#I just gotta trust that Paul is on Roman’s side and that he knows what’s best for the OG’s

[fantasyismyonlyrealescape]

Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t the Shield mercs for CM Punk and Paul Heyman?

I don’t like this power dynamic we’ve got going on here.

Roman used to be UNDER Punk’s command.

What makes anyone think that Punk is going to happily serve under Roman’s now?

What is WWE doing?

Make it make sense.

Look, I’m upset about Seth not being #5, I think it would have been a chance for Seth and Roman to confront head on what they did to each other.

But come on, PUNK?

I trust the Wiseman. I do.

But I really wish he had brought back somebody else.

[bijouxcarys]

𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 (𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒙 𝑶𝑪) - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: Thank you for all the love! Hope you guys enjoy this one. I do really enjoy getting replies and reblogs to see what people think. So if you can, I'd really appreciate it. I love seeing people's reactions, it makes my day!

Tags: @trippinsorrows @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup

(let me know if you want to be tagged in future Roman fics)

The black SUV hummed down the deserted highway, the city lights fading into the rearview mirror as they approached the outskirts. Roman sat in the front passenger seat, eyes scanning the road ahead with a practiced vigilance. The Usos flanked Solo in the back, while Paul gripped the wheel with a steady hand, driving with an air of calm professionalism.

The atmosphere inside the car was deceptively relaxed. Jimmy had his feet propped up on the back of Roman’s seat, bobbing his head to the music playing from the car’s speakers. “Man, this playlist is fire,” he said, grinning. “You got good taste, Uce.”

Roman chuckled, glancing back at him. “Gotta keep it fresh, keep the vibes right. Especially before we handle business.”

Jey leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Ain’t nothin’ like a little old-school hip-hop to get us in the zone, right?”

“Exactly,” Roman agreed, turning the volume up a notch. The bass thumped through the speakers, filling the car with a rhythm that was both energising and soothing.

Behind them, another black SUV followed closely, carrying more of their men… including Sami.

Jey noticed the vehicle in the side mirror and frowned, his brow furrowing. “Yo, why’s Sami coming along for the drop?”

Roman sighed, his eyes still firmly on the road. “Sami’s earned his spot. He’s proven himself. We need all hands on deck for this one.”

“Yeah, but you trust him with something this big?” Jey’s scepticism was clear, his tone laced with doubt.

“Sami’s good,” Solo interjected, his voice calm but firm. “He’s loyal. And we need him.”

Jimmy shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Gotta give the guy a chance, Jey. He’s been solid so far.”

Jey muttered something under his breath, clearly still unconvinced, but he let it go. They all knew how important this drop was. It wasn’t just another routine job; it was a pivotal moment for their operations.

The SUV turned onto a narrow, dimly lit road, leading them further away from civilisation and deeper into the industrial wasteland that surrounded the city. Abandoned warehouses and derelict factories loomed in the darkness, their broken windows and crumbling facades casting eerie shadows.

Paul glanced at Roman. “We’re almost there. You ready?”

Roman nodded, hardening his expression. “Always.”

They pulled up to the warehouse, its hulking structure partially obscured by the encroaching darkness. The second SUV rolled to a stop behind them, and their men disembarked, forming a tight, disciplined group. Sami stepped forward, his eyes scanning the surroundings cautiously.

Roman exited the vehicle first, followed by the rest of the crew. The cold night air bit at their skin, but they paid it no mind. This was their territory, their domain. They moved with a confidence born of countless successful operations, their presence imposing and unmistakable.

The warehouse loomed ahead, its large metal doors slightly ajar. A faint light flickered from within, casting long, wavering shadows on the ground. Roman took point, leading the way inside. The interior was vast and cavernous, the air thick with the scent of rust and decay. Stacks of old crates and machinery were scattered haphazardly, creating a maze of obstacles.

“Stay sharp,” Roman muttered lowly.

Inside, the echoes of their footsteps bounced off the walls, adding to the ominous atmosphere. Roman’s crew fanned out, each member taking up a strategic position. Jimmy and Jey moved with precise synchronicity, scanning every shadow, every dark corner.

Roman glanced at his watch. “We got a few minutes. Everyone stays put until the agreed time. No surprises.”

They all nodded, understanding the importance of timing. Any premature movement could tip the balance of power, and in their world, timing was everything. They settled in, the silence heavy.

