#Bloody Knuckles

[doumidas-whumps]

keep your hands down.

[pedrito-friskito]

bloody knuckles - joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you come home injured, and Joel has something to say about it.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, swearing, mentions of injuries/canon-typical violence, spoilers for the show, heavily inspired by joel’s reaction to tess (iykyk), oral (f receiving), brief spanking, a bit of manhandling, unprotected p-in-v (WRAP UR SHIT IN THE APOCALYPSE FAM), I have joel miller brain rot and I regret nothing

(could be read as part of the fire + whiskey universe, but can still be enjoyed regardless)

✨I no longer have a taglist - please follow @friskito-library and turn on notifs to be notified of new fics!✨

He’s asleep, when your key hits the lock.

It depends on the day, lately, what you get when you manage to find your way back to the apartment. Every day is different, a roulette wheel that doesn’t seem to let up. Some days, he’s still awake, poring over his maps at the scratched kitchen table, the bottle of hooch not far from his grip. Other times he’s pacing by the window, the radio a quiet whine, his hair yanked in a million different directions. Sometimes he’s not even home, and you’re the one left to wait up, or pass out on the couch trying to.

But today, he’s asleep.

Silently, you’re grateful. If he saw the state of you, he’d barrel right through the fucking door the moment you let slip who had hurt you. That’s how it is, these days, and that’s how you have to be, you know. But you can’t risk it. You can’t risk him.

The pipes rattle when you flick on the faucet, try and rinse some of the blood from your hands, wincing at your sore knuckles. It’s just past curfew, and light from the too-bright street lamps filters through the living room window, and you scour for a painkiller, tossing half of something back with a sip from the hooch bottle still on the table.

He doesn’t move until you’re perched on the edge of the bed, wrapping your hand with some gauze you pilfered from the pharmacy on your way back. There’s no words, at first, just the rough drag of his hand across the small of your back, a low grunt as he rolls toward you. You pull the shirt off, feeling his fingers rove up your spine, tapping over your bones.

You’re reaching for a new shirt — one of his stashed in the pile of semi-clean clothes — when he curls his finger under your bra, pulls you back a little. “C’mere,” he mumbles, and you let yourself fall back. He lets out a low oomph when you hit his chest. He’s fully clothed, even his boots still on. “Where y’been?”

“Nowhere important,” you reply, keeping your face pointedly away from him. You pull your legs up onto the mattress, sinking down beside him, your back brushing against his chest as you sprawl on the mattress. Instantly, he slips a knee between yours, slings his arm around your waist, hauls you closer. “You been sleeping all day?”

“Don’t change the subject, girlie,” he murmurs, low in your ear, and you just shake your head, silencing your wince, burrowing deeper into his embrace. “Couple hours. Long day.”

“Talk in the morning,” you reply, covering his hand with your undamaged one. “I’m tired too.”

He grunts in response, and that’s that.

Joel doesn’t wait until morning.

The sky is still dark when he’s shaking your shoulder, rousing you just on the edge of roughly, heavy eyelids blinking open to see him gripping your bandaged hand, the camping lantern on the makeshift beside table the only bit of light.

“Who.” Not a question.

“It’s nothing,” you start to say, rolling towards him out of instinct, reaching up to rub the sleep from your eye but then biting back a quiet cry when your face flares with pain. “I fell and it just—”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he snaps, and drops your hand, fingers either side of your jaw a moment later, turning your face towards him, towards the light, gently. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Joel, don’t—”

“No,” he spits, springing up off the mattress, crossing to the kitchen, finding a rag, putting a bit of the hooch on it. The closest you’ll get to antiseptic. “You’ve got a black fuckin’ eye. Tell me who. Now.”

“Why?” you ask, sitting up as he returns to the bed, kneeling on the edge, taking your jaw in his hand again. “So you can break curfew and get charged for disturbing the peace? They’re hanging people for less these days, Joel. I won’t…” You wince as he touches the rag to your split skin, swiping at the dried blood you’d half-heartedly wiped at. “I won’t let you.”

He goes quiet, jaw working, his brow furrowed so hard you can’t resist reaching out and smoothing your thumb along the line it makes in his forehead. “I want to know.”

“If I tell you, you need to stay,” you say, moving your thumb back and forth along his skin. “I need you to remember that you taught me how to protect myself, too.” The corner of your mouth quirks. “And the assholes that did this to me look much worse.”

His face softens slightly, and his brow slowly raises. You let your hand move lower, dragging your knuckles down to his scruffy jaw. “How much worse?”

“Pretty sure I broke the one guy’s nose,” you say, unable to stifle your smug grin when his eyes widen slightly. “And the other, well, he definitely won’t be using his hand anytime soon.”

He lowers the rag, tossing it to the side as you move a little closer, pushing back the blanket he’d draped over you. He just watches, lips softly parted, nostrils flaring as you get closer still, lifting your leg and sliding into his lap.

“You’re not the only attack dog in Boston,” you say quietly, and Joel huffs, hands finding homes on your hips as you run yours along his shoulders, up the back of his head, tangling in his hair. “I’m well-trained.”

“Girlie,” he grumbles out, almost a warning in his tone.

“What?” you murmur, feigning innocence. “You taught me. Saved my life. Kept me going. Keep me going.” You lean in, press your lips softly to one of the bare patches in his beard, the perfect shape for your mouth. “You remember the day we found each other again?”

He tilts his head back slightly, peering at you down his nose, his eyes darkening as he slips his hands up the hem of your shirt, seeking out bare skin. “O’course I do.”

“And that night, when you fucked me so good in that—”

The rest of the sentence dies on your tongue. He surges upward, claims your mouth for his own. You let him, tugging at his hair as he devours you. He tastes like hooch — he must have stolen a sip — and you drink it down like it’s the finest whiskey you’ve ever had, your tongue tangling with his, hips rolling down, the friction between you two making you both gasp.

In one fluid movement, he’s lifting the shirt over your head, letting his mouth map a trail down your chest, while you’re pawing at his shirt, nails dragging against buttons, scratching lightly at the exposed patch of skin at his collar. You moan when he pulls your bra out of the way, mouths at your nipple, scruffy jaw scraping sensitive skin.

Your back hits the mattress a minute later, and you automatically reach for his belt, letting your fingers glance across the bulge in his jeans, but he pushes your hands away. “Nuh-uh,” he grunts, and pulls both your legs over one shoulder, reaching for the waist of your leggings. “Lift.”

You do as you’re told, and the bundle of fabric goes flying a moment later. He doesn’t waste any time, grabbing your ankles in his hands, peeling your legs apart. You gasp, the air cold as it hits your skin, but before you have a chance to shiver, your knees are hooked over both his shoulders, thighs around his ears. He’s got one strong arm banded around your waist, keeping you off the mattress, and his other hand roves beneath, grabbing handfuls of your ass, squeezing, smoothing along your spine.

His tongue feels like fire, flicking at every single one of your nerves. It turns your blood to flame, white-hot pleasure that sinks through your limbs as he buries his mouth between your legs. His hand moves back to cup your ass again, giving you a quick spank before he’s grabbing your cheek, flesh pinched between his knuckles.

You bury one hand at the crown of his head, those grey-streaked curls wrapping around your fingers. When you tug, he hums against you, the vibrations making sparks shoot across your vision, and you lock your ankles together between his shoulder blades, keeping him hostage to your pleasure. He’s more than willing, dropping his jaw slightly, dipping his tongue straight into your very core.

“Joel,” you groan out, back arching when he spanks you again, fingers soothing the hot spot instantly. “Fucking christ. Fuck me, please?”

“Cum,” he commands, his voice gruff as he speaks the word into your cunt, lips shiny with your slick. Your spine prickles with anticipation, the coil in your gut growing tight as he moves his mouth up, draws your throbbing clit between his lips and sucks hard. “Cum, and I’ll give you my cock.”

You nearly whine, but then his hand dips, following the curve of your ass, thumb pressing between your folds, stroking at your entrance. Everything goes tight, the edges of your vision tinged black with the intensity, and you do as you’re told, cumming with a shout muffled on the back of your hand. He licks you through it, dropping your hips back to the mattress when you push at him, legs going wide as they slide off his shoulders.

Joel shuffles back slightly, giving you room to stretch out. His belt is undone in one swift move, jeans pushed around his hips and his cock springing free, hard and heavy. You watch, chest heaving as he takes himself in hand, leans over you just enough to drag his tip through your wetness. Your hands curl into fists in the blankets, thighs twitching around his hips, and he plants one hand beside your head, leaning over you completely.

You lift your hips off the bed, catching his cock at your entrance, and he groans, his forehead pressed against your temple, carefully avoiding your black eye. You both exhale deeply as he pushes all the way in, filling you to the hilt, lips pressing a sloppy kiss to you cheek as his hips roll down. Your knees bend up around his ribs, both hands back in his hair.

He goes slow, slow enough that you can feel every inch, every twitch in his muscles, hear every word that falls from his lips, every soft grunt and quiet groan. “Always feels so fuckin’ good,” he rasps, and you cheat your hand down his back, pushing his jeans lower so you can grab a handful of his ass. “Jesus fuckin’ christ.”

You’re chasing his every move, hips lifting in tandem with his. You squeeze your thighs, palms flattening against his ribs, bearing down on him best you can. His pace falters, a grunted girlie meeting your ears, and you take it as an opening, pushing at his shoulder until he topples onto the mattress, using the momentum to land you in his lap.

It changes the angle, forcing his cock against something devastating inside you, your head tipping back on your shoulders. He puts both hands on your hips, guiding you as you drag yourself along him, knees planted either side of him. You wanted to take control, but it’s faltering in an instant, the feeling of him just too fucking good.

Joel bands his arm around your shoulders when you chest meets his, burying his face in your neck. You feel him shift, knees coming until his thighs are pressed to the backs of yours, and your attempt at control is completely out the window. He hammers into you, knotting his fingers in your hair, and you howl as your second orgasm hits, flooding his cock, all but clawing at his shoulders as the pleasure rocks you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grits, legs shaking as he drives up into you. There’s a quick pause, your body jolted slightly upwards as he pulls out, curling his fingers around the base of his cock, fucking his hand until he cums hot against your ass. You force your lips against his, kissing him through his own orgasm, taking his bottom lip between your teeth when he groans, returning your kiss as soon as the sound finishes.

The entire apartment seems quiet, in the after. There’s silent groans from each of you, Joel shuffling to find a rag, wiping at your skin, you going to steal a sip of the hooch while he buckles his belt. You both redress, sliding your boots back on before sprawling on the mattress beside him. It’s habit, now, sleeping in your clothes, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

He opens his arms to you when you slide close, and you fit yourself against him, your head fitting under his chin, hooking a knee over his hip. He drops his jaw, presses a kiss to your forehead, grumbling quietly as you settle into his grip.

“Girlie,” he mumbles, dragging his scruffy chin over your head.

“Yeah?”

“I still wanna beat the shit out of those guys.”

You let out a little chuckle, burrowing deeper into his embrace, rubbing your hand up his side. “I know you do, baby.”

