#Ambreigns AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

digsys · 2 years ago

Note

Fic anon here :) just read your post about making a superman AU! If i may toss in that I love the idea of using Renee and Dean! But if you’re also looking for more ideas I guess Ambreigns, but if you needed the push I like the idea of Dean and Renee :)

Also I have more song recs for you!

you sent this and i instantly started to write it :') i just loved the idea sm too so here is dean and renee in a clarklois au! i didn't completely adopt the superman aspects but i did write dean acting like clark (which is so ooc but kind of funny). this is around 1k words (:

(also also- send those recs in!!)

"Don't tell me you're late again."

Dean winced, biting his lip. "Okay, look, Re—"

"Dean," Renee said, voice testy, "Dean, please tell me you're anything but late again."

To be completely honest, Dean wasn't late. He was actually right on time, right where he needed to be. He just... happened to be in a vigilante costume and hovering above the building that he was supposed to be inside of. Semantics, honestly.

When he took too long to respond, Renee made a frustrated noise. "Okay, it's fine, it's fine— I'll cover for you. But you better get over here soon, Ambrose."

Dean let out an exhale. "Okay, okay, got it, I'll be there."

Renee hung up and Dean slumped against the wall of the roof. He was exhausted. His phone rang while he was still across the city, so he'd run back to their building to catch Renee's call on the last ring. He was still decked out in his Lunatic gear, knuckles sore from where he'd been pummeling into the giant, Rowan, from the villainous Wyatt family. His brothers were busy with their own fights so he hadn't been able to call them in from where they were working, which meant that he totally missed the monthly meeting that he'd promised Renee he would make on time. Their boss had been giving her a lot of shit for it given that she was Dean's editor — not to mention Dean being on thin ice with the guy in general.

“Damn it.” He sighed before changing into his civilian clothes in a flash, and headed back down to ground level to take the elevator up.

Things weren't easy, being one of only three aliens sent to Earth as a baby twenty-some years ago. They were lucky to have been found by a kind Kansas farmer, Mick, who raised them lovingly, but growing up and learning how to be human was obstacle after obstacle for Dean, his big brother Roman, and his younger brother Seth.

But they did it, anyways. Roman's fighting his way through med school, Seth studying to be an architect, and Dean became a journalist.

He was good enough that the renowned paper, the World Wide Exclusive, hired him straight out of his college internship. And though he hadn't quite made a splash like his brothers, that wasn't really Dean's thing anyways. Roman liked helping people, Seth liked creating things. Dean liked to chase. He didn't care for the top as much as he cared for the clawing his way through the mud.

There were just two issues. One, he was stuck in the sports division. And two... He was maybe, kind of, sort of in love with his editor.

He slid his black-framed glasses on just as the elevator dinged, the doors opening.

Renee Paquette was on the other side, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Dean went to jab at the button to go back down but Renee cut him off, “Ambrose.”

It was always strange, switching away from his superpowered persona into the person that his brothers and he had decided would be best for his secret identity. But it was also instinctive now.

He let his shoulders fall a bit and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Hey, Renee.” He stepped out and rubbed the back of his neck. “How'd the meeting go?”

Renee narrowed her eyes at him, then stomped to her office. Dean bit back a groan and followed.

“I'm waiting for an explanation and I hope it's not an excuse,” she said as soon as the door closed. She leaned against her desk, arms still crossed, frustration barely held back.

Was it terrible that Dean's first thought was about how beautiful she looked today?

“It's not,” he assured, sliding into the chair in front of her. “It's—” His mind worked itself over and over, scrambling for a justification. “Well, it's—” What would Renee consider alright? Was there anything? What could he do to—

A realization lit up his brain. There was a perfect excuse. It was the truth, too. The Lunatic was fighting Rowan and it clogged up the roads. It was realistic and explainable and—

And Renee was maybe, kind of, sort of in love with the Lunatic, so she'd likely accept it as it was.

“Well?” she demanded.

Dean slumped even more. “It was the Lunatic.” He tried not to grumble. “He was fighting Erick Rowan again. I was coming back from my brother's place so I was taking the ferry and got stuck in the traffic jam.”

Renee had brightened up as soon as he mentioned that ridiculous name the press had given his alter ego. ”Wait, the Lunatic— Did you get a quote?”

Dean tried not to frown. “Y'know how he is, Renee. Kind of a ticking timebomb, never stops for anything? No one can get a quote from him for anything.” He swallowed. “'Cept for you, of course.”

Renee's cheeks pinkened. “Well— I mean, I don't know— I... That's besides the point. I get how that was out of your control and I'll share it with the boss.” She tapped her fingers against the wood of her desk. “In fact, I'll tell the boss a way for you to make it up to us, too.”

Dean brightened. “Yeah? Anything, Renee, you know I can write it. Basketball season, right?”

Renee shook her head. “Nope. Try this.”

She tossed a file onto his lap. Dean opened it up and skimmed the contents. He blinked.

“This is...” He looked up, lost. “This is for the Rhodes family. I'm covering the obituary?”

Renee was smiling, a satisfied thing. “You're interviewing the family,” she corrected. “You'll be writing the feature article.”

Dean blinked multiple more times. “'Nee, that's front page shit.”

Renee barked out a surprised laugh, then covered her mouth to suppress her giggles. Dean's heart swooped in his chest at the sound.

“Yes, it's front page shit,” she laughed. “And you deserve it. Yeah?”

Dean shook his head, still a little shocked. “I... I mean, if you say so, boss,” he huffed. “I think you should be the one writing this, though.”

Renee tsked. “I've got something more fitting for my tastes,” she hummed, before walking around her desk to grab her coat.

Dean stood as she was sliding her arms into the sleeves, hair falling gently around her shoulders. “Hm? What's that?”

She turned to face him, an excited little smile on her lips. “Lunatic interview,” she burst out. “He agreed the last time he saved me—”

“He did?” asked Dean faintly.

