a/n: this has become a tradition, i guess, that i write the amazing mushyface aka delilah some nikkirose on her birthday. i'm in school now, so i wasn't able to post this on her actual birthday, which i hope is okay. happy birthday, boo, you've made wrestling even more fun because i share it with you xoxoxo.

~*~come take this weight off me~*~

pairing: dean ambrose/nikki bella

summary: her fate was hanging in the balance and in this moment, she wasn't the fearless bombshell everyone knew. no, she was nicole who cried at the end of every disney princess movie, and it was him who needed to be fearless.

rating: t

you love this girl with all your heart and soul

does she know that? have you told her?

give her that

the rest is up to her

you don't have forever

none of us do

the amazing spiderman 2 -

~.~

It's, ugh, just so... hard a sad and feeble confession, her voice small and faraway, all of her trademark confidence gone and it's all Dean hears as he walks into their home, duffle slung over one shoulder and rolling suitcase in hand.

Home... the word settles deep in his chest, igniting a sunny warmth he'd never admit to. The kind of mushy feeling he constantly teased Roman about when it came to Renee. The kind of feeling he swore he'd never get himself. At least, you know, until she turned his entire world upside down. From his childhood in the public housing of Cincinnati's East End to the crappy apartments from his indie days and to the sparsely decorated apartment in Vegas he had until about six months ago, he'd never really had a home. In both the figurative and literal sense.

But this was a home in the truest sense of the word.

And she made it feel that way.

Nikki's touch is evident the moment he walks across the threshold of the front door. A gold vase always filled to the brim with fresh flowers. Then there was the silky cream of the walls. A collage of photos in a silver matted frame of all the championships he'd ever won – going back to CZW and Dragon Gate – was to the left of the entryway. In the left corner of the collage was an imprint of her lips in a small white square. That was, honestly, his favorite part.

She teased he'd have to do the same with her longest reigning Diva's Championship plaque that hung above the fireplace. He told her over his dead body. She threatened him with a Rack Attack and within the next breath, they were naked, her riding him, hard and fast.

He swallows thickly from the memory; the blissed out look on her face coming to the forefront, but it disappears quickly, replaced by sadness and confusion as she revealed she was losing the title to Charlotte at Night of Champions, and how she just wanted him to make her forget.

Pushing his fingers through his curls, he bites the inside of his cheek, thinking about how she'll be going to the doctor tomorrow to see if she'll be cleared to get back in the ring or if she'll have to have surgery.

He knows she's anxious and if both of them were being honest, they'd say she was scared as well. And, fuck, the curse in his head and falling from his lips because he has no fucking clue on how to comfort her so she isn't anxious and scared. It's probably a product of his upbringing or lack thereof but comforting people isn't exactly his forte. He feels like he's going to be sick from the thought of those big chocolate eyes staring at him, begging for words of comfort and hope, and he'll just stare back, dumbly, because he's not fucking Roman who's like a giant teddy bear and shit.

He's all harsh edges and rough terrain. A minefield of broken glass. He's calloused hands and a gritty tone. He's not a warm embrace. Or soothing touches. Or anything close to what she needs him to be.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

A chipper bark and a tug on his jeans draws him out of his reverie and there's their energetic four month old French bulldog, Mox, pawing at him and stub of a tail wagging as his tongue lolls out of his mouth. A dimmed smile tilts the seam of his lips as he bends, easily grabbing the little guy with one hand. He laughs at the enthusiastic licks and remembers doing the same to her after he came back from TLC.

Ew, Dean, no! Stop it! Ugh, that is so gross! How would you like it if I licked your face?!

"Mox..." There's the real thing, her voice, smooth like a good whiskey with just the right amount of husk underneath. "You could've told me Daddy was home." He doesn't have to turn to know those sinful lips are pouting and fuck... the same curse but with a whole different meaning behind it.

When he turns, he knows she'll be wearing something intricate and made of lace, leaving nothing to the imagination and his length stirs from the sheer thought, thickening against the cotton of his boxer briefs. And while he knows she needs soothing words and a warm embrace, he can only give her what he's capable of, so as he turns and she's standing there – holy fucking shit – this nightie or whatever the fuck it is, is white and see through, he'll take her mind off tomorrow by reveling in her every inch and making her forget the way he knows how.

"Listen, fucker," He's got Mox by the scruff of his neck and is staring him down. "Forget about telling your Mother when I'm home. When she's dressed like that, you run straight to the door and you tell me. What kind of son are you if you're not gonna tell me important shit like this?"

A quick slap across his arm. "Don't talk to your son that way. Don't listen to Daddy. He's cranky from being on the road." She's cradling the puppy, peppering kisses across the fur on his back and then his face. "But remember always tell Mommy when Daddy comes home. She misses him when he's on the road."