[aceofwhump]

The Umbrella Academy 4x04 and 4x05

[violent-spirit]

[painsandconfusion]

Off Guard

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Thirty-eight

(tw: electrocution, escape attempt, concussion, torture, death mention, murder mention, plotting murder, handcuffs, stun gun, blood, beating, unintentional self harm (bloody knuckles)) [Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Ethan’s fingers tingled as he walked, flicking them against each other by his side to stave off the sensation as he moved down the hall. 

He didn’t want to be too loud. Not tonight. The light was off in Nate’s room, so the bastard must finally be getting some half decent sleep. No reason to wake him and have the idiot trying to take over the scene. Again.

He shoved open the workshop doors, ignoring the slight grinding whine the hinges gave off - though still subconciously noting to add some kind of oil or whatever the fuck you do with hinges later. As the lights snapped on, the pitiful lump of a man in the middle of the room curled into his chains, a small sound of displeasure coming off of him.

“What, were you sleeping? I’m sorry-” Ethan stepped up to him, almost delicately pressing a foot down onto a dried slurry of blood that gashed over Crawford’s thigh. 

“Hnn-stopstto-”

“Hmm… I dunno, maybe beg a little more and see if it puts me in a good mood?” The edges of his mouth seemed to shift, tugging like curtains pulled by a string on the other side of the room to coax a smile out of him. 

Getting there, at least.

It was an almost completely forgotten sensation. Smiling without meaning to. It pulled an entirely different set of muscles than the simple, polite curve he gave to people he wanted to shut up or leave him alone. Different than the ruse he put on or the sarcastic toothy grin he threw in Nate’s direction in place of a verbal response. This was something different entirely. Like a little parasite had carved up inside his cheek and gnawed at the thin strands of muscle until they tightened like strings of a violin, ready for the steady screech of rosin to truly set them alight.

“Y’mdnr-”

“Hmm~?” Ethan’s foot ground in further, leaning in to see Crawford’s face as the man squished it against the cement. 

Another incoherent slurry of sound pressed from the man’s throat, still curled into a ball around the spot where the shackle lashed him to the ground. 

Ethan rolled his eyes, pushing off the man with a small kicking shove before crouching down and squirming his hand into the knotted ball of a man to grab his jaw. Twist him round. Hear his neck crackle with the fresh movement after nights sleeping on cement.

“Use your words,” he prompted, forefinger alone relenting the grip to taptaptap on Crawford’s jaw.

.PaiN.

Pain.

Ethan knew pain.

Close friends as they were for so many years, it was strange he found himself at a loss for its name when it reared its ugly head once more, overwhelming his mind in a single snap of blank, processing emptiness.

Ethan felt the echoing crack as his head hit the concrete, remnants of what he was finally recognizing as electricity buzzing down his twitching legs.

Some strangled growl ripped up his throat as he tried to right himself enough to grab for the man who was shoving on top of him, but his arms were slow - groggy from sleeplessness, shock and lost, aimless electrons trying to find their way underground. 

He shoved at Crawford only to feel the prongs of the stun gun shoved hard into his collarbone, burning agony through the skin and crackling as if eating through the bone itself as he thrashed to shove the searing pain away.

My name is Ethan Scott. The mantra lit up the back of his skull without prompt or ask. It was just there.

It begged him to fall stoic. To sit still and take it. Be tough. Be a good b-

No.

No-

NO.

My name is Ethan Scott and you cannot break me.

He won’t sit still- he can’t. Taking it isn’t strength right now, taking it is defeat.

Crawford was the one in chains today. 

Ethan’s hands scrabbled for Crawford’s arm, finally knocking the thing off of his flesh with a roaring gasp, shoving the other man off of him as best he could. 

Knuckles snapped against his nose, crunching it back. Some dull part of his mind calculated that that wasn’t even half the force of Crawford’s normal blows, but it locked up his mind anyway, pushing his gaze hazy and blurred as heat snapped across his sinuses and exploded behind his eyes. 

There was blood. He could taste it.

Shoving numbly, he was barely keeping up enough to track the bastard’s fingers knotting into his hair and slamming his head into the ground. Again. Again. Again-

And it stopped.

The weight lifted off of him in a blur of white and charcoal grey, sound muffling to the side. 

Ethan shoved back, hand moving to his face to press against the bleeding and squeeze his eyes shut to will vision to return to him. His head was spinning, like he was about to tip over and crack against the ground again. 

He shoved it back. Forced his eyes open and made them focus on the sounds and movement to his left as he shoved himself up on an elbow to squint at the unknown blur.

It took a moment to process exactly what he was seeing. 

Nate was a cheerful kind of bitch. The asshole whose smirk you could never wipe off. The life of the party. Class clown. Charmer. No matter how many screams he ripped out of Ethan, he did it with a gentle, almost seductive tone, grinning, smirking, or smiling almost fondly. He’d only seen Nate angry the once. When they’d met for the second time. 

But this savage blur in front of Ethan’s bleary eyes had him wondering if he was knocked into a dream. Blood splattered up Nate’s face from the sheer force of his hits as he drove his fist into Crawford’s face again and again, snapping it back and forth against the unforgiving cement. He didn’t even have to pin the man down - the whelp on the floor couldn’t do anything but try to throw his arms up in front of the blows, shielding his face. 

Nate didn’t seem to care. He hit them too. Silent yet somehow screaming a rage tha echoed through Ethan’s skull.

Ethan sat there for several long seconds, trying to blink away the mirage in front of him before it slowly sharperned into clarity. It was really happening. 

A dull thought finally graced his addled mind. He’s going to kill him.

Immediately a panic pressed up through Ethan’s veins like acid, snapping him to attention and the closest thing to lucidity his star-studded mind could handle. He shoved up to his knees and flopped forward to tackled Nate off of the man. “St- sstop- STOP!”

Nate shoves at Ethan, trying to throw him off enough to get back to Crawford. Ethan could practically see the red smeared over Nate’s eyes as he shoved the man’s hands away, fogged body easily ignoring the nails slicing blood from his arms in their desperation to return to their proper target.

“NATE STOP.” Ethan finally just grabbed Nate’s face, forcing it toward him. 

Nate’s eyes stayed on Crawford, but he did slow, chest heaving and teeth barred like some kind of animal.

“..that’s enough-!”

Nate tried to shove off the words along with his hands. “He w-”

“I get to kill him. Me. Not you. Me.” 

Nate’s breath stuttered off its ragged rhythm, and his jaw set, lips pinched tight as a glare snapped to Ethan’s eyes at last. 

In a surrendering kind of huff, he shoved Ethan off of him again. This time Ethan let himself roll to the side, lying with shallow, echoing breath on the ground as Nate shoved out the workshop doors at a brisk walk, sticky hand leaving a smear of blood like claw marks over the edge of the door.

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta  @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions-deactiva @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @sunnyesunny @crystallizedme @lumpofsand @taterswhump)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

[theclairvoyage]

Bloody Knuckles Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x AUSA!f!reader

Javier Peña, sick of shooting and fucking his way through the Colombian jungle to find Escobar, has hung up the DEA vest and moved back to Texas to start a new chapter.  Unluckily for him, the U.S. government has something better in store for him: the FBI.  He is forced to move to Oklahoma City and start anew, where he meets you, a cunning Assistant U.S. Attorney with a penchant for justice and thrills.  He’s never been the type to let a woman reel him in, but you just might be the one for whom he changes his rules—and life.

Chapter 1 - Boomer Sooner

Chapter 2 - The Rookie and the Lawyer Lady

Chapter 3 - Flor de Caña

AO3

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

What Went Wrong

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 1. Poisoned, 8. Seizure, 14. Bleeding Through the Bandage, 21. Near-Death Experience, 30. Coma, Alt. Prompt: Bloody Knuckles Fandom: DC, The Suicide Squad, Rick Flag, f!reader Summary: After a mission goes spectacularly wrong, Rick is forced to relay what happened, no matter how painful it is for him to relive it. Word Count: 5033 TW: Poison, Mentions of Death, Blood/Bleeding, Seizure, Hospital, Language, Rick is taller than Reader Note: Written for @ailesswhumptober's event. Thank you to the anon who requested Bloody Knuckled with Rick! It was really a wonderful inspiration! And thank you to @loverhymeswith for all the support and beta reading for me! 💖

Colonel Rick Flag sat in the small break room—now a makeshift interrogation room—oblivious to the world around him. All he could do was stare blankly down at his busted, swollen knuckles and watch as his blood slowly reddened the gauze he couldn’t remember someone wrapping them in. Apparently, someone had also given him something for the pain, but it was doing little to stop the throbbing ache that seemed to intensify with every beat of his heart. Yet, he sort of liked it. It gave him something to focus on, to ground him, even as everything else around him lay in ruins. 

Gritting his teeth, he balled his left hand into as much of a fist as the swelling and bandaging would allow, and almost blacked out as every nerve running from his hand up his arm screamed out in excruciating agony. Squeezing his eyes together tightly, he stifled a groan of pain as he forced himself to maintain the fist. 

Focus on the physical pain. Just focus on the physical pain. Let everythin’ else slip away until there is nothin’ but this pain.

“Colonel Flag….Colonel….Sir—”

“Flag!” 

Waller’s sharp tone cut through his fog and Rick’s fist instinctively uncurled, lessening the pain to a point where he once again became aware of his surroundings. Blinking, he looked up to stare at the pair in front of him in a slight daze. “W-what?”

Waller nodded at the other man who shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he cleared his throat and glanced down at the stack of papers in front of him. “Uh, yes, well, I understand this may be difficult for you but we need to get your official statement on what happened for the record.”

Rick sighed as he scratched at the gauze on his hand. “Do we really have to do this right now? I got better places to be.”

The man shot him an apologetic smile. “I understand that but the less time that passes between the event and the report, the more accurate it is. And considering there were numerous asset casualties, we need this to be as accurate as possible to avoid any liabilities.”

“Assets and liabilities,” Rick spat, the words like ash in his mouth. “That’s all any of them are to you, isn’t it? Numbers on a page to use how you want. But the members of Task Force X are people. Yeah, people who made some wrong choices or did horrible things, but that doesn’t mean they are just fodder you can throw at your problems.”

“It wasn’t so long ago that you too viewed your squad members as nothing more than that,” Waller said coldly, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes completely devoid of all emotion. “I wonder, did your view on them change before or after you started crawling into one of their beds?”

Rick leaped to his feet, his metal chair clanging loudly on the hard tile as it toppled over. The man jumped and cowered back in surprise, but Waller didn’t even flinch. Instead, she continued to stare Rick down, daring him to try and make a move against her. But they both knew what would happen if he did….

Recognizing he was in an impossible situation, Rick could only point at Waller and snarl, “You leave her out of this. Whatever relationship we might have didn’t affect what happened on the mission. And what I do on my own time is my own business.”

“Maybe, but you fucked her while she was my prisoner, which makes it my business.”

Before Rick could snap back, the man cleared his throat, his face bright red behind his glasses, and he reached for one of his papers. Scanning it, he asked, “Excuse me but are you confirming you had an intimate relationship with Belle Reve prisoner 0806?”

Rick turned his attention to the man, anger gleaming in his hazel eyes. This just proved his point. To them, you were nothing more than a faceless number, something to be used when convenient then tossed back into a cell like the other thousand inmates of Belle Reve. 

