometimes.” He gave a small smile before getting up and going over to you. “When’s the last time I said I loved you?”
The question caught you off guard. “What?”
“The last time I said I loved you.” He said it simply, looking at you quizzically. “When was it?”
“Um…I think this morning. Yeah, it was, right before we got out of bed. Why?”
“Because I’m not dumb, and I heard what Carmella said. The cameras have great audio. And I saw your face when she said it. I’ve known you long enough to know that face is the one you make when you’re about to cry.”
You couldn’t look at him again. He went in and wrapped you in a hug, pulling you close to him, even though you were still damp.
“Don’t.” You were muffled against his chest.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t try, I’m not worth it. She was right. You and I both know it.”
“Y/N.” His voice sounded stern, but looking up at him you could see he was more saddened than mad. “Get dressed and c’mere.” He pulled away and his hands rubbed your arms before turning and leaving to the bed, pulling the sheets back.
Shivering from the sudden cold, you got into a baggy shirt and warm sweatpants before following and getting into the other side of the bed. Dean pulled the sheets up as you two lied down and he pulled you in, arms wrapping around your torso. Your face buried into his chest, wrapping your arms around him as well. He was like a space heater, warming you up instantly. The only sound disrupting you was the storm outside, but even that could be tuned out a bit. The sheer calm and tenderness of it all hit you suddenly and you felt tears well into your eyes.
“Let it out, darlin’. Let it all out.” He hummed and one of his arms started rubbing your back in little circles.
At that you let the tears fall, trying to wipe them away in his shirt to no avail. “You don’t have to do this for me, Dean.” You sniffed a bit. “I can handle it.”
“I know. But it makes me feel good, and I want it to make you feel good too. You deserve it. And next week you’ll be ready to kick Carmella’s ass and take back your shot.”
With that, you smiled and slowly felt yourself start to fall asleep. The rain was still pouring, but it was only a sound in the distance. “I love you, Dean.” You yawned and mumbled.
You didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling. “Love you too.” He didn’t leave it at that. Though you were on the edge of sleep, you thought you heard done more thing.
“Y/N, I get how you feel. I feel the same way ‘bout us; how I ended up with you and why. I’m nothin’. You look at yourself and see nothing, but when I look at you…I see everything. Remember that, huh?”
You didn’t reply at first, but you were glad your eyes were closed to shield yourself from more tears spilling as you smiled into his chest. “I promise, I’ll remember. Goodnight, Dean.”
“G’night, Y/N.”
———————————————–
Please tell me what you think! Requests are open, my inbox is empty,hmu! I love you guys! *Bayley hugs*
Spotted: Dean Adler shopping at the mall at 2:20 PM, apparently looking for a very specific brand of nostalgia.
Manhattan’s favorite hottie was seen strolling around with a mystery brunette, causing tipsters to do a collective double-take. Why the whiplash? Because this new girl looks so much like his ex, Ella Hampton, she could practically pass for her twin. We're talking the exact same hair, the same style, and the exact same vibe.
To make matters more intriguing, the two looked entirely comfortable in each other's company. But let's be real—you don't "accidentally" start hanging out with a carbon copy of your former flame unless you're still deeply haunted by the original.
It looks like Dean is trying to rewrite the past with a new casting choice. If you're trying to move on, Dean, copying and pasting your ex’s entire aesthetic onto a new girl is a very dangerous game. History has a habit of repeating itself, especially when you carry the blueprint right next to you.
The Sighting... 2:20 PM at the mall.
The Lookalike... A mystery brunette serving up pure Ella Hampton energy.
It seems Dean thinks a disappearing act is just a casual sabbatical rather than a total social crime. Leaving the city without a word is a classic disappearing act, but reappearing without a trace of heartbreak or guilt on his face is the ultimate insult to Ella. In Manhattan, if you're going to ghost someone, you're expected to at least have the decency to look haunted when you return.
The fact that he doesn't look even slightly pained proves he’s either a master of the straight face or simply doesn't care enough to feel the weight of what he did. It takes a certain kind of cold to vanish into thin air and reappear acting like you just stepped out for a coffee. While Dean plays it cool, it’s becoming painfully obvious to everyone watching that Ella deserves a partner who doesn't treat their relationship like a revolving door.