Nikki's voice is sad and small, making Dean's stomach twist itself into knots. She doesn't sound like her and it's wrong because she's not sad and small. She's Nikki fucking Bella. She's teasing and playful and sensual and above all else confident. But all of that, it seems, since she was put on the shelf by the company, has been drained from her.

"Babe..." Hoarse as an arm wraps around that curvaceous waist. "Fuck..." He breathes in her familiar scent; Chanel No. 9, face falling into the warm caramel waves of her hair. "I miss you too." Real and honest, because he does miss her, a hell of a lot. More than he'd ever admit out loud.

"Of course you miss me," All bravado and there go those chocolate eyes glimmering. "How could you not miss me?" Low and teasing, pulling at the cotton of his Delta Bombers T-shirt. "I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"The best thing that's ever happened to me, huh?"

"Damn straight I am. I mean," There goes the slow body swivel, arms above her head and it's like she's standing up at the ramp, flanked by her sister and Fox, Diva's Championship held high. "Have you seen me?" She finishes the move and he almost expects her to fling her hat into a sea of thousands.

But she's not in her gear, and they're not in an arena. She's wearing the white nightie thingy and they're at home. But she is here, in front of him, and that's the most important thing. He can – fuck, he's been spending too much time around Becky Lynch, he realizes – look and touch.

And he has missed her. In every fucking way it's possible to miss someone. Her touch, her voice, her scent. That little baby voice she talks to Mox in. Trying to get him to take a selfie with them. Giggling over wine as he plays with her feet while they're on the couch. How she complains about his hair... And there are her fingers, sifting through the tamed curls and an approving grin curls at those sinful lips.

"You got a haircut." A happy little giggle and the knots in his stomach have dissolved and he feels all mushy, ugh. "For me?" Coquettish as her lengthy lashes bat furtively, and he shakes his head. "Patti's been on my case about lookin' like Shaggy from Scooby Doo for months now. Figured I'd be nice, do her a favor and shit. Can't lose my spot as the favorite y'know."

"Liar." Tart like the cherry taste of her mouth and oh... Speaking of things he's missed. He's missed her mouth. Maybe most of all. Which is saying a hell of a fucking lot cause it's been six months and he's still not over her tits, but he doubts he'll ever be.

"You can say I'm lyin', but bein' Patti's favorite has its perks. Like all the lasagna and banana cake a guy can eat. Also," A shit eating grin curling upwards. "I get to lord it over her actual son who thinks he can take the spot as her favorite back from me. So I hate to break it to ya, toots, but fuck yes I got this haircut for Patricia Reigns."

"I can't put my finger on why, but I just don't believe you, Ambrose. I mean Patti's lasagna is good, but..." Nikki's voice is nothing but a pure lustful purr as she lets a finger, teasingly, glide along the waistband of his jeans. "We both know it's not as good as having my mouth on your dick."

"Care to test that hypothesis of yours, doll? It's been a while. My brain's a little fuzzy about just how good," Leaning in and swiping her mouth with his thumb. "Your mouth really is."

"Please," A haughty scoff. "As if you'd ever forget how good I am."

"Ya got me there, doll face. But I'd still like to test that hypothesis just the same. First, though, I want you to remember how good I am."

A searing kiss to her lips starts everything. They don't bother going upstairs; hands excitably roaming over skin and lips are everywhere, until she's collapsed against him, round breasts heaving with exertion and skin glowing.

Nikki doesn't expect it, but when she's lifted into Dean's arms and he's cradling her like a precious gem, her heart flutters and her stomach tumbles, pleasantly. There's a soft kiss to the crown of her head and a low murmur of, "Layin' on the floor like that can't be good for your neck, and you gotta get back in that ring to take back what's yours. Can't have you stayin' here while I'm out on the road."

She knows she must look like an idiot right now; goofy smile on her face and hearts for eyes, but he's not the type for grandiose confessions and words worthy of Shakespeare. He's a straight shooter, blunt almost to a fault and not the most romantic in a traditional sense, but he misses her being on the road with him and he wants her to get the Diva's Championship back, and that's wonderful.

She sighs blissfully, burying her face in his neck, inhaling his familiar scent of Old Spice and leather. A giggle escapes when she remembers being at the Forum Shops in Cesar's Palace and buying him some Polo Black. It's still sitting in the case, untouched, and that was like six months ago. Honestly, she hopes he never opens it. She likes the way he smells. So much so she sprayed a little Old Spice on the Flyers t-shirt that used to be his but is hers now since she had Sandra make it into a crop top. She even sprayed it on the left side of the bed, his preferred spot, because every time she washed the sheets it would go away.

And she hated that. How his scent would disappear. But mostly she hated how he would. Leaving with a warm kiss to her lips and a ruffle of Mox's fur and a whisper of, "Take care of my girl, bud."