“Yes,” Rick said through gritted teeth as the man began to write something on his papers. “After several assignments together, a connection developed and we became romantically then intimately involved.”

The man paused his scribbling and glanced up as Waller began slowly walking around to stand behind Rick. “‘Romantically’...so this relationship between you and this inmate was more than just physical?”

A thousand moments with you unwillingly flashed through Rick’s mind: your head resting on his shoulder as you slept on the flight home from a mission; the determined glare on your face as you fought off a swarm of enemies all by yourself; the way he didn't need to say a word for you to know exactly what he needed; the pure adoration in your eyes as he settled between your legs on your tiny prison cot. How could he not have fallen in love with you?

Rick once again tightened his hand into a loose fist as he growled, “Why the fuck does it matter right now? However you define it, it didn’t affect the mission at all.”

“Given how the evacuation team found you, sir, one might say differently.” Rick began to rise up out of his seat but the man put up his hands. “I’m sorry. I have to ask these kinds of questions so we can get the full picture of what went on in that lab. It’s in your best interest as well as ours if you can be as honest and detailed as possible so we have all the information when presenting our findings. Right now, the depth of your relationship with this inmate only matters to me if it caused some sort of misconduct during the mission that led to its failure. Otherwise, I don’t care what the two of you have been up to or how you feel about each other, I promise.”

Rick could feel Waller’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head and he knew that she felt very differently. If she had her way, he would be court-martialed immediately. Not because he had been sleeping with you or because he loved you—no, he was certain she already knew about that. But now that it was public knowledge the head of her pride-and-joy task force was sleeping with one of its criminal assets presumedly right under her nose, it would put a black mark not only on the squad but on her as well. And that was not something Waller took lightly. 

But for now, she wasn’t his main concern. He needed to get out of this room and upstairs as soon as possible. So, he nodded to the man and motioned for him to continue with his questions.

“Thank you.” The man gave Rick a small smile and looked back down at his papers. After scanning them for a minute, he looked at Rick and said, “Now then, Colonel, to the best of your recollection, can you tell us what happened? What went wrong?”

What went wrong….. It was the thought that had been plaguing Rick for the past twenty-four hours. He had replayed the entire mission over and over in his head trying to figure out what he could have done differently to save his team…..to save you.

It was supposed to be a textbook in-and-out mission with no foreseeable complications. An underground lab was developing a new weapon that could be catastrophic in the wrong hands—which included the scientists developing it. Though hidden, the lab didn’t appear to have more than the most basic levels of security and it seemed like a cakewalk for a small team to go in, destroy the research and weapon, and secure any scientists on site.

Because of this, it was determined this would be a good chance to break in the newest recruits to Task Force X and Rick found himself leading a team comprised almost entirely of untrained, terrified ex-criminals who wouldn’t shut up or fall into line. Before they even got off the plane, he was ready to detonate every last one of their nanite bombs.

Luckily, you had been allowed to tag along to help keep everyone under control….including Rick. Even if no one realized how deeply the connection between the two of you went, it was obvious that you had a way of calming him down and centering him even in the most dangerous or stressful of situations. Rick pretended to hate the idea that he needed someone to manage him but honestly, he didn’t mind as long as it meant he got to spend more time with you.

On your very first mission with Task Force X, Rick noticed you were special and unlike anyone he had met before. And by the third mission, he had you pressed against a wall in a dark alley as you shoved your tongue down his throat. Since then, he would do whatever he could to be near you, including bribing the guards to turn off the cameras in your cell for a few hours once or twice a month—and still it wasn’t enough. He was counting down the missions until you earned your freedom and he could have you in his bed every night without having to leave.

And this mission would bring that dream one step closer to a reality.

Once inside the building, Rick sent the rest of the Squad to destroy everything in the labs (he figured they could handle unbridled destruction without needing supervision) while you went with him to find the mainframe and extract any information you could before wiping it. 

The plan seemed to be going perfectly until you and Rick finished your assignment and were heading back to the rendezvous point. Just as you reached the lab’s exit, there was a whirring sound and a pair of thick, metal doors slammed shut inches in front of Rick’s face. You spun around to try to rush back the way you came, but another door slid shut, blocking your retreat. 

“Damn it!” Rick yelled as he slammed his fist against the thick metal door. Sighing, he picked up his radio to call into headquarters. Usually, they would all be on earpieces, but since it was supposed to be such a simple mission, they had forgone them this time. “Control, this is Flag. Do you copy?”

The radio crackled to life. “We copy, Flag. Did you complete your mission?”

“Affirmative, Harcourt. But on the way to the rendezvous, we got cut off. We are trapped between two metal doors and I can’t see a way out. Requestin’ an extraction team to come get us.”

“Launching extraction team now. ETA is approximately fifteen minutes. Stand by.” 

“Copy.” Rick slipped the radio back into his cargo pocket and shrugged at you. “Well, I guess we just wait. At least we have a few minutes alone together until they show up.”

Looking around at the tight space you were now trapped in, you took a step closer, pressed your palms against Rick’s back, and leaned against him as you whispered, “Rick…I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Ah hell, darlin’,” Rick muttered. “Now why’d you have to say somethin’ like that?”

Suddenly, the sprinkler heads on the ceiling sprang to life, and a mysterious liquid sprayed down on you. It was clear like water but had an oily consistency and a bitter, acidic smell to it. Rick spun around, grabbed your arm, and pulled you tight against his chest trying to use his large form to shield you from as much of it as possible but it was of little use. Soon, you were both drenched from head to toe. 

It lasted for less than a minute before the sprinklers turned off once again. Lifting your head from where you had buried it in Rick’s chest, you glanced around before muttering, “What the fuck was that about?”

“I don’t know. But I think we should get outta here before we find out.” Rick turned back to the metal door and began examining it for any sort of weak point or hidden switch.

From behind him, he heard you audibly shiver and he glanced back to see you rubbing your hands over your still dripping arms trying to warm yourself up. He wished he had something to give you but he doubted his soaked tact jacket would provide you any warmth. Either the extraction team needed to hurry up or he needed to get you both out of here as soon as possible. 

However, just as he began to turn back to the door, there was a burst of static from above you, and a voice called out from a hidden speaker, “So, this must be the current iteration of Task Force X. Welcome!” You and Rick exchanged a nervous glance as the voice continued. “I had a feeling Waller would track me down eventually, and it looks like I was right. Good thing I took precautions.”

“Who the hell are you?” Rick called out as his eyes scanned the ceiling trying to locate where the voice was coming from.

“She didn’t tell you? She just sent you out on a mission without briefing you on what you were walking into?” The voice scoffed. “Why am I not surprised? Well, let me introduce myself. I used to be one of the head research and developers at ARGUS before Waller got everything she wanted from me and tried to have me arrested despite the fact everything I did was under her orders. You see, I’m the guy who developed the technology that made the nanite bombs possible, including that one currently residing in your girlfriend’s head.”

You gasped as your eyes grew wide and your hand flew to the side of your neck, your finger tracing the small bump just under your skin that Rick knew was there. His eyes met yours and he knew you were both thinking the same thing: If this maniac invented the bombs then chances were….

Rick glared up at the ceiling and roared, “Now listen here you bastard—”

“I can’t detonate it if that’s what you’re worried about,” the voice calmly interrupted. “Waller is smart enough to change the frequency for every mission which means I, unfortunately, can’t access them. However, I had a feeling she would kick me to the curb once she had my technology so I neglected to tell her about the one flaw in my design. The unintended way to weaponize them. The one I just set in motion.”

A chill ran down Rick’s spine. “What are you talkin’ about? What did you do!”

“Rick…” Your fingers dug into his arm as you reached for him, your shivering intensifying—but whether that was from cold or fear, Rick didn’t know.

“The bombs are not the only thing injected into the subjects,” the voice continued. “A small amount of a typically harmless chemical surrounds it to help the body not reject the foreign object or start breaking it down. I say ‘typically harmless’ because it only becomes toxic when mixed with another rare compound….the same compound that was just released from the sprinkler system moments ago.”

“What did you do to me?” you asked, addressing the voice directly for the first time. “What’s going to happen?”

“Oh, not just you, my dear. Those sprinklers went off all over the building so I’m sorry to say your entire team is about to suffer the same fate as you…except for the Colonel that is. Or did Waller implant a bomb into you as well? It wouldn’t surprise me if she did.”

“Shut the fuck up and just tell us how to stop this!”

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that. I need Waller to pay for what she did to me and show her she was wrong for ever doubting my abilities. And the best way to do that is by eliminating part of her precious Task Force X. I am sorry you had to be a casualty of our war but just like any game of chess, pawns get sacrificed. I would hurry up and say your goodbyes if I were you. The toxin forming in her blood should begin to take effect any time now and her body will destroy itself before your backup arrives. But Colonel….tell Waller I said hello.” 

The speaker crackled out, leaving the two of you standing in a horrified silence. Rick’s mind was spinning with everything he had just heard. What the voice said couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t be. After all, Waller would have known about it.

“Rick?”

Waller was the one who came up with Task Force X and she oversaw every single detail as it came to fruition. She couldn’t have overlooked something like this….could she?

“Rick.”

But then again, what if she had? She wasn’t a scientist and wouldn’t understand all the uses of the different chemicals they were using with the technology. So what if the voice wasn’t lying and you only had a few minutes before—

“Rick!”

He whirled around to see you slumped against the far wall, your eyes wide as you wiped your fingers under your nose and watched them come away bloody, a bright smear still left on your face as more began to trickle out of your nose. 

“No….”

He closed the distance between you in two long strides and took your face between his large hands. Your body was shaking slightly as you looked up at him with tears in your eyes and your voice broke as you said, “Rick, I can feel it. It’s already happening. Oh God—” you frantically grabbed onto his wrists as his hands still cupped your face “—I’m scared. I’m not ready to die. Not now. Not when I’ve found—” The rest of your words were lost as you broke down sobbing.

Rick pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you tightly. Resting his chin on the top of your head and rubbing soothing circles across your back, he whispered, “It’s okay, darlin’. You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you outta here and get you help, you hear me? I can’t lose you either so I need you to fight. Fight and just hold on, for as long as you can. We’re gonna get outta here…together.”

He felt you nod into his chest and gently moved you away to look at you. Red-tinted tears trailed down your cheeks and more blood was smeared under your nose. Rick glanced down and saw some of it had wiped off on his jacket, but it didn’t matter. He bent down and pressed his lips furiously against yours—trying to ignore the metallic taste of blood coating your lips— then turned back towards the exit door. 

He had already searched every inch of it for some sort of switch but maybe he could pry it open. Rick tried to get his fingernails to dig into the seam where the two doors met, but the seal was just too strong. Maybe if he could find something to wedge between them….

As he quickly scanned the room for something—anything—he could use, he saw you clutch your chest as you began to cough. It started out small, like just clearing your throat. However, within what seemed like seconds, it had evolved into a wheezy, rattling hack that wracked your entire body. Rick watched helplessly as fresh blood sprayed across the floor as a particularly deep cough forced you to double over.  

As it subsided and you looked up at him, he inhaled sharply as he saw blood now not only trickling from your nose but from your eyes and mouth too. You tried to say something—it seemed like his name—however, from your rasping gasps, it was clear you weren’t getting enough air to breathe properly, let alone speak. 