Jimmy leaned against the SUV, trying to lighten the mood. “So, what’s the plan after this, Uce? A little celebration?”

Roman smirked. “Let’s get through tonight first. Then we can talk about celebrations.”

Jey nudged Sami, who was standing a bit apart from the group. “You good, man? You seem tense.”

Sami gave a small, tight mile. “Just focused, Jey. I know how important this is.”

“Damn right it is,” Solo adde, his voice a deep rumble. “We all gotta be on point.”

The minutes ticked by slowly, each one dragging under the weight of their collective anticipation. Roman’s eyes never stopping moving, scanning the perimeter, checking his men, ensuring everything was as it should be. He had been in too many situations where a single oversight led to disaster, and he wasn’t about to let that happen tonight.

Paul, still behind the wheel, kept the engine running, ready for a quick exit if needed. He glanced at Roman through the rearview mirror, giving a subtle nod. Roman returned the gesture, acknowledging the silent communication that had become a second nature to them.

Roman checked his watch, the green glow of the numbers cutting through the dim light of the warehouse. 10:30pm on the dot. He signalled to his men to sharpen up. This was it. The culmination of weeks of planning and negotiations. He squared his shoulders and moved toward the centre of the cavernous space.

The first to appear were the Volkovs. They emerged from the shadows like phantoms, their presence immediately commanding attention.

Roman watched them approach, his eyes narrowing as he took in the unfamiliar face at the front. Tall and broad-shouldered. A stern expression. Followed closely by a slightly shorter, but no less intimidating man that bared a slight resemblance to the man he followed. Further back, a team of their men lingered, each one handpicked for their strength and agility.

 This wasn’t who Roman was expecting. He had dealt with Dimitri Volkov before and knew his style, his mannerisms. This switch-up didn’t sit well with him.

From the opposite side of the warehouse, Damien and his crew made their entrance. He walked with the familiar confidence that bordered on arrogance, his eyes scanning the room with a somewhat predatory gleam. Finn and Dominik flanked him, their expressions unreadable. Behind them, backup muscle loomed in the shadows, ready to intervene if things went south.

The Samoan stepped forward, his presence dominating the space. Jimmy and Jey were at his sides, with Solo a few steps behind, each one ready for anything and everything. Paul, by this point, had stepped out and kept close to the SUV, a watchful eye on the scene.

Damien broke the silence first, with his authoritative voice. “Evening, gentlemen. We’ve got quite a shipment for you tonight. Heavy-duty weaponry, top of the line. You’ll find–”

Roman raised a hand, cutting him off. “Hold up. Who the hell is this?” He gestured to the Volkovs, demanding an answer.

The ragged-looking man from the front of the Russian entourage stepped forward, his expression unflinching. “I’m Sergei Volkov. Dimitri’s younger brother. I’m handling the pickup tonight.”

Roman’s eyes flicked to Damien, then back to Sergei. “Dimitri didn’t mention you.”

Sergei’s jaw tightened slightly. “It’s a high-risk score. Mitya thought it best to send someone who… how you say, wouldn’t draw as much attention.” He spoke with the thickest accent Roman had ever heard, and used too many hand gestures as he struggled to find the correct English phrasing.

Roman studied him for a moment, weighing his words. He didn’t like surprises, especially not in deals of this magnitude. But he also understood the necessity of caution. After a tense moment, he nodded. “Fine. But next time, I expect a heads up.”

Sergei gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

Damien resumed his pitch, undeterred by the interruption. “As I was saying, we’ve got the best hardware you can find. Assault rifles, sniper rifles, RPGs. All clean, no serial numbers, ready for immediate use. We’ll split the shipment evenly between the both of you.”

Even though his focus was still on Sergei, Roman nodded. “So you’re Dimitri’s little brother, huh? How do I know you’re up to handling this?”

The Russian met his gaze evenly. “I may be younger, but I’ve been in this game a long time. I wouldn’t be here if Mitya didn’t trust me.”

Another beat. More silence. Then, Roman finally looked away. “Alright, let’s get this done.”

Damien signalled to his men, who began unloading crates from a hidden compartment in the floor. The sound of wood scraping against concrete filled the air as the heavy crates were moved into position.

Roman’s crew moved in to inspect the merchandise. Jimmy and Jey pried open one of the crates, revealing rows of meticulously packed rifles. Solo checked another, nodding in approval at the contents.