“—yep, right after he pulled me away from the hotel fire which he also said I shouldn't have been anywhere near but when there's a story—”

“Oh, now I remember,” muttered Dean.

“—so I'm headed up now, he said he'd meet me at noon up on the roof.” She opened up her door. “While I'm gone, you get started on that article, Ambrose.” She paused before leaving. “You've got a lot of talent. It's wasted in the sports division. You're great to have around, Dean.”

When Dean weakly replied with, “thanks, boss,” Renee grinned, winked, then left her office.

As Dean was scrambling out her window to beat her to the roof, he felt his cheeks round from a smile.

Renee never told the Lunatic that he was great to have around. One point to Ambrose! Now Dean just had to find out how to make Renee fall in love with him over the Lunatic.

Semantics, really.

#dean ambrose #jon moxley #renee paquette #dean x renee #i have so many hcs for this now lmao #jack ficlets #jack answers #fic anon #hope you enjoy this friend!! <3 #also lets not talk abt my inability to write a fic under 1k words lmao #writing with jack!

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years ago

Text

Overtrope

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: THIRST PARTY SATURDAY! I hope everyone has had a good week! This was brought into being because I watched too many of those terrible cop movies from the eighties and nineties. Be warned! This is some gratuitously-written stuff right here, with a silly plot and so many tropes I literally named it Overtrope. I hope you guys like your officers ultra cheesy. Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and of course, the King Captain @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For reckless disregard of actual law enforcement protocols, homophobia and anilingus/analingus.]

Roman Reigns tapped his fingers absently on the steering wheel as he waited for his new partner to show up. He should have known better than to think the guy’s flight would be on time.

The radio was on, playing some upbeat synthpop crap that he’d heard a thousand times before. The neon sign for the motel across the street kept flickering about the fact that there was (no) vacancy, bright tubes buzzing in the spring rain.

When Commissioner Hunter Helmsley had ordered him up to his office, Roman had figured he was overdue for a chew out. Instead, Hunter had grumbled about his ulcer for a couple minutes, about how he was getting too old for this shit. Then he got to the point, all but flinging a thick file at Roman. The younger officer had caught it with ease, leafing through it curiously.

“Potential partner fodder.” Hunter mumbled around his cigarette, watching Roman closely. Reigns resented that a little; he was hardly volatile in an office environment and he said as much. Hunter waved off his annoyance and stabbed a thick finger down on the picture stapled to the file. “Ambrose was a regular nutcase through the academy according to the guys out in Cinci. Lost his partner recently and he’s requested a transfer out to us. Interested?”

“Your tone indicates I don’t have much of a choice.” Roman had answered dryly.

“Reigns, you’re the best man we have for the job. This shit is all you know, and you’ve got decent people skills. I’m paying you to babysit this lunatic so he doesn’t cost our department in the long run.” Hunter ashed his cigarette in a tray that already had sixteen butts in it.

“Those things’ll kill you, y’know.” Roman commented absently, squinting as he read a few of the bullet points on the transfer’s sheet. “He blew up a tanker? Commish…”

“So he’s kinda’ a loose cannon. You can even him out.” Hunter shrugged. “Look, with this orphan benefit gala on the calendar, we need to beef up the security in the city. We need more manpower.”

“Man, my people skills consist of listening. You sure you want this guy?”

“Absolutely. If Dean can keep his shit together, I think you two could rival me and Michaels.” Hunter had clapped him on the shoulder, then dismissed him.

So here he was, waiting outside the crowded airport along with a horde of cabs. Roman itched to get out of the car, he hated the feeling of being surrounded but he also hated getting soggy. He fumbled around behind the driver’s seat, trying to locate that old umbrella.

The passenger’s side door was yanked open so hard the car rocked, and a duffel bag that might have once been green nearly took Roman’s head off as it sailed by him to crash into the backseat. “Oh! Shit, man I’m so sorry.” The guy who ducked his head to apologize before flopping into the passenger’s seat was…Roman swallowed hard. The grainy black-and-white photo didn’t really do Dean Ambrose justice. The brilliant blue eyes leveled curiously at Roman effectively tied his tongue in knots. “This is…you are the guy here to uh, come pick me up, right? I’m not getting into some stranger’s sedan, am I?” Dean asked warily, rainwater dripping from his bangs.

He was tall and slender and effortlessly attractive, everything that Reigns wasn't. It hurt a little. “You’d be getting into a stranger’s sedan regardless.” Roman managed to say.

Dean chuckled, the noise rougher than Roman expected. “True enough.” He extended a hand to Roman, who shook it after a second of hesitation. “Ambrose. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot of bad shit about me.” His dimpled grin seemed to indicate that he was totally fine with that.

Roman belatedly realized that he should probably introduce himself. “Reigns.” He said, louder than he needed to.

“Yeah…?” Dean asked slowly, raising an eyebrow. “It rained a lot back in Cincinnati too, man.”

“No no, that’s my name. Reigns.” Roman was flustered now, feeling like an idiot as he carefully pulled away from the curb.

“Chief Helmsley said your name was Greek…wait, shit, no.” Dean snapped his fingers. “Trojan. Achilles? Shit, Roman?”

Roman couldn’t help his little snort of laughter. “Yeah, the last one. I was just gonna’ let you keep going but Breeze already calls me Conan. This could get out of hand.”

“Roman Reigns.” Dean rolled the ‘r’ on his last name in a way that should have been obnoxious, like the kids in middle school. “S’ a badass name.”

Roman was horrified to find himself blushing. “Thank my parents, I guess. You uh, want to get something to eat?”

“Reigns, you’ve said the magic word.”

…

Roman got a firsthand experience witnessing the loose-cannonry when he and Ambrose were put out on a case together. Someone had been sabotaging shipments of party supplies for the benefit gala and Helmsley wanted them to track down a suspect.

Dean barely waited for Roman to close the door of the cruiser before he was gunning the engine to life and peeling out of the parking lot of the coffee shop. Roman pressed a hand to the ceiling, startled. “You got a roast in the oven or something, man?”