“No…” Rick couldn’t believe he was being forced to stand here and watch you die with no way to save you. “No!”

Throwing his entire weight behind it, Rick smashed his fist into the metal door. Logically deep down he knew there was no way he would ever be able to punch his way through it, but right now, logic was the furthest thing from his mind. Instead, he wound back and drove his other fist into the door. 

Over and over again, he pounded at the metal, ignoring the pain as he felt his skin split and bones crack. The door was now smeared with the blood from his ruined knuckles but it was nothing compared to the blood that was spilling from you just behind him. Hearing you struggling and in pain yet knowing he was helpless to stop it was too much for him and he increased the strength of each blow.

It was only when he saw you collapse to the floor as your body began thrashing and convulsing that Rick abandoned his fruitless attempts at breaking through the door and he dropped to his knees beside you. Pulling your writhing body into his lap, he held you tightly against him and pressed his lips against your ear, muttering empty promises that everything was going to be alright. 

As you continued to seize, blood began to flow more steadily from your eyes, nose, and mouth. Your eyes rolled back into your head as your back arched and your entire body went rigid. You seemed to hold that pose for a moment, the entire room suddenly dead silent. Then, slowly and with one extended exhale, your body relaxed against his and your head lolled to the side. 

Ice spread through Rick’s veins as he stared at your motionless form. No. This couldn’t be happenin’. Not to you. Please God, not you. 

He gently took your face between his hands and turned it so he could see you better. Several trails of blood streaked down your face and though your eyes were mostly closed, he could just make out the dulled, faded color beneath your lids. And though you were lying on his chest, all he felt was an unnatural stillness—no heartbeat, no intake of breath. You were gone.

Tears began to stream down Rick’s cheeks as he buried his face in the top of your head. And though he knew you couldn’t hear him, he softly whispered, “Please, darlin’, come back to me. I need you and I love you and I can’t do this without you. So, please….come back.”

And that’s how Waller’s extraction team found the two of you moments later: Colonel Rick Flag with tears in his eyes as he clung to the limp body of one of the Belle Reve inmates.

Since that moment, Rick had been going on some sort of autopilot, letting himself be shuffled from place to place and doing what he was told. But now that his official statement had been taken and he had been released, there was only one place he needed to be. So, taking the hospital elevator up to the third floor, he stepped out onto the intensive care unit and followed the signs towards his destination. 

When he reached the end of the hall, Rick stared through the window into the hospital room, his forehead pressed against the glass as he struggled to maintain some sort of composure. He could barely see your face past the countless machines and equipment hooked up to you in an effort to keep you alive. 

By the time Waller’s extraction team had shown up and somehow managed to revive you, the poison had done its job and destroyed or seriously damaged most of your internal organs. It was a miracle the doctors were able to keep you alive this long, even if machines now controlled every aspect of your life support. The rest of the Task Force who had been in a different area of the building hadn’t been so lucky. The two of you were the only survivors—if you could call it that.

The doctors had done everything they could to save you and now the rest was up to you. Rick had heard the full spectrum of possible prognoses ranging from you making a full recovery to you being incapable of cognitive thought or movement—and all of it was dependent on you waking up which was an uncertainty on its own.

But for now, you lay motionless in your hospital bed just as you had for the past twenty-four hours. 

Fury boiled in his gut as Rick’s eyes landed on the pair of handcuffs chaining you to the bed. Did they seriously expect you to jump up and sneak out of the hospital? Your heart was struggling to beat without assistance and air was constantly having to be forced into your lungs yet they had to make sure you wouldn’t miraculously make a daring escape. It made Rick sick. As did the fact he wasn’t permitted to be in the room with you. All he wanted was to hold your hand or press a soft kiss to your forehead, but Waller made sure no one except for her and the doctors were allowed in. Just another one of her attempts to punish him.

As if summoned by the very thought of her name, footsteps echoed off the tiles behind him growing louder and louder until Waller stepped into Rick’s peripheral vision. He ignored her, instead keeping his gaze firmly locked on you, and Waller seemed to do the same. 

For several minutes, they stood in complete silence, the sounds of your rasping breathing and the beeping of machines the only sound in the dim hallway. Finally, without turning, Rick asked, “Did you know?”

“I know a lot of things, Flag, but you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Did you know the chemicals in the nanites could be used like that?”

Waller was silent for a moment before she answered curtly, “No. We knew about the chemical surrounding the bombs of course, but we were not aware it could be turned into a weapon. Our lab is already researching alternatives.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure my team would be thrilled to hear that if they weren’t all currently down in the morgue.”

“Mistakes happen, people die. But that’s why we formed Task Force X. Nobody cares when those dying are criminals.” Waller’s eyes shifted slightly from the window to Rick and back again. “With a few exceptions.”

Rick clenched his fist at her words then immediately regretted it as a sharp bolt of pain ran up his arm from his busted knuckles. He wanted nothing more than to make Waller feel the pain he was feeling. For her to understand how much he cared about you. But he knew nothing he did would make a difference. If anything, it would only make it worse. 

Taking a deep breath to try and calm himself, he asked, “So…what happens now?”

Folding her arms over her chest, Waller said, “Despite my objections, the board determined you did nothing wrong on the mission. They said there was nothing you could have done differently to save your team and you are not responsible for their deaths and thus will not receive any formal reprimand or punishment. However–” Waller raised one eyebrow as she glared at Rick “–I have not forgotten your…indiscretion with her and it will not be overlooked.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t known about us since the very start. You’ve just been waitin’ for the moment it best suited your interests to bring it up,” Rick growled. “I don’t care what you do to me but when she’s better I want her released from Belle Reve. She only had thirty years left on her sentence—twenty after this mission. And this….this more than makes up for the rest of her time.”

“Possibly,” Waller said thoughtfully. “First, we have to wait and see if she even pulls through, then we can have that discussion. But until that happens, I expect you to do your job.” She slapped a file down on the ledge of the window. “Your next assignment. You leave tomorrow and you better be on the tarmac on time. Otherwise all of this–” she gestured to the hospital equipment surrounding them “–goes away. Do we understand each other?”

Rick clenched his jaw tightly as he just barely managed to hold back the slew of curses he wanted to direct at his boss but he knew that was exactly what she was hoping for. So instead, he gritted his teeth and in his most Southern twang said, “Yes, Ma’am.”

The “fuck you” was loud and clear in his tone but Waller thankfully ignored it. Shooting him one last glare, she turned sharply and began marching back down the hall. However, Rick called after her, “And I want those cuffs taken off of her. Now.”

Without turning or breaking her stride, Waller replied, “When are you going to learn, Flag? You don’t call the shots around here. I do.” Then she turned down another hall and disappeared from sight.

Sighing, Rick gazed back at your unconscious form. Pressing his hand against the glass, he whispered, “It’ll be alright, darlin’, I promise you that. You don’t worry about anythin’ except gettin’ better and wakin’ up. You do that, and I’ll take care of the rest. And no matter what happens or how bad things are when you do wake up, I’ll be right by your side for all of it, Waller be damned. ‘Cause I love you, now and forever.”

He waited, hoping beyond hope you had heard his words and they helped rouse you from your sleep. But this wasn’t some feel-good movie or romance novel where his bedside pleas would make everything better and you would wake up to fall into his arms once again. No, this was real life and in real life, people didn’t get their happily-ever-afters. 

At least…..not yet. As long as your heart was still beating—artificially or not— there was hope. And for now, hope was going to have to be enough.

Tag List: @loverhymeswith, @green-socks, @yespolkadotkitty,  @heresathreebee, @tavners, @merlehs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @mayhem24-7forever, @lovearne, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @that-sarcastic-writer, @indig0nebula, @katjnordstrom96, @wildbornsiren, @princessmisery666, @writercole

[shibiichi]

Silly angst thingy

Context! Vampire Moon ran away from the facility that held him. He was very excited to be out of hell’s grips and was hoping to make a new life! He didn’t know the people at the facility would be more tolerant of him than those outside of it. So when he stopped at a town and tried to ask for help and such, the people of said town were less than kind upon seeing a 12ft tall inhuman creature! Most fled, but some did fight, or at least called the police making Moon have a not so savory encounter with humans. He luckily only ran away with a broken face, he retreated back to a service tunnel he had found the day prior and hid. Looking up at the ceiling, scrappy pillow under his head, he wondered if things would be the same as they were in the facility.. just without the sterilized walls. Same treatment, not matter where he was… he’d try again tomorrow.

Song Inspo: Everything Stays!

Will everything stay the same? Will the differences be better or worse? He’s still hopeful in this moment, just scared.

[cybertwinkx]

[reading-books-in-the-moonlight]

[equinox-86]

[HC] Yuma, Azusa, and Noctis playing Bloody Knuckles.

TW: Game involving mild violence, blood, and inflicting pain on the opposing player. I don't encourage playing Bloody Knuckles and would heavily advise against trying it. You're at your own risk if you try it out. You've been warned.

A friend told me that she played Bloody Knuckles some time ago, which is such an old game I completely forgot about, and it gave me a HC idea for DL.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It started out with a disagreement between Noctis and Yuma, which resulted in them playing Bloody Knuckles.

It's normal for Yuma and Noctis to play games ranging from play fighting to games that involve drawing blood.

After a few rounds, Azusa happened to pass by the living room. He was originally heading to the kitchen to hone his newest addition to his knife collection, but he was abruptly stopped by the sound of groans, metal clinking and the faint smell of blood lingering in the air and decides stop by.

He notices the two with their fists on the table, flinging coins at each other's knuckles. His eyes lit up immediately, and he begs to play along, as in his twisted perspective, 'it looks like they're having so much fun making new friends.' They refused to let him join at first, but the begging kept going on until he started spewing his usual nonsense and talking to Justin to the point they gave in and let him play.

Alternative scenario: imagine if Ruki was reading a book in the living room but the ruckus they made disturbed his peace, so he told them to let Azusa join before leaving. Like a mom forcing her older siblings to play with the younger one LMAO. He can't stop Azusa from being... well... Azusa, so getting bloodied knuckles would be better than whatever gruesome things Azusa suggests should be done to him.

So anyways, now they went from a battle stemming from a disagreement to challenging who manages to last the longest. By the end of the day, Noctis surprisingly offers them to lap up the blood from her hands because she figured that it would be more bothersome to have them team up against her and potentially have more blood forced out from her.

However, she still threatens to break Yuma's nose if he dares to bite down, but he's quick to call out the bluff, knowing that she wouldn't mess with 2 threats occupying her hands. He still decides to respect her wish for once, knowing that she's also a hassle to deal with if a fight were to break out.

It was getting late and in the end, Azusa had the most fun from inflicting and receiving pain.

If it wasn't for Ruki calling them for dinner, Yuma and Noctis would've kept going. Both are too stubborn to give up.

Meanwhile, Azusa is thinking of names for his new 'friends' and makes suggestions for Yuma and Noctis' new scars as well.

Ruki sighs in disapproval at Azusa's actions and reminds him again that he doesn't need to do these things anymore, since it's all in the past and that he needs to move on.

But Azusa was too caught up in his own world to pay attention to anything else but his thoughts.