"I'm scared." A pitiful whimper as he lays her gently onto the bed. "What if I have to have surgery? I'll be out another six months and who knows if I can come back?"

"Don't be scared. Your Nikki Fucking Bella. Your worst nightmare is if they stop making those stupidly expensive shoes with the red bottoms..." She's laughing and slapping at his chest saying with a roll of her eyes, "Ugh, Dean, they're called Louboutins. I've only told you, like, a billion times."

"Louboutins, Lou-bowtins, what-the-fuck-ever. The point is, Nicole," Her nose scrunches in disapproval and he gives it a playful tap before continuing. "If you have to have the surgery, you'll have it and come back better than ever. After all the shit you've been through with your Dad and starting from zero in this business to being the longest reigning Diva's Champion, you can fucking handle anything. You know why?"

"Why?" Begging and small, like he's not holding her in his arms, her every inch pressed to his own.

"Because you got heart. You got guts. You're as tough as they come. If you didn't have to be put on the shelf, that ugly ass butterfly belt would still have your name on it. But think about it this way; once you know the next steps you have to take, you do everything you can to get it back, and I'll be there every step of the way."

"Promise?" She holds out her pinky and he hooks his around hers, bringing their linked fingers to his lips. "Damn right I do."

"You all right, man?" Roman could tell something was off about Dean as soon as he walked into the locker room, and he knew it had nothing to do with tonight's Last Man Standing match against Owens. Matches – no matter the stipulation or the stage – didn't phase Dean. And with his past of barbed wire and dog collar matches, nothing the McMahons could pull out of their asses, would.

His best friend was unusually quiet. But what really caught the big man's attention was how still the Cincinnati native was. Usually he couldn't sit still for more than three to five seconds. He seemed to always be moving in some way. Whether it was chewing gum or rolling his shoulders or shadow boxing or bouncing. He was in constant motion. So seeing him completely still, had the big man worried.

Steel met silver and there was a heavy sigh coming off Dean's lips. "Nikki wasn't cleared. She's gotta have surgery."

Roman's eyes went wide before he schooled his features, reaching out to pat Dean's shoulder. "That sucks. How's she holdin' up?"

Dean pushed his fingers through his hair, another heavy sigh escaping. "She didn't say it, but I knew all she wanted to hear was that she was cleared. She didn't wanna hear nothin' about surgery. She's scared, man, and I wasn't there with her when she listened to the doc deliver the blow. I was on a fuckin' plane half way across the country. I should've been there."

The Samoan shook his head. "You know Nikki would have raised holy hell if you tried to skip out on this match. Hell, she would have dragged your ass out to the ring herself if you told her you were staying behind. Your girl would want you to kick Owens' ass, so stop with that shit. She gets it. You got a title to defend," He taps the white belt laying across Dean's lap. "And that's where your head needs to be at."

"You think Cena would have stayed behind?" If Roman wasn't sitting so close, he wouldn't have heard Dean at all and there came another shake of his head. "Cool out with that bull shit right now, man. Nikki ain't comparin' you to Cena, and you shouldn't either. He'd be out there and you know he would. Stayin' behind don't make you better if she'd resent you for it, and you know she'd be pissed as fuck if you stayed to hold her hand."

Dean chuckled knowing Roman was right. Knowing his girl, she would've murdered him and dragged his dead body to the ring if he thought about staying behind. Still... He felt a twinge in his heart and a sickening feeling creep into his stomach. She was at home waiting to have surgery and he was out here doing what they both loved to do. It wasn't fair. She should be with him, fighting tonight like he was going to. But if anyone knew about life not being fair, it was him, and he wouldn't dwell on it, not when there was her smoky tone in his ear.

Kick Owens' ass tonight, baby. Don't let him take what's yours.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill Owens." Nothing but a growl rising from the depths of Dean's chest and Roman smiled, pounding on the other's chest. "Do what you do; kick ass and take names. Give him hell, man."

And stiiiiiiiiillllllll your intercontinental champion, Dean Ambrose. The baddest man in WWE. The sexiest too. You killed it, boo boo – the video message from Nikki is what greeted Dean when he came back into the locker room. He smiled at the sound of her voice and laughed when Mox's bark came through the speakers. He knew he still had RAW in Miami to do and then there was Smackdown the next day, but he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna be there on the day of her surgery.

"Awww fucking hell, Mox!" Dean groaned, stumbling through the front door as the little dog began barking and nipping at his jeans. "It's me you numbskull... Your... Fuck!" He yelped as the dog's teeth actually sunk into his fingers as he tried batting him away. "You dipshit, it's me Dad." He grumbled, picking up the white bulldog by his scruff.

The word actually seemed to register with the pup and suddenly he was enthusiastically lapping at Dean's face and then came Nikki's groggy voice, "What is going on?"