“I had an idea when I was in line. I’ve seen that guy before, the one Helmsley showed us pictures of.” Dean crammed a whole donut into his mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing before continuing, “He goes past that shitty little apartment complex I live in. Seen him walking around pretty regularly in my off-time.” He gave Roman a sideways grin. “Let’s go catch us a rat.”

Reigns didn’t really know how much stock he was willing to put into the guy currently driving like a madman. Dean had barely been in the city for two weeks and was somehow already a leading authority on the patterns of a suspect? But Roman had to admit (at least to himself) that they had nothing else to go on. Commissioner Helmsley hadn’t exactly been a massive help. The file on their suspect was empty aside from a few blurry surveillance photos.

Once Ambrose had safely parallel-parked the cruiser in a (relatively) inconspicuous location by the corner, he opened up the box of donuts on his lap and stuffed another into his mouth. “Fuggin’ delishush.” He mumbled, washing it down with a healthy swig of coffee.

Roman pulled his lunch bag out from under the seat, preemptively bracing himself for some discussion involving his food choices when he opened it.

“S’at rice?” Dean asked with his mouth full.

Roman simply nodded and tucked into the small jar of coconut rice that was his usual snack while out on the beat. It was easy to make; he could use the leftovers from the Chinese food of the night before if he had to.

“Plain rice?”

“No, coconut.”

“Oh.”

Roman tensed up, waiting for the inevitable smartass comment. He already avoided eating in the break room after making the mistake of offering Officer Amore a bite of homemade fish salad and being treated to the guy gagging dramatically. Enzo proceeded to sneer a couple of off-color comments involving the smell of Roman’s lunch and its apparent similarity to the smell of a prostitute. The whole break room broke out into riotous laughter, a few officers catcalling the large man standing there with a Tupperware container in his hands.

“Reigns would like 'em fishy, he's always hanging around Breeze and Fandango!”

It might not have been so bad if Roman hadn't made the salad because he was desperately missing his family and he wanted a taste of home. It might not have been so bad if Enzo had stopped at one comment. But he was missing his family and Enzo didn't stop and Roman might have...accidentally dumped a cup of lukewarm, sugar-heavy coffee over the smaller man's head, effectively ruining his carefully-maintained hair.

It was fresh fish, it didn’t smell, but since Enzo had revealed the gap in his armor everyone would jeer at him when he brought his lunch into the break room. Even the lasagna made with his mother's recipe was met with suspicion.

“Watch out, the whole room will smell like low tide by the time his break is over!”

It wasn’t worth the aggravation to continue eating in the break room. Yeah, sure, it made him feel like he lived in the cruiser some days, but Roman told himself it was better than losing his job due to letting his emotions get the best of him. God forbid he do something boneheaded and get himself kicked off the force over his lunch choices.

“You and that goddamn coconut shit again. Don't you eat anything normal?”

Dean didn’t say anything else though, the light-haired man already powering through his fourth donut. Then, Ambrose suddenly stopped eating. The box of donuts was wordlessly shoved to the dashboard and Dean opened the door and practically launched himself bodily from the cruiser.

Roman, utterly bewildered, watched Dean take off down the sidewalk after a rotund gentleman in a cheap-looking suit. “Shit man, at least say something first. Like 'there he is!'. Or, 'come on, Reigns!'” He grumbled, taking the keys out of the ignition and kicking open his own door. “Wait, Ambrose!” He called, making their suspect break into a run.

Then Ambrose turned around to yell, “Come on, Reigns!”, jogging in place. Reigns rolled his eyes and locked the cruiser.

Roman was no average sprinter and he had the thighs to prove it. If there was one thing he could take pride in, it was his conditioning. But their suspect was a nondescript businessman and they kept losing track of him in the thick pedestrian traffic of downtown. Dean was relentless though, the light-haired man constantly scanning the crowds in front of them. Roman had never seen anyone look quite so threatening with a smear of pink donut frosting on their cheek.

Dean hauled their suspect to his feet when they finally cornered him, tightly gripping the front of his shirt. “Alright buddy, you know exactly why we’re here.” He snapped. He didn’t seem particularly winded, despite the somewhat lengthy chase this individual had led them on before Reigns managed to head him off with a legitimate tackle over a chain link fence. Roman would be the first to admit he’d gotten caught up in the thrill of the chase, and the momentary flash of surprise on Dean’s face at his full-body assault was much more gratifying than it needed to be. Ambrose had been impressed. “You gonna’ tell me what I need to know, or is Freight Treigns over here gonna’ have to knock your teeth out? Did I mention he’s the good cop?”

Freight Treigns. Roman squared his shoulders subtly, already feeling the nickname.

“He could break your ribs with a snap of his fingers. Feel like talkin’ yet, buddy?”

“Alright, cool it. You got me, okay? I’m here. There’s no need to be rough.” The older man was sweating profusely, his eyes darting back and forth between the angry blond in front of him and the dark-haired man to the side. “What do you want to know?”

“Motherfucker do not play games with me! You know damn well what I want, so spill!” Dean’s sidearm was out of the holster before Roman could blink. Granted, he had the safety on while he…negotiated with the suspect, but it Roman was abruptly thankful that they had ended up in a secluded alleyway. “I want dates, times, birthdays, social security numbers, maiden names, give me the fucking scoop before they have to wash you off the sidewalk with a fire hose.”

“I’d do as he says.” Roman grunted when the man locked eyes with him. “My good cop routine is a little rusty.”

“Look Ambrose, you don’t understand, they’ll kill me if I-”

The safety clicked. “What makes you think I won’t?” Dean’s voice was soft as he prodded the side of the man’s head with the barrel of his gun. “Talk to me, Pauly. You and I both know that intel ain’t worth dying over.”

“Alright Ambrose, alright.” Paul relented, quivering all over his doughy body.