[barnacle-boy500]

I'm new to all this- uh, my bestie @yeetafry told me to get Tumblr. Hope you can enjoy this, I didn't drawing it 😀 JK

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

What Went Wrong

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 1. Poisoned, 8. Seizure, 14. Bleeding Through the Bandage, 21. Near-Death Experience, 30. Coma, Alt. Prompt: Bloody Knuckles Fandom: DC, The Suicide Squad, Rick Flag, f!reader Summary: After a mission goes spectacularly wrong, Rick is forced to relay what happened, no matter how painful it is for him to relive it. Word Count: 5033 TW: Poison, Mentions of Death, Blood/Bleeding, Seizure, Hospital, Language, Rick is taller than Reader Note: Written for @ailesswhumptober's event. Thank you to the anon who requested Bloody Knuckled with Rick! It was really a wonderful inspiration! And thank you to @loverhymeswith for all the support and beta reading for me! 💖

Colonel Rick Flag sat in the small break room—now a makeshift interrogation room—oblivious to the world around him. All he could do was stare blankly down at his busted, swollen knuckles and watch as his blood slowly reddened the gauze he couldn’t remember someone wrapping them in. Apparently, someone had also given him something for the pain, but it was doing little to stop the throbbing ache that seemed to intensify with every beat of his heart. Yet, he sort of liked it. It gave him something to focus on, to ground him, even as everything else around him lay in ruins. 

Gritting his teeth, he balled his left hand into as much of a fist as the swelling and bandaging would allow, and almost blacked out as every nerve running from his hand up his arm screamed out in excruciating agony. Squeezing his eyes together tightly, he stifled a groan of pain as he forced himself to maintain the fist. 

Focus on the physical pain. Just focus on the physical pain. Let everythin’ else slip away until there is nothin’ but this pain.

“Colonel Flag….Colonel….Sir—”

“Flag!” 

Waller’s sharp tone cut through his fog and Rick’s fist instinctively uncurled, lessening the pain to a point where he once again became aware of his surroundings. Blinking, he looked up to stare at the pair in front of him in a slight daze. “W-what?”

Waller nodded at the other man who shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he cleared his throat and glanced down at the stack of papers in front of him. “Uh, yes, well, I understand this may be difficult for you but we need to get your official statement on what happened for the record.”

Rick sighed as he scratched at the gauze on his hand. “Do we really have to do this right now? I got better places to be.”

The man shot him an apologetic smile. “I understand that but the less time that passes between the event and the report, the more accurate it is. And considering there were numerous asset casualties, we need this to be as accurate as possible to avoid any liabilities.”

“Assets and liabilities,” Rick spat, the words like ash in his mouth. “That’s all any of them are to you, isn’t it? Numbers on a page to use how you want. But the members of Task Force X are people. Yeah, people who made some wrong choices or did horrible things, but that doesn’t mean they are just fodder you can throw at your problems.”

“It wasn’t so long ago that you too viewed your squad members as nothing more than that,” Waller said coldly, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes completely devoid of all emotion. “I wonder, did your view on them change before or after you started crawling into one of their beds?”

Rick leaped to his feet, his metal chair clanging loudly on the hard tile as it toppled over. The man jumped and cowered back in surprise, but Waller didn’t even flinch. Instead, she continued to stare Rick down, daring him to try and make a move against her. But they both knew what would happen if he did….

Recognizing he was in an impossible situation, Rick could only point at Waller and snarl, “You leave her out of this. Whatever relationship we might have didn’t affect what happened on the mission. And what I do on my own time is my own business.”

“Maybe, but you fucked her while she was my prisoner, which makes it my business.”

Before Rick could snap back, the man cleared his throat, his face bright red behind his glasses, and he reached for one of his papers. Scanning it, he asked, “Excuse me but are you confirming you had an intimate relationship with Belle Reve prisoner 0806?”

Rick turned his attention to the man, anger gleaming in his hazel eyes. This just proved his point. To them, you were nothing more than a faceless number, something to be used when convenient then tossed back into a cell like the other thousand inmates of Belle Reve. 

“Yes,” Rick said through gritted teeth as the man began to write something on his papers. “After several assignments together, a connection developed and we became romantically then intimately involved.”

The man paused his scribbling and glanced up as Waller began slowly walking around to stand behind Rick. “‘Romantically’...so this relationship between you and this inmate was more than just physical?”

A thousand moments with you unwillingly flashed through Rick’s mind: your head resting on his shoulder as you slept on the flight home from a mission; the determined glare on your face as you fought off a swarm of enemies all by yourself; the way he didn't need to say a word for you to know exactly what he needed; the pure adoration in your eyes as he settled between your legs on your tiny prison cot. How could he not have fallen in love with you?

Rick once again tightened his hand into a loose fist as he growled, “Why the fuck does it matter right now? However you define it, it didn’t affect the mission at all.”

“Given how the evacuation team found you, sir, one might say differently.” Rick began to rise up out of his seat but the man put up his hands. “I’m sorry. I have to ask these kinds of questions so we can get the full picture of what went on in that lab. It’s in your best interest as well as ours if you can be as honest and detailed as possible so we have all the information when presenting our findings. Right now, the depth of your relationship with this inmate only matters to me if it caused some sort of misconduct during the mission that led to its failure. Otherwise, I don’t care what the two of you have been up to or how you feel about each other, I promise.”

Rick could feel Waller’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head and he knew that she felt very differently. If she had her way, he would be court-martialed immediately. Not because he had been sleeping with you or because he loved you—no, he was certain she already knew about that. But now that it was public knowledge the head of her pride-and-joy task force was sleeping with one of its criminal assets presumedly right under her nose, it would put a black mark not only on the squad but on her as well. And that was not something Waller took lightly. 

But for now, she wasn’t his main concern. He needed to get out of this room and upstairs as soon as possible. So, he nodded to the man and motioned for him to continue with his questions.

“Thank you.” The man gave Rick a small smile and looked back down at his papers. After scanning them for a minute, he looked at Rick and said, “Now then, Colonel, to the best of your recollection, can you tell us what happened? What went wrong?”

What went wrong….. It was the thought that had been plaguing Rick for the past twenty-four hours. He had replayed the entire mission over and over in his head trying to figure out what he could have done differently to save his team…..to save you.

It was supposed to be a textbook in-and-out mission with no foreseeable complications. An underground lab was developing a new weapon that could be catastrophic in the wrong hands—which included the scientists developing it. Though hidden, the lab didn’t appear to have more than the most basic levels of security and it seemed like a cakewalk for a small team to go in, destroy the research and weapon, and secure any scientists on site.

Because of this, it was determined this would be a good chance to break in the newest recruits to Task Force X and Rick found himself leading a team comprised almost entirely of untrained, terrified ex-criminals who wouldn’t shut up or fall into line. Before they even got off the plane, he was ready to detonate every last one of their nanite bombs.

Luckily, you had been allowed to tag along to help keep everyone under control….including Rick. Even if no one realized how deeply the connection between the two of you went, it was obvious that you had a way of calming him down and centering him even in the most dangerous or stressful of situations. Rick pretended to hate the idea that he needed someone to manage him but honestly, he didn’t mind as long as it meant he got to spend more time with you.

On your very first mission with Task Force X, Rick noticed you were special and unlike anyone he had met before. And by the third mission, he had you pressed against a wall in a dark alley as you shoved your tongue down his throat. Since then, he would do whatever he could to be near you, including bribing the guards to turn off the cameras in your cell for a few hours once or twice a month—and still it wasn’t enough. He was counting down the missions until you earned your freedom and he could have you in his bed every night without having to leave.

And this mission would bring that dream one step closer to a reality.

Once inside the building, Rick sent the rest of the Squad to destroy everything in the labs (he figured they could handle unbridled destruction without needing supervision) while you went with him to find the mainframe and extract any information you could before wiping it. 

The plan seemed to be going perfectly until you and Rick finished your assignment and were heading back to the rendezvous point. Just as you reached the lab’s exit, there was a whirring sound and a pair of thick, metal doors slammed shut inches in front of Rick’s face. You spun around to try to rush back the way you came, but another door slid shut, blocking your retreat. 

“Damn it!” Rick yelled as he slammed his fist against the thick metal door. Sighing, he picked up his radio to call into headquarters. Usually, they would all be on earpieces, but since it was supposed to be such a simple mission, they had forgone them this time. “Control, this is Flag. Do you copy?”

The radio crackled to life. “We copy, Flag. Did you complete your mission?”

“Affirmative, Harcourt. But on the way to the rendezvous, we got cut off. We are trapped between two metal doors and I can’t see a way out. Requestin’ an extraction team to come get us.”

“Launching extraction team now. ETA is approximately fifteen minutes. Stand by.” 

“Copy.” Rick slipped the radio back into his cargo pocket and shrugged at you. “Well, I guess we just wait. At least we have a few minutes alone together until they show up.”

Looking around at the tight space you were now trapped in, you took a step closer, pressed your palms against Rick’s back, and leaned against him as you whispered, “Rick…I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Ah hell, darlin’,” Rick muttered. “Now why’d you have to say somethin’ like that?”

Suddenly, the sprinkler heads on the ceiling sprang to life, and a mysterious liquid sprayed down on you. It was clear like water but had an oily consistency and a bitter, acidic smell to it. Rick spun around, grabbed your arm, and pulled you tight against his chest trying to use his large form to shield you from as much of it as possible but it was of little use. Soon, you were both drenched from head to toe. 

It lasted for less than a minute before the sprinklers turned off once again. Lifting your head from where you had buried it in Rick’s chest, you glanced around before muttering, “What the fuck was that about?”

“I don’t know. But I think we should get outta here before we find out.” Rick turned back to the metal door and began examining it for any sort of weak point or hidden switch.

From behind him, he heard you audibly shiver and he glanced back to see you rubbing your hands over your still dripping arms trying to warm yourself up. He wished he had something to give you but he doubted his soaked tact jacket would provide you any warmth. Either the extraction team needed to hurry up or he needed to get you both out of here as soon as possible. 

However, just as he began to turn back to the door, there was a burst of static from above you, and a voice called out from a hidden speaker, “So, this must be the current iteration of Task Force X. Welcome!” You and Rick exchanged a nervous glance as the voice continued. “I had a feeling Waller would track me down eventually, and it looks like I was right. Good thing I took precautions.”

“Who the hell are you?” Rick called out as his eyes scanned the ceiling trying to locate where the voice was coming from.

“She didn’t tell you? She just sent you out on a mission without briefing you on what you were walking into?” The voice scoffed. “Why am I not surprised? Well, let me introduce myself. I used to be one of the head research and developers at ARGUS before Waller got everything she wanted from me and tried to have me arrested despite the fact everything I did was under her orders. You see, I’m the guy who developed the technology that made the nanite bombs possible, including that one currently residing in your girlfriend’s head.”

You gasped as your eyes grew wide and your hand flew to the side of your neck, your finger tracing the small bump just under your skin that Rick knew was there. His eyes met yours and he knew you were both thinking the same thing: If this maniac invented the bombs then chances were….

