Categories > TV > WWE

Want To

by RhiannonLeighBlack 2 reviews

I don't want to, if you don't want to. Oneshot.

Category: WWE - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Romance - Published: 2013-02-04 - Updated: 2013-02-05 - 2238 words - Complete

“And this is mi casa.”

Jonathan Good, professionally known as Jon Moxley, smiled tiredly as he walked through the front door of his small, meager apartment; his left arm was extended behind him, and he gently tugged in a smaller, curvier figure. He gave the young woman a lopsided smile, slowly detangling his fingers from hers as he pulled her flush to his side, gently kissing the top of her head.

“It’s not much, I know, but it’s home,” he continued.

Standing on her tiptoes, the light of Jon’s life softly kissed his cheek.

“I love it,” she responded, slowly brushing a lock of blood-stiffened hair off his forehead.

Her eyes narrowed as they landed on the large gash near his hairline, and Jon resisted the urge to lean away from the small, dainty fingers as they gently brushed across it, a steely gaze fixed on him.

“Sit,” she ordered, squatting down next to her purse.

Jon sighed, slowly shrugging out of his trademark leather jacket, before sinking to the floor; they’d had this argument more than a few times over the years, and she always won. Recently, he’d realized that maybe it was time to stop arguing. Especially when she rewarded him with one of those addictively sweet kisses he found himself craving lately. He glanced over, admiring the curve of her ass as she pulled out a large bottle of rubbing alcohol and a tube of triple antibiotic ointment, along with band aids, surgical tape, and gauze.

He leaned back against the wall, trying to hide a smile, a comfortable silence settling over them as she carefully cleaned the numerous cuts and contusions on his sore body, slowly patching him up as best she could. Jon winced, moaning softly as her fingers brushed across the staple in his forearm. She gasped, and bit back a sob as she removed it, pouring the wound full of rubbing alcohol. He kept his eyes glued to her as she finished bandaging it to her satisfaction; before she could pull away, he’d snagged her hand, gently kissing the palm, and then down her wrist, finally tugging her into his lap, holding her close to his chest.

Jon stroked her back, relishing the fact that she shivered at his touch, kissing away each tear before it could fall; gently, he tipped her chin up and caught her lips in a sweet, passionate kiss. She cared more about him than anyone else ever had, and it killed him to see her cry, knowing that seeing him in physical pain caused it.

“It really doesn’t hurt that bad,” he lied, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

“I wish you’d stop taking these matches,” she sighed, leaning into his hand.

Jon sighed, resting his chin on top of her head.

“This is what I do. It’s who I am. You knew this ahead of time.”

“It hasn’t always been this way. You wrestled plenty of matches in HWA without all this extra stuff. Baby, you can do better.”

He rolled his eyes, smirking as he glanced down at her.

“I keep forgetting you’ve been around that long. I’ve been trying to shake you off for years. Why do you wanna hang out with me anyway, huh?”

“I know, and I’ve been working on getting past those walls of yours ever since you shoved your way to the ring that night when I was sitting front row. It’s your fault, y’know, for lookin’ so sexy with that long pink hair, and those tight jeans, and that “fuck you” attitude.”

Jon chuckled, one hand gently stroking her side as the other laced with hers.

“And no matter how hard I tried to make you get lost, to stop followin’ me around, stop showing up at my car after the show to patch me up, and stop ditching your friends to keep an eye on me when I’m drunk, you just kept doing it. I never understood why. And somehow you managed to get closer to me than anyone else has. How did you do that?”

She giggled, and Jon felt his heart skip a beat; he adored that sound.

“Perseverance, hot stuff, that’s how I managed it. Hey, did they ever call you back from Connecticut?”

“I think I’m going to turn them down.”


She pulled away from his chest, out of his arms, and immediately he found himself wanting to pull her back.

“They’ll change everything. They’ll make me change my name, they’ll change the way I talk, the way I wrestle. They’ll water me down. It won’t be me anymore. And they’ll make me move, I don’t want to leave Ohio.”

“But Jon, they’d take really good care of you. You wouldn’t be hurt like this anymore. The pay is better, and you’d be in the big leagues, where you belong.”


“Jon, please, don’t turn this down. You deserve this shot.”

He glanced up at her pitifully.

“But I wouldn’t get to see you anymore.”

The look in her eyes softened, and she cuddled to his chest again, pressing soft kisses to the side of his neck as his arms coiled tightly around her. They stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity, Jon clinging to her, unwilling to let go. Finally, she stood, tugging his hand.

“Come on, you need to shower and get the blood out of your hair,” she stated, glancing up at him as he rose to his full height.

“Okay,” he conceded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But, you have to eat while I do that. I cooked earlier,” he grinned, nodding to the refrigerator.

“Jonathan Good cooked? For me? Is it edible?”

“Oh ha ha, shorty, very funny. Not. I’ll have you know my meatloaf is delicious,” he retorted, gently massaging her shoulders, as he walked her to the refrigerator door.