Dean amicably holstered his gun and retrieved his notepad from a back pocket, opening it to a fresh page. “We got a few donuts back in the car, Paul, you want one? Probably tanked your sugar trying to get away.”

“No, no, I just want to answer your questions so I can leave.” Paul straightened out his tie and suitcoat, appearing a little less frightened. His eyes wandered to Roman again. “This your replacement for Rollins?” His tone wasn’t openly hostile, he almost sounded curious.

Dean’s pen snapped in his grip, black ink spattering violently across his navy blue work shirt. Ambrose gave no other outward indication that he’d even heard Paul. He accepted a spare pen from Roman with a nod of gratitude and continued writing everything down.

The way Dean blatantly ignored his question seemed to catch Paul’s interest, and Roman watched as the older man’s visage took on a gleefully mean look he’d seen many times on the face of one Enzo Amore. “That was a messy job with Rollins, wasn’t it? Blown sky-high. I heard all about it.” Paul said slowly. “Everyone knows what happened.”

“You shut the fuck up.” Ambrose hissed.

“Mr. Black is who you’re looking for, Ambrose. Tyler Black. I would say good luck, but what’s the point?” Paul shrugged, awfully brave all of a sudden. “You’re a dead man if you go after him.”

Dean grabbed Paul by his ill-fitting suitcoat and slammed his back against the chain link fence. “That’s it, Heyman. You’ve just earned your ass a one-on-one interview in the cinderblock room downtown. Move it.” He snarled.

Ambrose was deadly silent while he drove, giving Roman ample opportunity to radio dispatch and let them know the situation. Paul was quiet and docile in the backseat, but whenever he did speak it was to needle Ambrose further. Roman was honestly surprised that the steering wheel was in one piece by the time they arrived at the station.

Dean dumped the remainder of his donuts at the front desk once Paul was checked in and secured in a holding cell. “Lost my appetite.”

“Ambrose, do you want to talk ab-”

“Well well well!” Came the bullhorn-loud voice of the one person Roman didn’t want to see at a time like this. He wondered sometimes if Enzo actually worked, or if he just hung around the station providing garbage commentary on his day to day. “Look what the cat dragged in! Heya’ lunatic, why the long face?”

Roman blinked, confused momentarily before he realized that Enzo was talking to Dean. And Ambrose responded immediately by whirling to face the smaller man. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

A smarter individual would have known that was their opening to depart as quickly as possible. “Lunatic, I’ve read your file man. You’re nuts! Guess that’s why the commish stuck you with Reigns. Probably hopes you’ll get rid of him, too.” Enzo sneered.

Dean’s eyes widened and Roman quickly took hold of the other man’s arm, shaking his head. “Don’t bother, Ambrose. He’s not worth it.”

“Aw c’mon, Reigns! Lemme’ go a few rounds with the big lug!” Enzo jabbed at the air in front of Ambrose and Roman was hard-pressed to keep Dean where he was.

“Enzo, if I believed you’d actually fought someone fair once in your life, I’d absolutely let you guys swing at one another.” Or if I believed Ambrose would let you survive the encounter. Roman kept that thought to himself.

“Who said anything about fair?” Dean snapped his teeth violently at the smaller man, who suddenly went pale. “If he’s got a problem with me or my record, I’d like to rectify it. With a pummeling.”

“He’s not worth the energy. Guy’s always yipping at someone’s heels and being a nuisance.” Roman shook his head. “Mostly to me. So trust me when I say he isn't worth it.”

“Is that so?” Dean’s smile crept across his face but didn’t reach his eyes. “I want you to keep your mouth shut around me, Fuzzy.” He leaned down so he was eye to eye with Enzo, who looked like he might be sick. “You have no idea what the hell I’ve been through, but if you keep up with that kinda’ bullshit to me or my partner, I may treat you to a free sampler. We clear?”

“Crystal.” Amore said weakly.

“Great. Leave.” Dean ordered and Enzo scrambled away, probably heading to the break room to sulk and lick his wounds. “How does a guy like that have a badge?” He grumbled. “I’m an asshole, yeah, but I try to reserve it for the scumbags that earned it.”

“Remind me to tell you about his reaction to my lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“It’s a great story. Not disheartening in any way.”

…

It wasn’t too often that Roman’s phone rang, especially this late at night. He’d gone to bed hours ago.

“You’re where?” Roman yawned, the sheet falling to his hips as he sat up.

“Bar. Big one. Man, your mouth is somethin’ girls dream about havin’.”

Well if he hadn’t been awake before, he sure as hell was now. “I-I-I’m…excuse me?!”

“Freight Treigns you gotta’ come get meeee…I have a leeeeeeeead.”

“Did you find it at the bottom of a bottle?”

“Mm, kinda’. Look, s’a bar in…in…of all the gin joints in all the towns. Pay phone outside it.”

“Casablanca?” Roman hated himself a little for instantly knowing which place Dean was referring to. That was a gay bar. Club. Whatever. What kind of lead could Ambrose have picked up there? Unless… “Ambrose are you…are you in some kind of trouble? Is there someone there listening?” Roman struggled into a pair of jeans, trying to maneuver around the cord of the telephone.

“No-man, Ro-man, I was jus’ in for a drink.” Ambrose snickered, seeming very pleased with himself. “Look, I’ll see you inna’ li’l while, okey doke? Dime’s about-”

The receiver abruptly clicked and a dial tone buzzed in Roman’s ear. Reigns sighed, throwing on a probably-clean t-shirt and tucking his long hair up into his usual baseball cap. He debated leaving the phone off the hook in case Dean called back, but the other man had sounded pretty tipsy and Roman doubted he would put together that the busy signal meant he was on his way.

He’d been to Casablanca a few times. When he was feeling brave. Sometimes Fandango and Breeze got him to tag along with them. Roman snorted at the way Dean had tried to imitate Humphrey Bogart, “in all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…”, fingers nervously drumming an off-kilter rhythm on the steering wheel of his sedan as he eased his way into the late-night traffic.