The Volkovs did the same, their eyes scanning the weapons with practiced efficiency. The smaller man that lingered behind Sergei spoke quietly to one of his lieutenants, giving instructions and ensuring everything was accounted for.

Damien approached Roman, a slight smirk on his lips. “Satisfied, jefe?”

Roman glanced over the crates, then nodded. “Looks good. You guys always come through.”

The Puerto Rican chuckled. “We aim to ple–”

Cutting him off entirely, a sudden noise echoed through the environment. Everyone froze, hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. Roman’s eyes darted to the source of the sound, his body tensing.

From the shadows, a figure emerged. It was a young man, barely out of his teens, looking dishevelled and scared. He held up his hands, trying to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

Before he could finish, Damien’s men had him on the ground, their guns trained on him. Roman stepped forward, his expression dark and menacing. “Who the hell are you?”

The kid stammered, his eyes wide with fear. “I-I was just looking for a place to sleep. I didn’t know anyone was here.”

Roman glanced at Damien, who shrugged, clearly unconcerned. “He’s not one of ours.” The Tribal Chief turned back to the kid, his gaze icy.

“You picked the wrong night to wander in here, kid.”

“Please, I won’t say anything, I swear!” the kid pleaded, his voice trembling.

Roman’s eyes narrowed, assessing the situation. He knew they couldn’t afford any loose ends, but he also didn’t want to spill unnecessary blood. He turned to Sami, who had been watching silently.

“Take care of it,” Roman ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Sami nodded, stepping forward and pulling the kid to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

The kid looked relieved, but the fear was still evident in his eyes. He stumbled as Sami led him towards the exit, casting one last terrified glance at the gathered men.

As they disappeared, Roman turned back to Damien. “Let’s wrap this up.”

“Si, si,” Damien nodded, slightly distracted by the incident. “About the payment…”

Roman reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope, handing it over to Damien. “As agreed. Half now, half upon delivery.”

Damien took the envelope, flipping through the bills inside before tucking it away. “Pleasure doing business with you.” He gave a final nod to each group, ready to signal the end of this transfer and get out of there. But before he could move, a loud, piercing gunshot echoed through the warehouse.

Damien’s body jerked violently, then crumpled to the ground. Blood pooled beneath his head, the bullet hole between his eyes a brutal punctuation mark. For a split second, silence reigned.

Then chaos erupted.

“Damien!” Finn’s voice cracked as he rushed to his fallen comrade, panic etched on his face. Dominik and the rest of TJD moved in a frenzy, trying to process what had just happened.

Roman’s instincts kicked in. He retreated behind a stack of crates, pulling out his handgun and scanning the area for the shooter. He couldn’t see the source, but he knew they had to act fast. “What the fuck is goin’ on, Volkov?!” he shouted.

Sergei mirrored Roman’s movements, his own gun drawn, aiming directly at the Tribal Chief. “I could ask you the same thing!” he yelled back, his eyes wild with uncertainty and anger.

Before they knew it, both the Volkovs and The Bloodline squared off, weapons drawn, while Finn, Dominik, and the rest of The Judgement Day scrambled to Damien’s body. Panic spread through their ranks as they tried to lift him, blood smearing their hands.

“I won’t ask you again,” Roman bellowed, cocking his gun with intent. “What kinda shit did you pull?!”

“Radi chrena, Reigns, I don’t fucking know!”

“He’s gone,” Finn whispered shakily. “Damien’s fucking dead.”

Roman and Sergei paid no mind to the drama unfolding at their side. They were deadlocked on each other, index fingers itching to press down on their triggers. 

“Don’t fuckin’ think I won’t put a bullet straight through that pretty head of yours, bastardo,” Roman growled, narrowing his brows at Sergei.

“Go right ahead, Reigns, pull the fucking trigger!”

“JD, don’t!”

Another member of The Judgement Day had spun around, both hands equipped with guns as he pointed them in the direction of Sergei and Roman.

“Who set this up?” he screamed, his Irish twang breaking hysterically. “Which one of you fuckers did this?!”

“JD, get your arse back over here!” Finn shouted.

“No! Not until one of these cunts own up!”

“Yer gonna get yourself kil–”

It was too late. JD had squeezed the triggers without uttering another word.

The shots went wide, but they were enough to ignite the powder keg. Gunfire erupted, bullets ricocheting off the concrete walls, splintering crates, and shattering the fragile alliance between the three factions. Shouts filled the air, a cacophony of rage, fear… betrayal.

