Fic inspired by “Close” by Nick Jonas and Tove Lo

“I promise,” You speak though flustered, torn between wanting to start your weekend with your boyfriend and completing work for the week, “It is a signature on a piece of paper.”

Dean says nothing, clearly uncomfortable in his jeans and t-shirt; he resituates his black beanie, “You sure you don’t want me to just wait in the car?”

 “Are you kidding me?” You come around to his side of the car, sliding your hand into his and giving his lips a quick peck, “It’d be nice for my co-workers to know that I’m not making up a boyfriend, you know?”

 Swinging your hand a little, he nods and allow you to lead him inside the tall business office; you wonder if you should take his hoodie and cover your v-neck wine colored dress a little more. The whole outfit was obviously for a night out with him, but you were not sure you wanted your co-workers to see you so out of business demeanor.

 When the elevator doors close, Dean playfully pulls you back against him and hugs you tight. It eases some of the tension in your body as you mold yourself against him.

 The secretary lights up, standing to her feet and extending the paperwork across the counter, “Ms. (Y/L/N)! I’m so sorry we had to call you back in.”

 “It’s okay.” Your heels click in the direction of the paperwork, and your slightly shaky hand reaches for the pen to scan the casework, “Were the parents contacted about visitation hours?”

 “Yes, Ms. (Y/L/N).”

 Dean stands casually to the side of the rounded counter, scanning your larger office and mumbling, “Not what I expected.”

 “Well, you haven’t seen my office, babe.” You wink, beginning to scrawl your name across some finalized statements.

 “Wow, (Y/N)…” You hear a soft breath and turn to see one of your co-workers holding a hand playfully to his chest, “Did we interrupt some plans you had tonight?”

 “Nope.” You shut the folder, handing everything back to the secretary, “I was just heading out.”

 He eyes you from head to toe, thinking aloud, “Someone is very lucky to be waiting for you.”

 “Not waiting, right here.” Dean laces his fingers with yours, suddenly taller and darker in demeanor, “Everything good to go, darlin’?”

 “Uh—yeah.” You feel a little small, giving your man a somewhat uncertain smile and tucking yourself against his side, “Goodnight, everyone.”

 Dean’s hand seems to clutch yours a little tightly as you wait for the elevator; nervous, you tilt your head a little to seek his aqua eyes and squeeze his bicep. Your stomach turns a little when he doesn’t look at you, just continues to busy his free fingers with the cloth of his beanie. Alone again on the elevator, you wait expectantly for him to share his thoughts.

 Moaning against his mouth, your arms immediately slither around his neck as he presses you back against the mirrored wall. When his teeth lightly pinch your lower lip upon pulling away, your fingertips tangle the ends of his waves and curls.

 Dean lightly knocks his forehead against yours, sighing, “Your co-workers always look at you like that?”

 “No,” You shrink a little, dropping your arms and shaking your head, “I just—look different because I wanted to have all your attention tonight.”

 “Oh, you got my attention.” Dean wanders a hand along the curve of your hips and to your behind, giving a gentle squeeze, “I just want to make sure that’s the only attention you want.”

 “Of course, it is.”

 Dean towers over you, causing your thighs to clench and breath to quiver, “It took everything in me not to invite him outside and kick his ass.”

 “Who cares? It’s not like anyone has a shot. I can’t see anything past you.” You blurt the words out; you hate being honest, so far ahead of your censor that it had no time to edit.

 As a thank you, Dean’s mouth feels like its going to devour you whole; you melt with a low moan, pouting when his kiss is gone and the elevator doors have opened.

 Flustered, you playfully smack your lips then tuck them in as a blush colors your features; you allow him to tug at you, “…can’t really feel my knees at the moment.”

 “Oh, got it.” Dean tosses you over his shoulder, savoring your laughter that bubbles out at his action, and smacks your ass while heading to your parked car, “Give me keys.”

 You do as instructed as he reaches his free hand back, settling the keys into his palm and going dead weight as he carries you to your ride. Once you hear the doors unlock, you attempt to slide down, only he holds you tighter in place, “Put me down!”

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.