Casablanca was busy tonight, of course it was. Roman sighed heavily. Plenty of people here to see him being brazen about who he was. Fucking Ambrose. He made the block and parked on the other side of the building, trying to be as inconspicuous as someone of his stature could be. Roman couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Get in, get Ambrose, get out.

Easier said than done, of course. The bouncer at the door (a huge bear of a man named Braun) didn’t give him any trouble, but the poorly-veiled sympathy in his eyes sat in Roman’s stomach like a rock. “Back again, huh? What is it this time?” Braun asked.

“I’m just here for a friend.” Roman tried to smile, tried to ignore the fact that apparently everyone else knew his habits better than he did. Sure, fine, he found himself here more often than not after a day had gone sour and he needed to forget with a drink and some people-watching. He didn’t dance, not really, he was too big for that. After witnessing Fandango and Breeze cut a rug on more than one occasion, he was hesitant to so much as toe the smooth tile of the dance floor lest he sully it. Casablanca was for people like them, all lithe and graceful. People like him? Door watchers, guard dogs. Kept the slim, pretty ones safe. Roman shook off his melancholy thoughts. Ambrose. Focus, Reigns.

Inside was the familiar pulse of electronic music, the disorienting flashes of lights that transformed the room into a mass of grasping hands, smoke and alcohol. Roman had been hoping that Dean would be intelligent enough to stay by the door, but he should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

Keeping his eyes on the dance floor, Reigns eased his way around the swirling maelstrom to approach the bar. Bayley waved to him with a big smile, bouncing over to lean on the counter. “Conan! It’s been a while, what can I get you?”

“Just information tonight, Hugger. I’m looking for a guy. He’s about this tall, light hair, blue eyes, thin.” Roman held up a hand to indicate Dean’s height, running through a mental list of what he might have been wearing. “Possibly in a black leather jacket, not like a bomber jacket, regular style. Red stripes on the cuffs. Looks a little loose on him.”

Bayley’s eyes glassed over for a second, that picture-perfect memory that had helped Reigns more than once hard at work, and then she was back with an enthusiastic nod. “Yeah! He talked with me for a while. Told me to call him Bogart, asked some questions. I’m not sure where he went, though. He mentioned he wasn’t the dancing type. Why, what’s he done?”

“He’s my partner-” Bayley’s squeal of delight interrupted Roman and he had to quickly add, “Work, woman, from work. Calm down. He called me, maybe half an hour ago? Forty minutes?”

“Check the bathroom?” She suggested, raising an eyebrow. “He was putting them away pretty quickly and he didn’t want any water in between.”

Roman nodded, sliding away from the counter once more. One lead was better than no lead, he reminded himself. “Hey Conan!” Roman heard Fandango over the throb of the music and he turned, giving the gyrating man a tired smile.

“What’s up, ‘Dango? Where’s Breeze?” Fingers grazed the back of Roman’s neck but at this point he was used to it, chuckling and brushing the smaller man off. Tyler got handsy when he was a little drunk.

“Conan! You came by yourself! I’m so proud of you.” Breeze clung to Roman’s tattooed arm, tapping the bridge of the larger officer’s nose. “’Dango almost lost his badge today. Enzo again.”

Roman tensed up. “What did he do now?”

Tyler fell silent, still wrapped around Roman’s arm. Fandango just shook his head, carefully peeling his partner off him. “You’re not really dressed for a night out, Conan.” Fandango pointed out, quickly changing the subject.

Dean. “You’re right, I’m just here to pick someone up. I’ll see you guys later, okay?” Reigns bolted for the restrooms. Dean. He barely resisted kicking the door in, it’s a push door you idiot stop trying to flex, still managing to shove it so hard it banged loudly on the wall behind it. He was instantly on guard and his ears picked up the too-familiar sound of someone hacking and retching. “Ambrose?”

“Rrr…” The groan was barely audible over the music pounding through the walls.

“Ambrose, shit.” Dean was slumped over the toilet in the lone stall, his body limp aside from the twitch of his fingers. Roman quickly dropped to one knee, cupping Dean’s chin to pull his face up out of the bowl. “Ambrose? Ambrose, you in there?”

“Yeah.” Dean breathed. His lip was bleeding, looked like he’d picked at the skin until it tore. Nervous habit, Roman noted absently. “M’ here, Rollins.” Dean reached up and shakily touched the side of Roman’s face, brushing the other man’s neatly-trimmed sideburns. “Y’shaved, looks good. Like it.” He smiled, expression dazed at best.

Rollins. “Sorry Ambrose, it’s Roman. Not Rollins.” Reigns tried to snap Dean back to reality but all he got was a blank stare. “Roman, your partner? The police officer?”

“Y’not Seth.”

“Bingo, Dean.”

Dean’s face suddenly brightened. “Freight Treigns! I di’nt think you’d come f’ me. Hi!” He said cheerily. “I wanna’…uh, hol’on.” Dean clumsily scrubbed at the blood on his lip with his cuff. “There’s a great girl workin’ th' bar, great girl.”

“Ambrose, you called me, said you had a lead.” Roman gingerly pulled Dean upright, the thinner man swaying on his feet.

Dean wasn’t paying attention, seemingly mesmerized by the ink on Roman’s arm. “Holy fuck.” He whispered, sounding awed as he stared down at the tribal artwork. “I…Freight Treigns, when didja’ get this?”

“Five minutes ago, found it in a Crackerjack box, seriously?” Roman huffed. “You woke my ass up out of a sound damn sleep, told me you had a lead.” He muscled the thinner man to the sink and Dean leaned over it obediently. A little too obediently. Roman’s eyes narrowed. He dampened a paper towel and started to clean Dean’s face up. There were tear tracks on the other man’s cheeks and Reigns’ clinical motions gentled somewhat. “Ambrose, talk to me. What happened here, man?”

“Heymannnn…talkin’ about Seth. I-I needed. Needed a drink.” Dean mumbled. “The girl. The bar girl. Bay leaf.”

