Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Summary: Dean has something to say about Renee's new haircut. AmbroseRenee, oneshot

So, Renee's new haircut is adorable and this fanfic kind of just wrote itself. It's my first time writing DeanRenee, so I really hope I do them justice. I kind of have an on-off relationship with this pairing. Sometimes I love them, sometimes I'm like "meh", but right now I really dig them together and wanted to write something for them. Plus, I couldn't see any other guy in this fic besides Dean, so there's that. I really hope that y'all enjoy!

Goldenrod

Renee Young tilted her head back and forth, a warm smile forming on her face as she did so. There was something so liberating about taking the plunge and lopping off several inches of her hair. She knew it was kind of a risk - all in all, women with long hair were deemed more desirable by the general populace (or, at least, that was what was said in every poll ever done ever) - but it was one she had wanted to take.

Her head felt lighter, not being weighed down with the mass of blonde curls that normally adorned her head. There were also a myriad of styles she could try out, and for that she was beyond grateful. Short hair was versatile, low-maintenance, and everything else balled into one. With a busy lifestyle, it seemed a perfect choice, and a stylish one.

And the compliments didn't hurt, either.

That was a shallow reason to enjoy the change, she knew, but she couldn't help herself. Although she was always kind of awkward while taking compliments, she couldn't help but smile when one of her co-workers passed her in the hall and mentioned how her new hair suited her, or how cute she looked, or "Damn, girl!" in Nikki's case.

She honestly couldn't help but smile as she thought about it - not to mention she felt good, as well, and that was all that she could have asked for.

Renee gave herself a last look in the mirror in front of her and straightened her skirt - it was a flowy, white thing with a pattern of black flowers stretching across the fabric. The shirt was a blue that brought out her eyes and her shoes were a simple pair of black flats with straps that wrapped around her thin ankles. She breathed in and out several times, getting ready to begin the night with an interview with a couple of interviews that were going to be shown throughout the show. There was a familiar sense of nervous excitement that she always got before she started a show. No matter how many times she would interview someone, no matter the relationship she developed with the people on the other side of her microphone, things were unpredictable in the WWE. One moment could be calm and simple, and the next she could be in the middle of a knock-down, drag-out fight between two of the largest, hulking figures in the business.

But she loved it.

She spun on a heel and began to make her way to the room they had prepared for her interviews. There was little in the way of scripted questions, and that was something she loved about her job. She loved asking the right question at the right time and provoking an answer that was truly deep and profound and showed the inner workings of the person who'd answered it.

She had her favorites to interview, that was for sure. Renee always loved seeing The Authority answer questions, so political with their answers, always teetering on the edge of revealing too much about their future plance. She loved interviewing Paul Heyman, believe it or not. His answers were always well-worded - and often BS, too - but never failed to entertain. Roman Reigns, with his deep baritone and quiet confidence. AJ Lee with her own brand of chaos. Wade Barrett with his thick accent. Dolph Ziggler and his flashy persona...

"Well, look at that."

Speaking of favorite people to interview...

"Hey, Dean," she said, sounding playfully exasperated.

Dean Ambrose stood in front of her, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, the hood itself covering his messy hair. His blue eyes were steady as they held hers, almost strangely so. She was so used to him moving about, his eyes darting about the place, that seeing him standing still was almost blasphemous.

Renee's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He had hardly spoken a word to her since he said those four words in greeting. And that was certainly something new, all things considered.

"Are...you okay?" she asked, just slightly concerned. Okay, maybe a lot concerned. She tilted her head to the side, feeling the short strands of hair as they brushed her neck. This action seemed to make matters worse.

"F...ine..." he replied. Or, croaked, really.

Renee took a few steps toward him, clearly not buying whatever he was trying to sell her. "Do you need to see the trainer or something? Did your last match cause some irreversible brain damage?" she teased, voice light.

The jab seemed to wake him up, at least to some extent. Renee looked at him with slightly widened eyes as he approached her.

"You gotta warn a guy before you go and do something like this..." he trailed off. If Renee didn't know better, she could have sworn he was looking at her hair.

"Wh...what?" Now she was the one at a loss for words. She suddenly felt self-conscious, her fingers smoothing her hair as she fidgeted from foot to foot. She was used to getting the occasional insult thrown at her, sure - the internet was home to a trove of people who hated her guts, just for her friendship with The Lunatic Fringe - but she wasn't used to having the man in front of her hurl one straight at her. "You don't - "

Before she could say anything, Dean's fingers reached up, taking a piece of her wavy blonde hair between his thumb and index finger. He rolled the lock of hair between his fingers, his eyes half-lidded, his breath coasting over her exposed neck. He inhaled deeply through his nose, as if steadying himself, before leaning to the shell of her ear, lips ghosting over the flesh that resided there, saying, "You gotta warn me if you're gonna show up, short hair like that..." he practically growled. "I'm not called unstable for nothing..."

"You..." Renee gasped, shocked despite herself. "You like it...?"

"Like it is a fucking understatement, darling," he said, voice huskier than she'd ever heard it. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until he - reluctantly - parted from her, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders, all anxious movement back in his body, before walking away from her, looking more unsettled than she'd ever seen him.

With her pounding heart, her flushed cheeks, and the coiling need in her stomach, Renee found herself equally as unsettled - and equally mystified as to why.

End.