Rick glared up at the ceiling and roared, “Now listen here you bastard—”

“I can’t detonate it if that’s what you’re worried about,” the voice calmly interrupted. “Waller is smart enough to change the frequency for every mission which means I, unfortunately, can’t access them. However, I had a feeling she would kick me to the curb once she had my technology so I neglected to tell her about the one flaw in my design. The unintended way to weaponize them. The one I just set in motion.”

A chill ran down Rick’s spine. “What are you talkin’ about? What did you do!”

“Rick…” Your fingers dug into his arm as you reached for him, your shivering intensifying—but whether that was from cold or fear, Rick didn’t know.

“The bombs are not the only thing injected into the subjects,” the voice continued. “A small amount of a typically harmless chemical surrounds it to help the body not reject the foreign object or start breaking it down. I say ‘typically harmless’ because it only becomes toxic when mixed with another rare compound….the same compound that was just released from the sprinkler system moments ago.”

“What did you do to me?” you asked, addressing the voice directly for the first time. “What’s going to happen?”

“Oh, not just you, my dear. Those sprinklers went off all over the building so I’m sorry to say your entire team is about to suffer the same fate as you…except for the Colonel that is. Or did Waller implant a bomb into you as well? It wouldn’t surprise me if she did.”

“Shut the fuck up and just tell us how to stop this!”

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that. I need Waller to pay for what she did to me and show her she was wrong for ever doubting my abilities. And the best way to do that is by eliminating part of her precious Task Force X. I am sorry you had to be a casualty of our war but just like any game of chess, pawns get sacrificed. I would hurry up and say your goodbyes if I were you. The toxin forming in her blood should begin to take effect any time now and her body will destroy itself before your backup arrives. But Colonel….tell Waller I said hello.” 

The speaker crackled out, leaving the two of you standing in a horrified silence. Rick’s mind was spinning with everything he had just heard. What the voice said couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t be. After all, Waller would have known about it.

“Rick?”

Waller was the one who came up with Task Force X and she oversaw every single detail as it came to fruition. She couldn’t have overlooked something like this….could she?

“Rick.”

But then again, what if she had? She wasn’t a scientist and wouldn’t understand all the uses of the different chemicals they were using with the technology. So what if the voice wasn’t lying and you only had a few minutes before—

“Rick!”

He whirled around to see you slumped against the far wall, your eyes wide as you wiped your fingers under your nose and watched them come away bloody, a bright smear still left on your face as more began to trickle out of your nose. 

“No….”

He closed the distance between you in two long strides and took your face between his large hands. Your body was shaking slightly as you looked up at him with tears in your eyes and your voice broke as you said, “Rick, I can feel it. It’s already happening. Oh God—” you frantically grabbed onto his wrists as his hands still cupped your face “—I’m scared. I’m not ready to die. Not now. Not when I’ve found—” The rest of your words were lost as you broke down sobbing.

Rick pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you tightly. Resting his chin on the top of your head and rubbing soothing circles across your back, he whispered, “It’s okay, darlin’. You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you outta here and get you help, you hear me? I can’t lose you either so I need you to fight. Fight and just hold on, for as long as you can. We’re gonna get outta here…together.”

He felt you nod into his chest and gently moved you away to look at you. Red-tinted tears trailed down your cheeks and more blood was smeared under your nose. Rick glanced down and saw some of it had wiped off on his jacket, but it didn’t matter. He bent down and pressed his lips furiously against yours—trying to ignore the metallic taste of blood coating your lips— then turned back towards the exit door. 

He had already searched every inch of it for some sort of switch but maybe he could pry it open. Rick tried to get his fingernails to dig into the seam where the two doors met, but the seal was just too strong. Maybe if he could find something to wedge between them….

As he quickly scanned the room for something—anything—he could use, he saw you clutch your chest as you began to cough. It started out small, like just clearing your throat. However, within what seemed like seconds, it had evolved into a wheezy, rattling hack that wracked your entire body. Rick watched helplessly as fresh blood sprayed across the floor as a particularly deep cough forced you to double over.  

As it subsided and you looked up at him, he inhaled sharply as he saw blood now not only trickling from your nose but from your eyes and mouth too. You tried to say something—it seemed like his name—however, from your rasping gasps, it was clear you weren’t getting enough air to breathe properly, let alone speak. 

“No…” Rick couldn’t believe he was being forced to stand here and watch you die with no way to save you. “No!”

Throwing his entire weight behind it, Rick smashed his fist into the metal door. Logically deep down he knew there was no way he would ever be able to punch his way through it, but right now, logic was the furthest thing from his mind. Instead, he wound back and drove his other fist into the door. 

Over and over again, he pounded at the metal, ignoring the pain as he felt his skin split and bones crack. The door was now smeared with the blood from his ruined knuckles but it was nothing compared to the blood that was spilling from you just behind him. Hearing you struggling and in pain yet knowing he was helpless to stop it was too much for him and he increased the strength of each blow.

It was only when he saw you collapse to the floor as your body began thrashing and convulsing that Rick abandoned his fruitless attempts at breaking through the door and he dropped to his knees beside you. Pulling your writhing body into his lap, he held you tightly against him and pressed his lips against your ear, muttering empty promises that everything was going to be alright. 

As you continued to seize, blood began to flow more steadily from your eyes, nose, and mouth. Your eyes rolled back into your head as your back arched and your entire body went rigid. You seemed to hold that pose for a moment, the entire room suddenly dead silent. Then, slowly and with one extended exhale, your body relaxed against his and your head lolled to the side. 

Ice spread through Rick’s veins as he stared at your motionless form. No. This couldn’t be happenin’. Not to you. Please God, not you. 

He gently took your face between his hands and turned it so he could see you better. Several trails of blood streaked down your face and though your eyes were mostly closed, he could just make out the dulled, faded color beneath your lids. And though you were lying on his chest, all he felt was an unnatural stillness—no heartbeat, no intake of breath. You were gone.

Tears began to stream down Rick’s cheeks as he buried his face in the top of your head. And though he knew you couldn’t hear him, he softly whispered, “Please, darlin’, come back to me. I need you and I love you and I can’t do this without you. So, please….come back.”

And that’s how Waller’s extraction team found the two of you moments later: Colonel Rick Flag with tears in his eyes as he clung to the limp body of one of the Belle Reve inmates.

Since that moment, Rick had been going on some sort of autopilot, letting himself be shuffled from place to place and doing what he was told. But now that his official statement had been taken and he had been released, there was only one place he needed to be. So, taking the hospital elevator up to the third floor, he stepped out onto the intensive care unit and followed the signs towards his destination. 

When he reached the end of the hall, Rick stared through the window into the hospital room, his forehead pressed against the glass as he struggled to maintain some sort of composure. He could barely see your face past the countless machines and equipment hooked up to you in an effort to keep you alive. 

By the time Waller’s extraction team had shown up and somehow managed to revive you, the poison had done its job and destroyed or seriously damaged most of your internal organs. It was a miracle the doctors were able to keep you alive this long, even if machines now controlled every aspect of your life support. The rest of the Task Force who had been in a different area of the building hadn’t been so lucky. The two of you were the only survivors—if you could call it that.

The doctors had done everything they could to save you and now the rest was up to you. Rick had heard the full spectrum of possible prognoses ranging from you making a full recovery to you being incapable of cognitive thought or movement—and all of it was dependent on you waking up which was an uncertainty on its own.

But for now, you lay motionless in your hospital bed just as you had for the past twenty-four hours. 

Fury boiled in his gut as Rick’s eyes landed on the pair of handcuffs chaining you to the bed. Did they seriously expect you to jump up and sneak out of the hospital? Your heart was struggling to beat without assistance and air was constantly having to be forced into your lungs yet they had to make sure you wouldn’t miraculously make a daring escape. It made Rick sick. As did the fact he wasn’t permitted to be in the room with you. All he wanted was to hold your hand or press a soft kiss to your forehead, but Waller made sure no one except for her and the doctors were allowed in. Just another one of her attempts to punish him.

As if summoned by the very thought of her name, footsteps echoed off the tiles behind him growing louder and louder until Waller stepped into Rick’s peripheral vision. He ignored her, instead keeping his gaze firmly locked on you, and Waller seemed to do the same. 

For several minutes, they stood in complete silence, the sounds of your rasping breathing and the beeping of machines the only sound in the dim hallway. Finally, without turning, Rick asked, “Did you know?”

“I know a lot of things, Flag, but you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Did you know the chemicals in the nanites could be used like that?”

Waller was silent for a moment before she answered curtly, “No. We knew about the chemical surrounding the bombs of course, but we were not aware it could be turned into a weapon. Our lab is already researching alternatives.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure my team would be thrilled to hear that if they weren’t all currently down in the morgue.”

“Mistakes happen, people die. But that’s why we formed Task Force X. Nobody cares when those dying are criminals.” Waller’s eyes shifted slightly from the window to Rick and back again. “With a few exceptions.”

Rick clenched his fist at her words then immediately regretted it as a sharp bolt of pain ran up his arm from his busted knuckles. He wanted nothing more than to make Waller feel the pain he was feeling. For her to understand how much he cared about you. But he knew nothing he did would make a difference. If anything, it would only make it worse. 

Taking a deep breath to try and calm himself, he asked, “So…what happens now?”

Folding her arms over her chest, Waller said, “Despite my objections, the board determined you did nothing wrong on the mission. They said there was nothing you could have done differently to save your team and you are not responsible for their deaths and thus will not receive any formal reprimand or punishment. However–” Waller raised one eyebrow as she glared at Rick “–I have not forgotten your…indiscretion with her and it will not be overlooked.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t known about us since the very start. You’ve just been waitin’ for the moment it best suited your interests to bring it up,” Rick growled. “I don’t care what you do to me but when she’s better I want her released from Belle Reve. She only had thirty years left on her sentence—twenty after this mission. And this….this more than makes up for the rest of her time.”

“Possibly,” Waller said thoughtfully. “First, we have to wait and see if she even pulls through, then we can have that discussion. But until that happens, I expect you to do your job.” She slapped a file down on the ledge of the window. “Your next assignment. You leave tomorrow and you better be on the tarmac on time. Otherwise all of this–” she gestured to the hospital equipment surrounding them “–goes away. Do we understand each other?”

Rick clenched his jaw tightly as he just barely managed to hold back the slew of curses he wanted to direct at his boss but he knew that was exactly what she was hoping for. So instead, he gritted his teeth and in his most Southern twang said, “Yes, Ma’am.”

The “fuck you” was loud and clear in his tone but Waller thankfully ignored it. Shooting him one last glare, she turned sharply and began marching back down the hall. However, Rick called after her, “And I want those cuffs taken off of her. Now.”

Without turning or breaking her stride, Waller replied, “When are you going to learn, Flag? You don’t call the shots around here. I do.” Then she turned down another hall and disappeared from sight.

Sighing, Rick gazed back at your unconscious form. Pressing his hand against the glass, he whispered, “It’ll be alright, darlin’, I promise you that. You don’t worry about anythin’ except gettin’ better and wakin’ up. You do that, and I’ll take care of the rest. And no matter what happens or how bad things are when you do wake up, I’ll be right by your side for all of it, Waller be damned. ‘Cause I love you, now and forever.”

He waited, hoping beyond hope you had heard his words and they helped rouse you from your sleep. But this wasn’t some feel-good movie or romance novel where his bedside pleas would make everything better and you would wake up to fall into his arms once again. No, this was real life and in real life, people didn’t get their happily-ever-afters. 