“Bayley.” Roman corrected him quietly.

“Said she’d seen someone. Matched his description. Said he came here sometimes. Called himself Black.” Dean’s eyes filled with tears. “He died Roman, he died an’ I couldn’t do anythin’ ‘bou’it.”

“What happened to him?” Dean started up with this weird noise that set Roman’s teeth on edge. It took him a second to recognize that it was a sob. “Alright, okay, easy Ambrose.” He said quickly, trying to head off the waterworks. “I got it, no more questions.”

Dean shook his head violently, almost tipping himself over. Roman grabbed the arm of his jacket, steadying him while Dean pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle the sobs. “My f-fault, all m-m-my f-f-”

“Whatever happened, I doubt it was your fault.” Roman sighed, unwrapping a piece of gum and popping it into Dean’s mouth. “Here, chew. It’ll settle your stomach and deal with your cottonmouth,” he hoped. “No more crying man, c’mon. You’re already a mess. You didn’t take anything else, did you? Just drinks, right?”

Dean gripped his arm tight and buried his face in Roman’s chest. Reigns could feel his jaw working as he chewed the gum and whimpered helplessly before he finally shook his head no. “Can’t. Won’t do that shit.”

Slowly, trying not to startle him, Roman wrapped his other arm around Dean’s shoulders. “You’re alright, Ambrose. You’ll be okay.” He murmured, trying for a reassuring tone. “Am I bringing you home or bringing you to my place?” He didn’t exactly believe that Ambrose would go right to bed if he left him to his own devices. Roman knew he could at least make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit or something equally unpleasant.

Dean didn’t answer, just pushed his face further into Roman’s chest. That couldn’t be comfortable.

“My place it is. C’mon.”

Bayley winked at him from the bar when they slowly migrated by, and Roman huffed indignantly before childishly sticking his tongue out at her.

…

Dean was so far gone that Roman had a difficult time getting him up the stairs of his apartment building. Half-carrying, half-dragging him under the arms, Ambrose tried to help but mostly wrapped his body around Roman. It hurt a little to see, how desperate Dean was to have some kind of contact when he was clearly out of it.

Roman finally unlocked his door and attempted to ease Ambrose onto the couch. Dean dissolved into a puddle on the soft surface, the tall man curling up in a ball. His eyes followed Roman through a series of slow blinks, struggling out of his jacket so he could drape it over himself. “Not Rollins.” He mumbled, snuggling into the jacket.

“Not Rollins.” Roman barely kept from feeling Ambrose’s forehead for a fever. “Just Roman. Can you drink a glass of water?”

“S’important. Yeah. Can do whatever y’need.” Ambrose grabbed the back of the couch and leveraged his body into a sitting position. “So tired.”

“You’re loaded, Ambrose. That’s usual.” Roman thought longingly of his bed, getting a glass of water from his pitcher in the fridge. After a moment of deliberation, he popped open the bottle of Tylenol as well. Worse came to worst, it’d just come back up. “Here man. Drink and take these.”

“N’pills.” Dean slurred, trying to push Roman’s hand away after he carefully took the glass of water. “No pills. Ll’be ‘kay.”

“It’s just some Tylenol. For your headache.” Roman explained, sighing when Dean stubbornly shook his head. “Alright, but no whining in the morning when you have a forehead splitter.”

“Won’t do pills. Even little ones. Leads t' more, leads t' more leads'a more.” Dean squinted up at the larger man, looking uncommonly serious. “Be careful.”

“Alright, you have a hard limit. Wasn't sure. I won't offer again.” Roman yawned widely, stretching his arms over his head. When he dropped them again, Dean was blatantly staring at him. “What?” Roman asked uncomfortably after a moment had gone by.

“God, y' so pretty.” Dean lapped clumsily at the water that remained in the cup. “Th' tattoo? A-All of you? There's jus' so much of you an' I...I wanna' touch all of it.” He flopped back onto the couch, cradling the empty glass to his chest. “Oh man, Ro-man...” He said in a singsong cadence.

Roman silently pried the cup out of his hands and went to put it in the sink. When he returned, Ambrose was sound asleep. Reigns yanked the baseball cap off his head and dragged his hands through his hair, making a frustrated noise. Of course, the guy with the big blue eyes would be the one to get blackout drunk and spill his feelings while looking pitiful in that special way that made Roman want to bundle him up and protect him.

He'd be straight when the sun rose tomorrow, sure as hell.

Roman still grabbed one of the blankets from his bed and tucked it over Ambrose. He may be a lovesick idiot, but he wasn't an asshole.

...

The betrayal came as a shock. An awful, gut-wrenching shock. Roman hadn’t even known Rollins…Black, whoever. All he knew was that he’d been blown up, Ambrose blamed himself and that was that. But it seemed that Rollins was none the worse for the wear after being blown up, if the cackling laughter in the old warehouse was any indicator.

Commissioner Helmsley had demanded that Roman go after Dean when the blond had lashed out over being taken off the case. “It’s too close to home for you, Ambrose! Your personal bias can’t get in the way of this arrest!” Hunter had argued, so agitated that he’d accidentally snuffed out his cigarette on the desk instead of in his ash tray. The whole precinct must have heard their heated back and forth.

Dean obviously hadn’t been thinking clearly when he stormed off and the Commissioner had called Roman in on his day off. Not that he’d been doing anything except being mopey.

So here he was, crouched behind a stack of crates and listening in on a conversation he definitely wasn’t meant to hear.

“I thought you died.” Ambrose's voice trembled.

“That was the point, idiot. That was the plan from the beginning.”

Roman was willing to bet that Dean hadn’t had a clue about what he would do if he got to Rollins first, only a vague hope that his former partner was alive and not…well, up to nefarious activities. He was willing to bet that Ambrose hadn’t even strapped on his vest.

“You were always so fucking soft.” There was a hollow clacking noise, metal on metal. “You and your busted home and your ‘I just wanna’ help people Seth’.” Rollins spat. “Jesus Christ I was glad when I finally got to go dark. Meant I didn’t have to deal with your ass.”