Roman stayed low, his mind racing. This wasn’t just a botched deal—it was a deliberate fucking hit. His eyes locked onto Sergei as he fired back at The Judgement Day’s men, knowing they couldn’t just stand here and get picked off one by one.

“Jimmy! Jey! Cover me!” Roman barked. His cousins immediately shifted their positions, laying down suppressing fire. Roman made a break for their designated crates. No way was this shit getting in the way of a valuable shipment. He reached the crates, heart pounding in his chest.

Empty.

Both cases were void of content.

No… No, no, no… 

“Motherfucker!” he roared, slamming his fist against the side of one of the crates. He frantically looked around, searching for any sign of the missing weapons, but the environment was growing increasingly more dangerous. They couldn’t stay there for much longer. Not without a severe casualty, and in turn the risk of losing sight on who the fuck set them up.

“Fall back!” he shouted over the din of gunfire. “Get to the SUVs, now!”

The Bloodline moved quickly, covering each other’s backs as they retreated. Roman’s face was a mask of fury. Eyes burning with a dark intensity. They piled into their SUV, Paul gunning the engine as they sped away from the warehouse, the second car in tow.

“Ayo, is Sami good?!” Jimmy breathed. “Did he come back?”

“Yeah, man, he came back—there’s more important shit to be worryin’ about right now,” Jey scrutinised, chest heaving.

They looked toward Roman, who sat in the passenger seat with a clenched jaw and rage-smoldering eyes.

“It was them,” Roman spat venomously. “The fuckin’ Russian bastards set us up.” Catching everyone off-guard, he slammed his fist down into the dashboard, nostrils flared as he tried to catch his breath.

“We don’t know that for sure, Uce, it coulda been anyone!” Jey panted, all whilst checking behind them to make sure the second SUV was still there, and that nobody else had tagged along.

“Don’t be fucking naive,” Roman spat before spinning to look at him. “You think you can do this better than me, is that the problem here?”

Jimmy shot a warning glance to Jey, and one of concern over at Solo.

“Huh?!” Roman prodded, progressively irritated by the Uso’s lack of response.

“Shit, that ain’t what I’m sayi–”

“It sounds a whole lot like that’s what you’re sayin’.”

“It’s not! I’m just sayin’ we shouldn’t be jumpin’ to no conclusions!”

“And who the fuck put you in charge?!”

Jey sat there, stunned at the outburst, and eventually just threw his hands up in defeat. “Forget it, man.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Roman narrowed his eyes at his cousin one last time, before slowly turning back around. “Who else has the motive and the golden fuckin’ opportunity to pull this shit?”

“I–”

“Nobody!” Roman interrupted, not caring who the hell was speaking up. “They the only ones who would dare! They at the top of the food chain, they have all the resources, they have all the power!”

It was obvious that he wasn’t addressing anyone in particular. He was just… saying shit to say shit. And everyone let him get on with it, a normality for The Bloodline by this point. Better to keep your mouth shut and let Roman speak when he had something to say.

The SUV roared through the city streets, the occupants now tense and silent. Roman was a mess, a mindful storm of anger and calculation. First Maria, now this? The Volkovs had made a grave mistake, and he was going to make sure they paid for it.

“Wise Man,” he spoke again once the impulsive rage had dulled down a bit.

“Y-yes, my Tribal Chief?” Paul stuttered, his hands shaky on the wheel.

“When we get back, fill Tamina in,” he instructed with an eerie calmness, before looking at his special counsel. “We’re gonna need every man we can get.” This was more than a deal gone wrong. It was a declaration of war.

And Roman Reigns was a man who knew how to win a war.

[queerbutstillhere]

Hi how are you? Yo remember that Jercy fluff piece with them realizing they’re gay for each other and both going ‘oh’. If you are up to it please make a part 2 it was so cute and I want them to like confess or something I stg you are such a good writer and your stuff is so cute thankssssa ❤️❤️🥰🥰

HI! Thanks for Asking!!! I’ve been wanting to write a part two to this for a while!!!! Click the link just below for part one!

Part One!

It had been two weeks since their sleep over.

Neither one had addressed anything, but the sad pining from across the dining pavilion and the mildly sexual sparing fights and the constant flirting was driving their friends insane.

