WWE Preference; #33; Please Don’t Give Up on Me
*warning; there’s talk of drug abuse and addiction in Dean’s, if it makes you uncomfortable, skip it please <3**
“Please, don’t give up on me,” he
mumbled as you sat next to him with your head down on the table on the kitchen
island, his statement making you sigh. Being in love with a man who’s multi
lingual is sometimes wonderful and also sometimes the hardest moments of your
You’d gotten into a fight when you’d expressed your concern about a new women’s wrestler from NXT flirting with Cesaro in front of you, him wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they talked and he gave her advice while you were working in the ring with her. He didn’t understand that it was a big deal to have his hands on her, especially when you were in a relationship and in the ring with them.
“I’m not giving up on you,” you told him lightly, reaching down to grab his hand and spin your chair to face him completely, your other hand going up to his cheek and your thumb rubbing on the stubble on his jaw. “I understand that where you come from, it’s perfectly normal to put your arm around someone when you talk and to be close to someone to you’re comfortable with but as your girlfriend, it makes me incredibly uncomfortable when she was giving you googly eyes,” you said and his eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean? Googly eyes,” he repeated your statement and you sighed a little bit and bit your lip.
“She was giving you the eyes that I would give you when I want to have sex,” you simplified for him and his eyes widened, his mouth falling open.
“Oh,” he gasped, immediately peppering kisses over your face. “I’m so sorry love, I had no idea that that was what it looked like. I promise I’ll start paying more attention to faces then words,” he promised and pecked you gently on the lips.
Trigger warning; drug use and talk of addiction*
I got hella emotional writing this so sorry for the feels**
“Please don’t give up on me,” he whispered, his head low as he sat
on the bathtub edge while you flushed the bag of drugs he’d recently bought
down the toilet. “I know I’m a mess,” he grumbled, his head going into his hands
as his breathing got heavy.
You avoided his eyes, not sure what to say. You’d been with Dean since he started as Jon Moxley and as he was about to begin working with WWE, he needed to get clean, something he’d struggled with for most of his young life and something you’d tried to help him do for a long long time. You didn’t like Dean when he was high, that much was obvious. You’d never partake in them, afraid of what damage they would do and you didn’t like the void gaze in his eyes when he’d just had a few hits, like no one was home to take the message.
“You are a mess,” you sighed and sat on the bathroom floor, looking up at him as your eyes connected. “Are you high right now? Is this my boyfriend I’m talking to or did Mox take over for the evening?”
“Why do you say it like that?” he asked, sniffling as a tear slipped from his eyes indicating that he was your boyfriend and not the crazy one.
“Because Dean, I need to know how to talk to you in this conversation because you are completely different when you’re high and I’ve been doing this for six years now and I don’t know how much more I can do this with you Dean,” you tell him, standing up and walking toward the door, leaning on the frame.
“You tell me you want to be clean and you want my help and then I find you in the bathroom with a dime bag,” you exclaim, punching the doorframe, splitting your skin from the impact and crying out as you shake it harshly, blood seeping through the wound. “I don’t want to give up on you but I don’t know what else I can do.” You tell him and glanced at him as he stands up to assess your hand in concern. “What you’re doing, is like watching me punch this wall, me telling you that it hurts but then punching the wall again,” you explained, tears streaming down your face now.
He pulled you toward him and hugged you tightly to his chest, crying as well, knowing he was only hurting the both of you. “I can’t lose you Dean, I’m never going to give up on you but you can’t give up on yourself,” you tell him quietly as you stand holding each other and sobbing, trying to figure out your next move after he wraps up your hand.
“Please, don’t give up on me,” he begs, his thick Irish accent coming out even heavier as he stands in the middle of the hotel room, watching you pack your bags as you sigh and throw another shirt in your bag, ignoring him. “Please don’t ignore me,” he whispers, making you turn around and glare at him.
“How does it feel?” you replied angrily, hurt flashing across his face but more of a sadness for knowing that he made you feel that way. “You know what Finn, I travel on a redeye to surprise you at NXT, to tell you that I’m going to be able to stay and be with you for two weeks and you tell me that you don’t know if that’s going to work with how much work you have leading up to you moving to Raw where I won’t be able to see you for longer periods of time,” you tell him as you zip up your bag and begin to move to the bathroom to pack up your toiletries.
“Baby, I’m so sorry, I just didn’t know that you were coming and the draft happened and they revealed me moving up to the main roster-,” he began but you stopped him and turned around even more angry.
“No, no. no, no, no, no! This is not about work! You are making this argument about work,” you yell at him, “You make everything that’s wrong with our relationship about your work. It’s not about what you’ve said wrong or how I feel, it’s about work! I can’t do this anymore Finn,” you say, suddenly quiet, your broken expression breaking through your hard exterior and his heart breaks that he’s caused you this much pain.
“I never realized that I was making you feel this way,” he whispered, fearing running through him that you’d leave.
“No, you wouldn’t, you don’t see our relationship anymore Finn, that’s the problem,” you whispered, moving back out of the bathroom and throwing your toiletries in your bags.