“Seth, please-”

“Fuck you, don’t even talk to me. I should have blown your brains out.”

“Rollins, there has to be--”

“Are you really gonna’ do this? The whole, ‘there’s still good in you’ speech? Fuck’s sake Ambrose. Every cop is a crooked cop, one way or another.” Seth snorted derisively.

“Not my partner.”

“What did I just-”

“No, not you. My current partner. He’s different. He’s not like me, but he’s sure as fuck not like you either.” Dean snarled. “He's great. Smart. Believes in the good in people.”

“Christ, you’re pitiful and impotent. Don’t get me wrong, you coming here is gonna’ fuck up a couple things in the long run. But right now you can sit tight and wait for the boom.” That laughter rang out again and then Seth amended, “You and your buddy.”

A cold chill ran down Roman’s spine. “I came alone, Seth.” Dean sounded defeated. “Wanted to see whether it was true or not. I needed to know. I came alone.”

“Oh yeah?” The sharp click of a safety met Roman’s ears. “Come out or I do some interior decorating with his bodily fluids.” Seth snapped. “You have to the count of three. One!”

There was a grunt of pain from Ambrose and Roman flinched.

“Two!”

On the slim chance that Rollins would actually not shoot Dean in the head, Reigns bolted to his feet. “Wait!” He yelled, his own gun trained on the man they had all thought was dead. Seth had a pistol pressed to Dean’s temple and Roman deflated. “Please wait. Don’t…don’t hurt him.” The larger officer begged. “He’s worth much more to you alive, you need to think--”

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot if you think I need either of you alive.” Seth grinned, leveling his gun at Roman instead.

“Run, Reigns!” Ambrose shouted, struggling with the cuffs that secured him to a pylon. Rollins tore at his hair to silence him. “Seth, don’t-!”

The shot caught Roman square in the chest and he staggered back, bumping into the wall of warehouse crates. He slid slowly to the floor. He hadn’t expected it to hurt quite so much, but he supposed that was the point.

“No!” Dean screamed over Seth’s continued cackling. “You’re not getting away with this, Rollins!”

“Pretty sure I am. Now shush. You’ve only got maybe five minutes before that bomb goes off and you’re both deep fried. Might as well savor your last moments together while he bleeds out. I’ve got an orphan benefit gala to crash.” Seth holstered his gun and rumpled Ambrose’s hair. “It’s been an experience, Dean.”

Roman waited until he heard the sound of tires on gravel before sitting up with a grimace and straining to open his uniform shirt. His bulletproof vest made a popping noise, the bullet lodged firmly in the area over his heart. “Fuck, I’m going to have the worst kink in my neck.” He grunted. Dean’s face was priceless, his jaw gone slack as he watched Roman get to his feet. Reigns pulled out his cuff keys and quickly freed his partner, offering him a hand to help him up. “C’mon Ambrose. We got work to do.”

Dean grabbed his hand and dragged him into a fierce embrace. Roman felt tears dampen the fabric of his undershirt. “Thought you were dead.” Ambrose managed to say before Roman was hauling him bodily towards the door.

“There’s no time for that now, Ambrose, did you forget that this place is rigged to blow?!” Roman shouldered the door open, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the building. He grappled with the walkie on his shoulder for a second before finally getting the right button. “Dispatch, this is officer Reigns! Officer Reigns to dispatch, do you copy?”

There was a heart-stopping buzz of static, then Stephanie’s voice replied, “Dispatch to officer Reigns, what is your location?”

“Warehouse district, the docks. We had a hostile run-in with the suspect, he’s headed to the gala! Repeat, Black is headed to the orphan benefit g-”

The warehouse exploded behind them with a thunderous boom, knocking both men off their feet. Roman quickly rolled to cover Ambrose, Dean’s hand finding his own after a minute. “Roman!” Dean yelled over the ringing in Roman’s ears, coughing violently. “You okay?”

“Been fucking better!” Roman replied, snapping an arm over Dean’s head to protect him from the smoldering debris raining down. “You?”

“Aside from the raging boner I have from you being pressed up against me? Couple scrapes!”

Roman couldn’t help his nervous chuckle, whole body trembling from their close call. “Fuck, we could have died!”

Dean struggled to roll onto his back beneath Roman, grinning wildly up at him and then pulling the other man's face down for a breathtaking kiss. “Nah, no way! You said so yourself, Reigns! We've got work to do!” He panted when they parted.

…

Through the collective efforts of the force, Rollins was apprehended mere moments before his master plan could be set into motion. The fundraiser gala carried on without a hitch, the elite of the city blissfully unaware of the danger they had been in, while Rollins was stuffed into a cruiser and sent downtown.

Commissioner Helmsley turned to Roman and Dean after the cruiser was safely away, the older officer shaking his head. “In all my years on the force, I've never dealt with anything quite like that.” He somehow managed to say around the three cigarettes in his mouth. “Never seen a team quite like you boys, either. But I suppose, unconventional times call for unconventional police work.” He gave the both of them a rare smile. “You two have earned a night off. Now go hit the showers, you guys smell like a dirty lumberyard drenched in C-4!”

Now came the climax, Roman supposed, literally. He and Dean, freshly showered, rolling around in his bed. Ambrose reeked like his soap and that put the biggest, stupidest grin on Roman's face because God, he could definitely get used to that. It made him bold, made him urge Ambrose to lay flat on his stomach while he tried something he'd never done before.

Roman spread Dean wide and ate him out as sloppily as he could, loving the noises Ambrose made while he fucked his tongue slowly in and out of him. Reigns had always wanted to try his techniques on something that wasn’t a pussy, curious whether it would transfer, but he’d never mustered up the courage to ask any of the women he’d been with. And once he figured out a few things about himself, the women stopped altogether. People like him didn’t get to do things like this. That privilege was reserved for the slender, the conventional, the attractive. Not for someone like him. First time for everything.