A/N: I hope it was worth the wait. I struggled with how to end a series I love so much. Enjoy and keep the Moxley love alive. 

Tags: @comeonerleen @thelookingglassalice @mrsjonmoxley @ladymoxley  @blueboxdiva @ashleyh28​ @dirtydeedsmewithsassbelievethat

Pairings: Jon Moxley x Reader

Warning: Language and Lovin’

Summary: Life has a way of throwing dreams at you and asking you to choose one

  x Part Ten x

The baby sends you to the restroom in the middle of the night, reminding you who is in charge; you wash up and pause at the door, leaning against the frame to stare at your snoring husband.

Face nearly buried in the pillow, an arm curled under it as the other stays stretched out in your empty space, Jon sleeps like he hasn’t in weeks. Your request had relaxed you mutually, but for Jon it was a sedative. Everything was right with his world.

You shake your head a little, rolling your hands over your belly with a sigh; padding over to the dresser, you dig in the drawer to find one of the velvety soft shirts you had received from Ivelisse in the mail – the first items you can say someone actually bought at a maternity store. You would die before you admitted that you lived in and rotated the shirts for days on end.

Pulling it over head, you tip toe out of the room and head down the hallway. The house remains undisturbed, patient with you as you enter what is to be the nursery. It’s nothing but piled boxes right now, pictures on cardboard of what will come to be in the still bare room. You toes curl on the plush carpet and encourage you to take a careful seat.

In another trimester, you will have a tiny little being that depends on you and Jon for everything. Glancing down, you find yourself subconsciously rubbing your stomach again; you worry about what happens after the baby gets here. You’ve never discussed it.

Will you ever go back to WWE? To Lucha? Are you ready to be a stay-at-home mom who knows nothing about raising a kid? It’s driving you nuts to be without Jon now! Should you stay in state or should you convince Jon that Los Angeles is best? At least there you have the Lucha family to help you navigate everything.

Thinking makes you feel dizzy, like the room is spinning out of control, and you ease yourself to the floor, rolling onto your back. As the light escapes through the curtains, you watch it dance along the ceiling and wonder if the baby can hear your thoughts. It sends you into a panic so quickly that you begin to direct your ideas to your child, No matter what, you will come first. Don’t you ever worry about that. Me and daddy will make sure you are surrounded with love, and nothing will ever come between the three of us.

“(Y/N)?” Jon’s voice brings you out of your head, smiling up at him to the point where he chuckles; he stares down at you, a pair of sweats riding low on his hips as he frowns, “Babe, what are you doing?”

“Hanging out with the baby.” You reach up to him with playful, grabby hands until he groans his way into lying beside you; when he’s flat on his back, you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder and take his nearest hand to put it on the tiny hill of your tummy, “Did I wake you?”

“I could just tell you weren’t there.” Kissing the top of your head, he exhales, “It woke me up.”

You love that he has such a connection to you, but you wonder if you should tell him everything keeping you up in the middle of the night.

Jon begins to run small circles on your belly, kissing the top of your head, “What were you talking to the baby about? Something else you don’t need to worry about right now, I’m sure.”

Taking a minute, you chew your lip and hug his bicep; you kiss at his shoulder then settle your head against it again, “…everything…where I’m going to work. If I’m going to work. If we should move closer to Ivelisse and Angelico since I know they’ll be my biggest help.” Panicking, you wonder if you told him, “They’re coming down when the due date gets closer. Said they would help me until the baby is here, and you can get a little time off.”

“You told me, but—everything else. Where’s it all coming from?” Jon lifts his hand from your belly and maneuvers it around your body, beginning to stroke your hair and back, “You just sitting here and driving yourself nuts?”

“No, I just…” You fidget with the waist of his sweats, sighing, “maybe…”

“Don’t you worry about anything, (Y/N).” Cupping your chin with his free hand, Jon lifts your view and locks your eyes, “We’ll figure it out. All of it.”

“There’s a little human on the way, Jon.”

He lets out the breath of a laugh, stroking your wild hair, “I’m aware.”

“It’s going to change everything.”