Jon had to work hard to keep his hands where they were when she purred. This was the one girl he didn’t want to rush things with. So far, so good, it had been three months, and he’d kept himself in check; he wasn’t about to wreck that on the first night she spent in his home.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she agreed, giving him a gentle shove on the chest.

He grinned as he caught her hand, pressing a kiss to the palm, before carefully dropping it and padding towards his bathroom.

When Jon returned fifteen minutes later, a pair of gym shorts slung low on his hips, he found her washing dishes, and humming along to a tune he didn’t recognize off the top of his head. She gasped, and giggled softly as one arm wound around her waist, while he pulled her hair away from her neck and softly brushed his lips over the side.

“I see my meatloaf was indeed edible,” he chuckled, as she turned around and slowly looped her arms around his neck.

“Yeah, and you were right, it was delicious. Thank you.”

She blushed as he kissed the end of her nose, and took her hands, gently stroking her fingers as he brought them down from his neck.

“Come on, I’ll give you the tour,” he suggested.

Jon’s chest puffed, and he noted that she was admiring her surroundings, as he led her from room to room.

“And this is where I sleep,” he concluded, nodding towards the large bed shoved back against the wall.

He’d actually cleaned this morning, making sure everything was picked up, put away, and that the bed was made. He wanted her to see that he was making an effort to impress her, and more importantly, see that she was comfortable.

“I have a shirt you can sleep in if you want, I figured that would be more comfortable. And, I’m gonna take the couch tonight,” he continued.


Jon blushed, glancing down at his feet.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, that’s all. I know you wanted to take things slow, and I don’t want you to feel rushed or anything—”

He would’ve rambled for an hour if she’d let him, but instead she rolled her eyes and cut him off with a soft peck to the lips.

“Please stay with me?”

“But—I—are you sure?”

“It’s cold, and I don’t want to wake up in a strange place by myself. Please?”

Jon sighed, and finally nodded his agreement, before stepping over to his closet; his Cincinnati Reds shirt was hanging up front, and he carefully pulled it off the hanger before handing it to her.

“I thought you might want this one, you always tell me how much you like it,” he mumbled, before he turned his back so that she could change. “Which side of the bed do you prefer?”

“I like the left, but I can lay on the right.”

“Left is fine, I like the right better anyway,” he replied.

Jon only turned back around after he heard the springs on his bed creak; when he did, he blushed and tried to hide that he was choking. She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and the neck of his shirt had slid down on one side, leaving her shoulder bare.

“Are you gonna stand there all night, or are you actually going to get some shuteye, Mox?” she cracked, grinning.

He slid in on the right side of the bed, carefully leaning across her to turn out the lamp.

Hours later, Jon watched over her, holding her close as she slept, and absently running his fingers through the mop of auburn hair that was now loose; her head rested on his chest, right over his heart. His Cincinnati Reds shirt lay on the floor, next to the shorts he’d had on when they went to bed.

He’d had every intention of just sleeping next to her, being satisfied with holding her tonight—and nothing more—but she’d had different plans. As usual, he’d been unable to deny her what she’d wanted—what they both wanted, really—but he’d asked her if she was sure, as he’d pulled on a condom. For the first time in his life, he’d gone slow, and he’d been gentle, afraid that he’d hurt her if he didn’t. It had never mattered before, they’d just been means to an end, just a quick fuck because he was hard and lonely, but she was different. Tonight hadn’t been sex, it had been making love; he’d never understood the difference until now. The tiny noises of pleasure she’d made echoed through his memory, and the arm wrapped around her tightened, pulling her closer into his chest.

He stared at her, in awe of the fact that she’d still been there when he woke up. The others had been told to leave immediately after the fact, but again, she was different. Jon had pulled her flush to his side the second he rolled off her, unwilling to let her slip out of his arms even for a second, and she’d stayed, happily.

He remembered how he’d lashed out at her so many times before, desperately trying to push her away before she saw the man that lay beneath the carefully crafted façade he showed off in the ring and to the rest of the world. He’d screamed at her, cursed her, told her how stupid she was for hanging around him. That he really was a sick man, crazed, and that she’d be better off to walk away because he was in a “mood”. And the harder Jon had tried, the more stubborn she had become, until finally his defenses crumbled. He was sure that when she saw what he was inside, that she’d leave, abandon him the way everyone else had; but to his surprise, she’d stayed. She had accepted him for the man that he was, the good parts and the bad, and before he’d even realized it, he’d fallen in love with her. He’d thought it too much to ask, too much to hope that she felt the same, but she had.

She’d asked to take things slow, for both their sakes, and he’d happily agreed. He needed to, more than she knew.

As she sighed, and mumbled his name in her sleep, cuddling closer, he realized something else. She needed him, as much if not more than he needed her. He’d never been needed before, and it was a nice feeling, one that he didn’t want to give up, not for anything. He knew that she realized what the schedule would be like if he took this offer, what they’d both be sacrificing, and yet she was still asking him to take it. His happiness, his future, was being put ahead of what she wanted—what she needed—because she loved him.

Jon brushed a lock of hair back off her forehead, kissing it softly.

“I’ll only do this if you come with me,” he whispered.
Sign up to rate and review this story