Ambrose’s reaction was encouraging though, the blond biting the pillow and grinding his hips down against the mattress. He kept moaning Roman's name in this voice that cracked and wavered in the best way possible.

Roman fingered him open just as slowly. He wasn’t exactly in a rush and he coaxed Dean into a writhing, sweaty mess of need, stroking first one, then two, then three slick fingers into him. Dean was beautiful when he was desperate, promising everything and anything under the sun if Roman would “hurry the fuck up Reigns you’re killing me.” Roman didn’t have a clear idea of what Ambrose was up for, unfortunately. He probably should have figured out the terms before he started slobbering all over him. So he took his time, rocked his fingers in and out and kissed the small of Dean’s back and whispered whatever filthy thing came into his head.

Dean finally had enough of the torture and pulled Roman to lay down beside him so he could fumble a condom onto his aching cock. Ambrose’s hands ended up in his hair, his mouth on his throat whispering you came back for me into Roman’s skin like he still couldn’t believe it. Reigns closed his eyes and sighed in content. Maybe there was hope for someone like him after all. Dean eagerly straddled him, blue eyes half-lidding as he sank down on the other man’s cock. “Let me take care of you now.”

Roman knew he should just let Dean take over, he wasn't exactly experienced in this particular field, but he couldn't help flexing a little by grabbing Ambrose's hips and rolling his cock up into him. Just once, just so that the other man felt all of him.

Dean's back arched and his mouth popped open in a soundless cry. Roman immediately let him go, about to ask whether he'd done something wrong when Ambrose moved his legs out on either side of him, taking his cock as deep as he could. “You'll have to do better than that, Freight Treigns.” Dean rasped, hair falling into his eyes as he bucked and rocked his hips.

Roman spat into his palm and wrapped his fingers around Dean's cock. “How about now?” He teased through gritted teeth when he felt Ambrose tighten. “That okay?”

“Fucking Jesus-” Dean moaned.

“M' Roman.”

“Yes you fuckin' are.” Ambrose's blunt fingernails dragged over his tattooed pectoral and Roman couldn't contain his growl. “Oh is that how it is?” Dean's grin was smug and greedy, and it sent a lightning bolt down Roman's spine. “Is that sensitive, Roman? Is that sensitive?”

“You're a dick.” Roman snorted, sticking his tongue out.

“Fuck, I love how big your tongue is.” Dean hung his head and Reigns watched as a flush spread over his pale shoulders. “Sorry. That was supposed to be internal.” Ambrose mumbled. “Not trying to weird you out.”

“The fuck it was.” Reigns bottomed out in him and Dean gave a soft cry. “The fucking fuck it was, Ambrose. You tell me that shit. You like my mouth? Tell me.” Roman demanded, feeling power-drunk as Dean blushed and wriggled on his hips. “No one's ever told me that they like a part of me aside from my cock. And here you are, letting me fuck you nice and deep like how I want. Usually all anyone says to me is that they want me to rail them against the wall until they come.” Because of how I look, because of who I am--

“I like your eyes.” Dean sounded almost shy. “I like your mouth. I-I like your hands.” He planted his hands on Roman's chest, nails lightly digging in. “I like your hair, and your neck. And the way you smile at me.”

“Yeah?” Roman felt dumb for smiling, like he was doing it on command.

“Mmm.” Dean smiled right back at him, putting his hand over Roman's on his cock. “I don't need you to muscle me around, but I won't break if you decide to bury your dick in me, y'know?”

“Fuck.” Roman snarled, doing just that. “You're gonna' make me come if you keep talking.”

“You're gonna' come? Gonna' fuck up into me and fill me up?” Dean's hand sped up on his cock. “I'm close, I'm close, fuck, Roman make me come-” He pleaded, begged, commanded and Roman obliged, thumbing over the slick head of his cock and wrenching another cry out of Ambrose before he came hard on Roman's stomach. The rhythmic spasm of his body in orgasm was too much for Reigns to handle and he thrust his cock in one last time.

“Inside or outside?” Roman panted desperately. Dean's eyes were still rolled back in his head. “Fuck, Ambrose, can I come in you?” Condoms weren't foolproof, Dean was definitely within his bounds to say no and-

“Come in me, come in me-” Dean crooned, circling his hips in a daze. Roman couldn't have kept from coming even if he wanted to at that point. He pinned Ambrose's slender hips down and fucked every last drop into him, snapping his teeth when Dean cried out, “Yes!”

“Thank you, thank you.” Roman breathed after Dean slumped forward onto his chest, the taller man's body still trembling. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Thanks for savin' my life earlier.” Dean said abruptly, his voice a little muffled from where his mouth was pressed to Roman's collarbone. “Fuckin'...shit. I coulda' died.”

“No way.” Roman gripped him tighter. “I wouldn't let that happen. Not if I could help it.” Ambrose tilted his face up to kiss him and Reigns hastily dodged the motion. “No, no, at least let me brush my teeth.” He explained, seeing the look of hurt confusion that Dean tried (poorly) to hide. “Just let me brush my teeth, rinse my mouth and I promise I will give you a kiss.”

“Yeah? Well who says I want one now?” Dean pouted and Roman chuckled, swatting his ass.

“I'll change your mind.”

“Hurry up and get back here, then!” Dean ordered after Reigns got to his feet, the blond man sprawling out to take up a decent portion of the bed. “Don't forget we have work to do, Reigns.”

Roman didn't even have to turn around to know that Ambrose was smiling. “God, I hope so.”

#dean ambrose #roman reigns #roman reigns/dean ambrose #ambreigns #ambreigns au #Wrestle!AU: Freight Treigns #cop!Ambrose #cop!Reigns #because I watched Timecop and The Last Action Hero and a bunch of other crap #thirst party saturday #enjoy!#ambreigns smut #this is supposed to take place in the 80s-early 90s #but that's not really important #evil!Seth #loose-cannonry #not playing by the rules

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