“Not everything.” Jon sees the question in your uncertain eyes, and he coaxes you up until the two of you are standing. His carved arms come in a strong hold around your upper frame as his chin settles on your shoulder, his bare chest against your back, “That box will change into a crib. And that will hopefully be a functioning rocking chair.”

You chuckle at the thought of him finally putting everything together, his quick temper trying to follow instructions that provoke his fury because he would rather eye ball it. Hugging his arms tighter around you, tilting your head to let him speak easier into your ear, you listen intently to your husband’s reassurance until the words seep into your skin an soothe your bones.

“There will be a baby who—hates being told what time to go to bed and eats way more than a kid should.” Jon releases a raspy laugh with you before kissing the side of your throat, “But it won’t change how I feel about you…how I’ve felt about you all this time.”

Your eyes mist at the reassurance, your breath trembles a little.

“You are my wife, and I would still kick any guy’s ass who so much as cracked a smile your way.” His assertion causes you to break out in a tearful giggle, thinking of the time he attacked a friend at a house party. Turning you towards him, his hands frame your face as Jon smirks like he knows he’s scored, said the perfect thing, “The important things are never gonna change, (Y/N). And the rest of it? …my job is to keep my family together so – I heard I just gotta keep you happy.”

“Oh yeah?” You lace your fingers with his and wrap his arms around you, “Who said that?”

“I don’t know, but…” Jon’s lips begin to hover around yours, sharing your smile as you guide him to a backwards walk out of the nursery, “I’ve heard it more than once so…”

“It’s gotta be true.” You agree, giving a small nod before your lips are catching and releasing his in feather light pecks, “Welp, I know what you could do to make me happy right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” You finally break your embrace but keep hold of one his hands to lead him into your bedroom, “Put me back to sleep, Moxley.”

One shot requests are still closed; however, I’m going to accept choose two requests. REMEMBER, I will only accept the first request for any given lyric, the lyric can only be used once.

Keep in mind, I will get the requests done, but it sometimes takes my stubborn muse a minute to respond.

Choose Two requests your request in quick! These can turn into one shots or mini fics. Either way, if you wanna participate, all you have to do is choose one of the following in each category and inbox me your two. I will try to update you ASAP on requests as I get them.

Choose one character:

Dean Ambrose (or Jon Moxley)

Roman Reigns

Seth Rollins

Choose one song lyric:

“I heard a rumor there's a vacancy; somebody said he put you down” (Roman)

“I'll keep an old candy-coated, valentine; memories of you, you when you were mine” (Roman Reigns)

“Ain't trying to cause her no complications; I'd walk away, but I'm in too deep“ (Dean Ambrose)

“So give me that high; like you did last night, did last night” (Seth Rollins) “You can try to stop it but it won't quit; you say you don't when you know that you want it” (Jon Moxley)

“Are you with someone else; or could you be by yourself” (Jon Moxley) “When I'm with my friends, I'm trying to figure out a way...to leave them behind just to get back to you” (Jon Moxley)

“Try to keep my balance but I still fall; but how'd I fell so hard right into your arms, I swear” (Roman Reigns)

“Never been the one to cling and I don't like to be needed; (But now) I guess that's all changed” (Seth)

I’m opening 1 of 6 requests for now (until I feel I’ve reached my limit, lol). You know the drill, give me a line (one line) and the name of a Shield Member or Jon Moxley. :)

Remember, if you send me multiple lines for one request, meaning you give me a speech, I will delete the request. 

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy. 

Tags: @comeonerleen @thelookingglassalice @mrsjonmoxley @ladymoxley @blueboxdiva @ashleyh28  @dirtydeedsmewithsassbelievethat

Pairings: Jon Moxley x Reader

Warning: Language and Lovin’

Summary: Life has a way of throwing dreams at you and asking you to choose one

x Part Eight x

Your legs are stretched out over his lap as you watch him work your muscles in fascination; he uses his rough hands to massage you from your thighs to your calves to your feet. Resting your upper body against the cushy back of the couch, you hug your waist and smile towards your man. This is how real love felt, when you went from the entire world being over to open conversation that dripped the hardest truth. This was your life with him, a roller coaster you would not sacrifice for anything else in the world.