At least…..not yet. As long as your heart was still beating—artificially or not— there was hope. And for now, hope was going to have to be enough.

Tag List: @nik2blog, @zebralover, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Day 6 - (ALT PROMPT) Bloody Knuckles

I meant for this to be for day 4 of Whump Week but that other idea was too good, and then I didn't have the drive to finish it until now. More risen demon au stuff!

Ping list: @ailesswhumptober and @whumperofworlds

TWs: blood, discussion of suicide/suicide baiting, death mention

Mariano closed his eyes, feeling Dimitri's fingers combing through his feathers. They sat out in the little creek that ran through their domain, the quiet rustle of leaves and grass in the wind filling the comfortable silence. Cold, impossibly clean water meandered past, pulling the otherworldly black blood from Mariano's skin.

The last mission had been rough. Dimitri had insisted on helping him get clean again. Blood still oozed from cuts and scrapes, dark as the halo that hung near the tips of his tall horns. They'd bandage those once he was inside and dry again. Dimitri's claws scratched luxuriously against the skin of his wings, drawing little happy hums and sighs from Mariano as he finished washing his face.

"You're really pretty." Dimitri said with no warning.

"...What?" Mariano blinked. looking over his shoulder at Dimitri.

The blond demon just looked back at Mariano, still scratching through his feathers. "I said you're pretty. Turn around."

Mariano frowned as he did, black feathers ruffling before smoothing down as he shifted. The water felt amazing as it started to run against his lower back, his thin tail drifting along in the current. Dimitri took one of Mariano's hands in his, dipping it under the chilly water. His thumb started to brush over the broken, bleeding skin over Mariano's knuckles.

Mariano didn't wince, even as sparks of pain raced up his hand. "What makes you say that?" He asked, watching Dimitri's efforts gradually reveal raw, aching skin under the glowing black blood.

Dimitri frowned, tilting his head as he paused. "What do you mean, what makes me say that? I have eyes. You're pretty."

The water's temperature finally started to numb the sting of the bloody knuckles. "I thought you hated me." Mariano said as Dimitri let go of his now-clean hand to take his other one.

"Ah." Dimitri said, looking down at Mariano's hand again. His touch was somehow even more gentle, claws not even coming close to scraping against Mariano's knuckles. "I did, yes."

"You hated me the entire time we were alive. Before everything."

"I did." Dimitri said again, evenly. "I thought you were a brat, and a wimp, and spoiled. And stupid."

Mariano was quiet, letting Dimitri handle him more carefully than he'd ever done when he was alive. "When we all woke up here, you said I should've just killed myself instead of trying to whistle-blow." He said. "What changed?"

Dimitri's thumb passed over the knuckle of Mariano's ring finger, feather-light. "I'm not sure." He said. "You wanted to haunt Luis instead of just killing him, that helped. I liked that."

Dimitri's attention shifted to the knuckle of Mariano's pinky. "I think it was seeing your haunting." Dimitri's voice got softer. "I didn't like hearing you beg like that."

"Ah." It was Mariano's turn to speak quieter. "I'm sorry."

Dimitri shook his head. "No, no, it scared the shit out of Luis. He deserved it." Dimitri's fingers fell still. "He deserved to remember what he did to you."

They both fell quiet, the rustle of leaves and the murmur of water the only noises in their otherworldly paradise. Their feathers ruffled in the warm breeze. Dimitri let go of his hand to wipe at Mariano's cheek, thumb working at a stubborn streak of blood.

"Come." Dimitri said, his hand lingering where he cupped Mariano's face. "Let's get you bandaged up. Manuel's going to be upset if we stay out here too long and you catch a chill."

Dimitri stood, offering Mariano a hand up. He smiled, the briefest flicker of the expression flashing over his face as he accepted Dimitri's help. Dimitri didn't let go of Mariano's hand as they walked through the field of sweet-smelling flowers, up to the home they all shared.

[tkachukitup]

one thing about me is i'm only gonna post about matthew tkachuk.

here are my 20+ tags:

matthew tkachuk: bc obviously

pretty rat: for when he is being pretty

happy rat: for when he is smiling pretty

baby rat: for when he's young

mullet matthew: bc we love the curls in the back

racing stripes rat: for unhinged covid era ratthew

c u r l s: for when his hair is amazing

matthew vs his shirt collars: for when he insists on neck-room supremacy

matthew in suits: for when he's all done up

the playoff beard: deserves its own tag

chuckyyy: for when he's doing swaggy hockey things or i just love him a lot

rat antics: for when he's allegedly doing things to get sent to the box

ratthew in jail: for when he's in the box (and completely innocent, your honor)

bloody knuckles: for when the antics have consequences

matthew and his emotional support johnny: bc glove kisses get their own tag

barky n chucky: 1619 supremacy

goalie hugs: for when he loves his goalies

the tkachuk bros: for when they're together

emotional support towel: he has one. often.

minecraft matthew: for that god awful minecraft suit

actual hockey stuff: for when he's on the ice/in gear

baby rat to king rat pipeline: for then and nows, or when i'm really proud of his progress

florida boy: for when he's a panther

flames days: for when he was at calgary

t h i g h s: uhhhmmm

e y e s: god they are SO

oh: for when i overreact af

screenshots i took: (please credit/link back)

pics i edited: see above

i try to always link to an original source. if i have missed linking to you, please let me know!

[theclairvoyage]

Chapter 1: Boomer Sooner

Part of Bloody Knuckles series

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x AUSA!f!reader

Javier's first day in OKC is nothing short of stressful-though that changes when he meets you.

Chapter warnings: alcohol consumption, smoking, adult language, mentions of violence, mentions of human trafficking, reader is able-bodied, has long hair and is roughly the same height as Javi (no other descriptors), Spanish usage (translations at the end)

WC: 3.2k

Fall 1992

Corpus Christi, Texas

Sweat drips from Javier’s forehead and temples as he pulls stubborn weeds from the dry dirt at his mother’s house in Corpus Christi.  The air is heavy and humid, compressing his chest like a thick heated blanket.  Mamá insisted she could do it herself, stubborn as the weeds.  Mijo, puedo hacerlo.  No necesito ayuda.  He’d waved her off and stepped out the front door, Tecovas boots clomping the wooden steps.

The screen door flies open with a screech, and out comes his mother, pitcher of vibrant red agua fresca in tow, garnished with fresh spearmint and strawberries.  In the fall, she loves to make Agua de Jamaica with the beautiful hibiscus flowers that bloom in late summer.  Her backyard garden is a utopia compared to the disaster of a front yard, filled with a smorgasbord of gorgeous flowers, vegetables, fruits, and bird feeders.

“Tómate un descanso, Javier.  Por favor,” she urges him.  He nods, tearing the sweaty gardening gloves from his hands, and tossing them on the porch.  He wipes his brow with the back of his dirt-covered forearm, no longer caring about how he looks or smells.  Only a cold shower would resurrect this mess.

“Gracias, Mamá.  Se parece muy bien,” he compliments her, relishing the sweet smile that stretches her freckled, weathered cheeks.  Her long, silvery mane is curled into a tight bun, wispy baby hairs fallen prey to the humidity in Corpus Christi.  She is a true Mexican mother—hardworking, resourceful, strong-willed, and unequivocally dedicated to her family.  It’s nice to see the softer side of her once in a blue moon—a refreshing break from the wooden spoon or chancla.

She pours him a hefty glass of the hibiscus drink before returning to the house, ice cubes crashing into glass with little clinks.  Javi plops himself on the old porch, sipping and observing the scene in front of him.  Fuck, that’s good, he thinks, licking his lips to savor the taste and the liquid that has seeped up into his mustache.  She knows this drink was his favorite, and boy, did she make it perfectly.

The yard, on the other hand, was not even close to perfection.  Javier’s dad passed away a couple years ago, and with Javi posted in Colombia, she had limited assistance.  Sure, family came around to help, and he knew she dabbled in some landscaping herself, but the weeds grew too quickly.

She was too proud to let any landscaping service come help her—he remembered the day a landscaping company tucked a pamphlet between her screen and front doors, and she called him enraged, smirking to himself at the memory.  “¡Pendejos estúpidos, déjame sola!”

At least he had made decent progress.  The weeds were plucked, but the grass was patchy and scarce.  He’d need to find some grass seed and plant it or convince her to buy sod—fat chance.  Chugging the last few gulps of his agua fresca, he stands and enters the house.  His mother takes the glass from him, patting his shoulder affectionately.

“Mijo, algún hombre te llamó.  No dio un nombre, solamente un número.  Está aquí,” she says, pointing a wrinkled finger at an old utility bill envelope with a phone number scribbled in blue pen.  The fuck, he thinks.  Who the fuck has my mom’s home number? Better not be some girl.

“Gracias, Mamá.  Perdóname, por favor,” he says, grabbing the envelope and returning to the front porch to punch in the number on his giant mobile phone.  It rings twice before a male voice responds.

“About time, Peña.  Ready to get back to work?” The voice echoes—cocky, smug.

“If this is DEA, you can go fuck yourself.  Already gave y’all my letter of resignation,” Javi spits.  The voice returns a few whoa, whoa, whoas, like he’s trying to rein in a wild horse.

“Got a great opportunity for you here in Oklahoma City.  Need you here by next week.  Already got an apartment and a desk saved for you.”  Javi scratches his head in confusion.

“Opportunity for what?” Javi bites back, fucking irritated at this no-namer.

“FBI.”

“Goddammit.”

The next week, Javier finds himself squinting and cursing on the sidewalk of the FBI Building on West Memorial Road in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, wondering how the fuck he got here.  He can’t remember the last time he craved a cigarette so badly.  It felt sacrilege, living in Sooner country—he was an Aggie through and through.  He pulls the rumpled utility bill envelope from his mother’s house out of his already-sweaty tan blazer pocket and re-reads the instructions for the 300th time.

-Enter parking lot via security gate and use code 584323, give them name

-Enter building on west side and go through security

-Someone will be waiting for me?

Shaking his head, he wipes sweat from his mustache and trudges toward the west entrance, straining to pull one of the doors open.  The heavy metal doors threaten to shove him back into the outside world—something he would welcome, at this point.

Walking through a maze to get to the metal detectors, he gazes up at the highly vaulted atrium, observing the boring taupe-colored walls, and stopping at a black and white photo of J. Edgar Hoover.  Two armored guards with solemn, stony faces wipe their gaze up and down Javier’s figure as he stops just before the metal detector.

“Come through,” one of them barks, beckoning to him to step through.  He obliges, before the other stone soldier puts a palm up in Javier’s face.  “Need ID.”  Javi fishes his wallet out, instinctively reaching for his phantom DEA badge.  The guard scans his Texas Driver’s License before handing it to the other guard.

“Any weapons?” One asks, as the other walks behind Javier.

“Nope,” Javi replies, assuming the familiar position of a search, hands posted up high and legs spread.  The gruff men pat him down and excavate his pockets, finding nothing but his phone, keys, wallet, and the rumpled envelope with instructions.