Dean felt guilty as he took in the brunette's appearance. Bags were under her eyes and it was obvious by the pillow creases in her cheeks she had been tossing and turning. Fuck. "Hey," Purposefully soft as he approached her, not wasting any time and just folding her into his arms. A warm kiss against the crown of her hair as he murmured, "You gotta get some rest. Come on, let's get you back upstairs."

Nikki pouted, her voice still groggy, as she yawned, "Wanna celebrate your big win, though, boo boo."

"You're lucky you're sleep deprived as fuck. You know I hate that stupid pet name shit. Especially that one. Rather have you call me, ugh," His nose wrinkled as he gagged. "Deano than fucking boo boo. Jesus Christ on a pony, Nik, I'm the baddest, nastiest son of a gun in this damn company, not a fucking boo boo."

"Liar." She elbowed him as he easily scooped her into his arms. "You're my boo boo." She crooned, peppering his face with kisses.

"Who are you fucking Mox? I know I'm hot as fuck but you got surgery in the morning, so tell your raging lady boner too cool the fuck out."

"Lady boner?" Nikki scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Seriously?"

"What should I have said? Hey, Nikki's sopping..." A playful slap across his face, stopped him as he laughed at the petulant look on her beautiful features. Bending, he pecked her lips and said, "Rest up, babe. You need all the fearless you can get for tomorrow. But I'll be there, like I promised, every step of the way; you hear me?"

"I hear you, you big sap."

Nikki figured Dean would reject the idea of wearing one of her 'Fearless' Nikki t-shirts because he'd grumble about 'marketing' and 'fucking carrano can't make me do shit and fuck twitter,' but there he was 'STAY FEARLESS' stretched across the nice curves of his tempting pecs and fuck this just wasn't well thought out at all. Because jumping him was obviously out of the question and fuck, fuck, FUCK how long was it until they could have sex again? Three weeks? Noooooooooo she groaned inwardly because that was just not fair. Obviously she should have shown her surgeon his picture and maybe she could have the time line of physical activity moved up to like a week because she wasn't going to last three to six weeks without riding him or him taking her from behind.

With one arm wrapped around his trim waist, she let her other hand slide underneath the cotton, resting on the nice sculpt of his abs. Rising to her tip toes, she kissed his shaggy hair and murmured, "That's not fair. You can't look better in my merch than me. Asshole."

"Yeah cause you don't look better in my merch than me?" He scoffed, elbowing her playfully.

"I'm supposed to look better than you. I'm the girl. That's just the way it is, boo boo."

"Just cause you're havin' surgery don't mean I can't bend you over my knee and spank that ass, doll face."

"I'd like to see you try, boo boo."

"Watch yourself, woman. Three to six weeks ain't that long."

"Need some help, dude?" Dean growled in frustration as he continued pressing various buttons on his phone before sighing heavily and shoving the phone at JJ, Nikki's brother. "I'm just tryin' to fuckin' take a picture. Like Jesus Christ on a pony, man, I'm not tryin' to launch a rocket or some complicated shit like that."

"I thought Nik was bull shittin' when she said you were like a caveman about technology, but she wasn't kiddin'."

"Don't think I won't sock you in the jaw cause you're her brother."

Adjusting the white-brimmed 'Stay Fearless' snapback before he put it on his head, he turned so the shot would be from the back only and with a quick snap JJ took the picture. Dean grabbed the phone out of his hand and thanked God he remembered what Roman told him to do to post to twitter. He thought social media was fucking stupid, but today was a big deal and he knew Nikki had already posted a ton of shit, including a picture of them together, so if he was gonna tweet, he might as well do it now.

Slowly, he typed out the message to go along with the picture.

i hate this stuff, but if i was ever gonna tweet, today's the day. my girl's gonna do what she does best; kick ass and take names. neck surgery ain't gonna keep her down #stayfearless

He didn't care about how many likes and retweets and replies he got, but he checked her handle and saw the selfie she made them take was 'pinned' on her and Brie's page, whatever that meant, and he smiled. She was in his arms bridal style and kissing his cheek.

so proud to call him mine. you call him crazy and a lunatic, but he grounds me like no one else. his fight gives me the strength to kick this surgery's ass. i'll be back in the ring and ready to get my #lunaticfringeon #stayfearless

Even in the neck brace, she still took his breath away and as he leaned down, softly kissing her forehead, he murmured, "I love you so fucking much. You did it, you got through the surgery and you'll get through the rehab. Nothing can keep my girl down."

Her smile was positively blinding and she returned the sentiment, "Love you, too. You've been so good to me through all of this. Thank you so much for sticking by my side and having all the faith in me that you do. Because of that, I'll be back; better, faster, stronger."

The next day, Nikki posted another picture. She, Dean and Mox were curled up on the couch and she captioned the photo; my two favorite boys. they're keeping my spirits up just like my bella army. so thankful to have them in my life #myman #mybabywinston