Jon’s hand continue to ease your tense muscles as he turns his head towards yours, grinning at your relaxed stare, “You feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling great.” You let out a sharp laugh, reaching out a hand to play with his hair, “You seem like you wanna ask me something else, though.”

“I do.” Jon lightly pats your legs, signaling you to curl them under yourself, and he scoots closer to you, his fingers now ghosting the skin of your arm, “I think we should get you to see a doctor tomorrow.”

“What? Why! We just found out.” You can’t take it when he slightly squints his blues eyes, signaling such an innocent confusion that you’re not sure he and the man you meet in the bedroom are indeed the same, “Jon, babe, I have to consider what doctor I want to deal with for the next nine months. We have to ask questions, do research, before I decide that – yes – that’s the doctor that gets to see me more intimately than you have.”

“We just need to take you to a doctor to get the initial how-to.”

“I’m not a car or recipe, Mox.”

“I’m serious, (Y/N).” Jon runs his hand up your body to your waist once more, smoothing the fabric against its flatness, “I just want to know that you’re both okay...please?”

Your defenses crumble, still you attempt to resist, “What about work? Shouldn’t you be hitting the road again?”

“No, I talked to Stephanie, too. I won’t go back until Saturday.”

You know he is not going to let it go, and you could use the reassurance too. You concede, following a quick kiss to his lips, “Okay.”

“Good, now give me your phone.” You frown handing it over as he moves to lie his head on your chest, making sure you can both see his screen, “Now, let’s Google if it’s okay for us to have sex right now or not.”

You may have been offended, if you weren’t so curious yourself.

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

You had found an office willing to take you the same day, extra money and a ‘cancellation’ made all the difference in the world. When you and Jon find the small family practice, you fill out the paper work with as much information as you can because even your husband shrugs at some of the questions on the form.

Every time you glance over at Jon, he grows in his terrified state as women of varying months pass you two - some with an additional child on their arm or a child who tries to run around the room. You give his cheek a quick kiss, hoping to calm him just slightly, and take the paper work up to the front desk, giving them additional information about your insurance.

When you turn around, you see a little brunette boy make a bowlegged walk towards the Lego table next to Jon. You freeze as though you are catching animals in the wild and simply observe. The boy, with a golden tan and huge Bambi eyes, releases a proud gurgle and slams an open hand on the table. Jon is instantly in love, and the boy is reciprocal, handing him a large red Lego.

“Oh, you want my help? Yeah, little man.” Jon waits for the boy to point before pinning it down, wide eyes and big smile as the boy hands him another and points, “There?”

As the two proceed, you feel your eyes mist with unexpected tears. Glancing around the room, you see the boy’s mother who mouths to you, exhausted, ‘thank you,’ and rubs her belly – the one that looks like it is about to pop. You have no idea how to tell her thank you back, needing this moment to obliterate your fear all together.

You and Jon had spoken nothing of kids, yet there he was like he had been parenting for years.

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

The doctor had told you little, gave you some printed paperwork and confirmed the pregnancy. Now, you were at the local pharmacy getting some things the doctors said would help with the initial months. Simple things, like cocoa butter for your changing body and prenatal vitamins as your regimen should start immediately. You were ready to keep it simple, but Jon was going slightly overboard. 

The tiny cart was being filled with ‘one more thing’ every time you went down another aisle. You highly doubted you needed a new ice pack and a foot massager. But you wanted Jon to feel like a part of this, especially after what you saw at the doctor’s office. The reality was he would miss a lot, for the dream you shared, and he needed to do as much as he could while home; this was only the beginning.

“I’m not getting one of those medieval torture devices until I absolutely have to.” You mumble, snatching the breast pump out of his hands and tossing it back on the shelf before proceeding to the next aisle, “We don’t need half of this s—”

You stop when seeing the blue seahorse, labeled 0-36 months, which claims it will ‘soothe and glow’ for your baby; you read somewhere online that it was a bad idea to invest in too many baby items before a certain month. But it feels like your baby is here, like you can hold it, especially with Jon’s excitement. It is blue like Jon’s eyes, and you cannot stop yourself from pulling it off the shelf, thoughtfully pouting at the item.

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.”