“Come this way, Peña.” He follows one to the round front desk to a tall, blue suit, leaning against the counter with a smirk on his face.  Javi doesn’t recognize him.  Blue Suit stands and holds out a manicured hand to Javier.

“Nice to meet you, Peña,” Blue Suit croons.  Javi recognizes the voice as the one that called his mother’s house in Corpus Christi.  Javi clasps his hand and shakes it a few times, grunting in approval.

“I’m Eddie Penn, supervisory special agent.  You’ll be with me for today—likely for a while,” he says with a grin.  Javi raises one eyebrow at him, suspicious.  Eddie trots toward some elevator doors, flashing ID at two more armored guards posted up next to them.  Javi follows him into the elevator and watches him press a yellow-stained 3.

“How’s the apartment?” Eddie asks as the elevator ascends noisily.  Javi shrugs.

“Honestly, I threw all my shit in there last night and haven’t had much of a chance to get any furniture,” he replies, studying the elevator inspection form above the floor number buttons.  Eddie chuckles.

“Sorry about that—I was pretty limited on the timeframe and places we could put you.  We’ll get you a car and help with furniture,” he apologizes, hands twitching in his pockets.  Javi shakes his head, long hair swishing back and forth.

“No worries.  I’m assuming this is important,” he says, turning to look at Eddie, eyes narrowing for a millisecond.

“Yes.  We’ll discuss everything in my office—the Assistant Director is waiting on the phone for us,” he says as the elevator screeches to a halt, doors opening slowly.  The two step out and Eddie leads Javi through a floor of gray cubicles, sounds of telephones ringing and keyboards clacking filling the air.

It’s not too different from DEA offices, Javi thinks.  There are more people, more suits and skirts, but the blueprint is the same.  Eddie nods his head at several people staring at the pair as they traverse the floor.  Javi tries to keep his eyes from meeting anyone’s—he needs to know why he’s here before he starts familiarizing himself with these people.

Eddie opens the door to an office, contents invisible to the floor, save for a narrow window above the handle.  There are two chairs facing a small wooden desk, with a giant computer monitor in one corner and a telephone in the other.  There’s a small window behind the desk overlooking the city.  Eddie gestures to one of the chairs as he steps behind the desk.

Javi sits into one of the stiff, unforgiving cushions as Eddie presses a few buttons and puts the phone on speaker.  Javi drums his fingers on the arm of the chair as he stares out the window, somewhat covered by stray hairs of Eddie’s combover.  Eddie clears his throat.

“Assistant Director, I’ve got Javier Peña here with me.  Glad to have you on the phone.” Great, so Eddie’s a kiss-ass.  A muffled, adenoidal voice replies on the other end.

“Thanks, Agent Penn.  Javier—it’s great to have you.  I read up on your work in Colombia—you’re somewhat of a hero here in the States.  What made you leave the DEA?” The Assistant Director asks.  Javi leans forward, elbows on his thighs and fingers smoothing his mustache hairs as he recounts his experience in South America.

“Well, sir—to be frank, it’s a shit ton of work trying to catch a drug lord.  The time I put in was enough,” Javi says honestly.  Eddie snaps his head up to glare at Javier—presumably for the cursing.  The Assistant Director laughs, voice even more nasally than before.

“Well, I do appreciate the honesty.  When I heard you’d quit DEA I jumped on the opportunity to have you join here,” the AD spouts.  Javi raises an eyebrow as he listens.

“Might I ask why?” Javi tests, glancing at the carpeted ground as he waits for a response.

“There’s a large-scale intelligence task force here dedicated to stopping arms and human trafficking in Oklahoma—funny enough, we know Escobar has done some dealings here, but that won’t be your focus.”  Javi raises the other eyebrow in surprise.

“In Oklahoma?  Interesting—figured he was only invested in Miami and other coastal cities,” Javi ponders.  The AD chuckles.

“He was—but he’s learned to be more discreet in his business operations.  No thanks to the great work of the DEA.”  Javi snorts.

“Anyway, Javier,” the AD continues, “Human trafficking in this part of the country has worsened in recent years.  The DEA doesn’t have enough manpower to tackle a problem of this magnitude.  So, the FBI has made it a priority.”  Javi listens, eyes scanning the room.  He leans back in the chair, crossing an ankle over his knee and pursing his lips.

“So, we are going to fast-track you to supervisory special agent, like Agent Penn here—we think your experience with the DEA has more than warranted that role, and your supervisor recommended you for this task force.  Sounds like you’ve got some great leadership abilities, Peña.  This job will pay well, a bit better than what you were making with the DEA,” the Assistant Director rambles, sounding impressed.  Javi widens his eyes.

“Penn here will train you once you pass the field tests—marksmanship, physical, drug tests—you know the drill.  Then you’ll hit the ground running with the task force.  Any questions?”  Javi furrows his brow, thinking.

“Don’t think so,” Javi replies.  He knows he can’t back out of this one—it’s a great opportunity, a pay raise—even if it’s in shitty Oklahoma.

“Great.  I’ll be in the Oklahoma Office in the next few weeks for a status report.  Looking forward to monitoring your progress.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Javi replies.  Eddie hangs up the phone and rummages through some manila case files on his desk, handing a thick one to Javi.

“This is what we’ve been working on as of late,” Eddie says.  Javi flips open the case file and pulls out some large pictures from the front.  Javi glances through photos of suspects, victims, crime scenes, and camera footage.  Some are brutal—young girls with brandings and tattoos, bruises and scrapes—some deceased, some barely alive.  Javi swallows loudly.

“Some fucking pieces of work that do this shit,” he seethes quietly, jaw ticking.  Penn nods.

“It’s tough,” Eddie says, “But we’ve made some great strides here.  Sadly, we can’t do everything.”

Javier continues flipping through the case files, now reading field reports.  Some are from the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs in Oklahoma, some from OKCPD and other neighboring police departments.

“I’m assuming we work mostly with local LEO departments?” Javi questions, snapping the case file shut.  Eddie nods.

“Yep.  We try to work cases in conjunction, whenever possible.  We also work closely with an AUSA who has taken a liking to this task force.”

“Oh yeah?  He tough on crime?” Javi questions, plopping the case file back on Penn’s desk.

“She is,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows.  “Real spitfire, that one.  Smart as hell.  And between you and me, she’s a sight for sore eyes.”  Javi nods, rolling his eyes.  He pictures a petite blonde in a pencil skirt.  He’s had plenty of those.

“Interesting,” he says.

“You’ll meet her sometime this week, she’s here at least two to three times a week working on cases.  Sometimes she’ll go out in the field with us, though she’s not supposed to,” Eddie says.  Javi tilts his head at Eddie.

“Why’s that?  Likes to keep tabs on the team?” Eddie shakes his head.

“Likes to talk to the victims, meet them, see everything firsthand.  Wait ‘til you see her in the courtroom—it’s something else,” Eddie says, reminiscing your powerful opening and closing arguments and connection with members of the jury.  Javi is unimpressed.

“Seen enough lawyers to know it’s all a show,” he scoffs.  Eddie shrugs.  Javi would be in for a real surprise when he finally gets the chance to meet you.

Later that evening, after filling out dozens of forms and answering questions, Javier finds himself at a local tavern, The Dark Horseman, a few minutes from his apartment.  The inside lives up to the name—dark and hazy, filled with lots of dark-stained wooden walls, tables, and chairs, with random horse paraphernalia lining the walls.

He’s the only one sitting at the bar, slowly sipping a glass of some cheap whiskey the bartender poured.  There’s an old, old jukebox adjacent to the bar blaring some sad Hank Williams ballad.  Some people are playing pool at the other end, filling the space with the smacks of billiard balls and random cheers.

The bartender steps in front of Javier, nodding at his soon-to-be empty glass.  Javi shakes his head.

“I’m good after this.”  The bartender nods again and steps away to wipe down some tables.  Javi sets the glass down and pinches the bridge of his nose, craving a cigarette.  He’d been trying to quit—but the move and the stress of a new job he knew nothing about had forced him to capitulate in the last few days.  He stands, letting the bartender know he’s going for a smoke.  As he goes to push the bar door open, someone pulls it from the other side.

There you stand, frozen in place as Javier almost slams into you.  Still holding the door, you step back a bit so he can leave.  He stares at you for a moment, entranced.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” you apologize, small smile on your face.  Javi’s eyes drop to your lips momentarily before hovering at your eyes.

“Not a problem, s’my bad.  Excuse me,” he says, mirroring your smile.  You’re taken aback at how handsome this stranger is—but you really need a drink after today.  He steps out, pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and smacking them against his hand as he watches you walk inside.

You’re tall, probably as tall as him, confident, and elegant, though you’re wearing ratty jeans and a tee shirt.  Your eyes are what captivated him the most—beautiful, emotive, weary, yet still glowing.  And your scent was unlike any he’d smelled before—earthy, musky, and slightly spicy.  He shakes his head as he lights a cigarette, taking a long draw and leaning up against the wall of the tavern.

He doesn’t need to fuck a random stranger his first big day here.  What he needs is some food, a shower, perhaps another cigarette, and a long night of tossing and turning.  He finishes the cigarette and returns to the brooding bar, noticing you sitting a few chairs down from his glass of whiskey and his tab that the bartender slapped on the wood while he was smoking.

“Come here often?” he asks, almost involuntarily.  He winces at how corny he sounds, and you probably think he’s hitting on you.  He’s not trying to pick you up, but he is curious.  You turn to him as you finish a sip of some amber liquid—whiskey, maybe?

“I try not to, unless I’ve had a bad day,” you say, smiling at him as you set your glass down.  Fuck, you’re beautiful.  His breath stalls in his lungs for a moment.

“So, if I see you in here again, it won’t be for a good reason,” he says, fighting the urge to wink at you as he signs his tab.  He settles for a half smile, one side of his mustache twitching up.

You laugh and half-shrug.  He likes the sound of it—breathy, melodious, somewhat subdued.  You must be tired.

“There’s a good chance of that, though you look like you’re here for the same reason,” you say, studying him as he turns to you, stuffing his wallet in the pocket of his tan slacks.  He snorts.

“Something like that,” he says, eyeing you.  You turn to take another sip, and he takes the opportunity to study your features again.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Stranger That Also Had a Bad Day,” you tell him, pulling a chortle from him.  You’re witty—he likes that.  He better leave before he sits in the chair next to you.

“Same to you.  See you around?” he says, raising a brow at you.

“Good chance of that, too,” you say, giving him a close-lipped smile.  He nods at you and exits the bar.  He sure hopes so.

Spanish glossary:

Mijo, puedo hacerlo.  No necesito ayuda. = My son, I can do it.  I don’t need help.

Tómate un descanso, Javier.  Por favor. = Take a break, Javier.  Please.

Gracias, Mamá.  Se parece muy bien. = Thank you, Mom.  It looks great.

¡Pendejos estúpidos, déjame sola! = Stupid assholes, leave me alone!

Mijo, algún hombre te llamó.  No dio un nombre, solamente un número.  Está aquí. = My son, some man called for you.  He didn’t give a name, just a number.  It’s here.

Gracias, Mamá.  Perdóname, por favor. = Thanks, Mom.  Excuse me a minute, please.

Chapter 2 (coming soon-ETA 05/23/24)

Taglist: @burntheedges