(So insane that they had literally made a bet on when the two were going to get together. Nico and Annabeth said it wouldn't be until the last day of summer camp, while Will and Grover insisted it'd be within the first few weeks.)

The truth of the matter was neither one of them had any idea how to handle this. 

Sure they had both been in relationships, but that was with girls, plus what if the other one didn't feel the same? Coming out to themselves had been a whole thing on its own, let alone coming out to their friends. Percy had told Annabeth first, and she just smiled and ruffled his hair. Meanwhile Jason nearly had a breakdown, bursting in on Will and Nico(who had been trying to have a nice evening in) and just ranted to them for nearly twenty minutes. They had heard so much about how hot Percy was in those twenty minutes. Nico had responded bluntly with "then go fucking kiss him, you dumbass".

"But what if he hates me after!" Jason had cried, truly distraught.

"He's not going to, trust us, Jason," Will had assured him.

Jason had promptly ignored their advice and returned to wallowing in self misery and hopeless pining. If only he had known it wasn't hopeless.

Percy, on the other hand, was accepting this rather gracefully. He wasn't terribly surprised he was bisexual, or pansexual, whatever. He'd spent enough time in Camp Jupiter, working out with hot Romans to have begun to realize that he wasn't just attracted to women. The problem was that he was hardcore crushing on his best friend. The boyscout, Jason Grace. Who was probably straight.

Why was his life a constant wheel of disappointment?

So, with the two idiots hopelessly in love and hopelessly dancing around each other, their friends abandoned the bet and decided to start playing matchmaker. Their rules were simple, however. They would not outright tell one that the other was crushing, because it was Percy and Jason's job to come out to the other. Even if it was so painful to watch.

There were so many times when they had arranged a group hangout, and then everyone else bailed fairly early, in the hopes that they would get talking and confess. But alas. It had yet to happen, and they were nearing mid July.

The turning point came when a group of them were hanging out around a campfire, late at night, and Percy, having forgotten that he hadn't told everyone, just spoke without thinking.

"I'm thinking about coming out to my mom."

There was a brief pause of silence before Will spoke.

"Yeah? How do you think she'll react?"

"Dunno, I think she'll be okay?" Percy said, glancing up from his intense staring into the fire, and then looking over at Jason.

Jason's blue eyes were the size of the full moon behind him, his mouth hanging open.

"What?" Percy asked with a laugh, and then it hit him.

Jason didn't know.

"Oh," he said softly. "Yeah I'm . . . Bi or something."

"O-oh," Jason squeaked out, voice cracking uncharacteristically. "Cool."

Nico suddenly burst out in laughter, immediately getting yelled at by Will and Katie Gardner. Percy frowned at them, before glancing at Jason, nervousness filling him. What was Jason thinking? He was chill with Nico and Will, surely he'd be okay with Percy being Bi?

Surely.

Jason was freaking out. Very silently. He did know how to keep his chill. But he was struggling. Because his brain was a screaming mess of "oh my gods he's bi. Oh my gods I might actually have a chance with him. Oh my gods-". Listen, he's just a chaotic, messy disaster bisexual, he doesn't know how to do these things.

It took nearly two days for him to bring it up, and even then it was just to Nico at breakfast.

"How long have you guys known he was bi?" Jason asked softly.

Today Nico was sitting with him. Will had pulled a late night at the infirmary and was still asleep, so Nico had no reason to sit with the Apollo cabin. The big three kids usually sat together, but Percy had gone home for the weekend, so it was just Jason and Nico sitting at what would have been the Cabin 1 table, but had just become the joint table.

"For like, weeks."

"Why didn't you tell me!"

Nico shrugged, pushing around his eggs on his plate. "Wasn't my place? You remember when Eros outed me?"

"Oh, right. Shit. . . "

Another shrug from the younger teen. They sat in silence.

"Are you gonna tell him?"

"What!" Jason asked, glancing up at Nico, who was now done with his eggs.

"Percy? Are you gonna tell him you're not straight?"

"I dunno. I dunno what I am."

Nico frowned, reaching to steal Jason's bacon. Jason didn't complain.

"What do you mean."

"It's like…. It's hard to explain. Like." Jason sighed, turning to face Nico. "Katie is really pretty, right?"

Nico turned to look at their friend, shrugging lightly. "Yeah."

"But I'm not like… attracted to her, or really, any woman? And when I realized I thought, oh, maybe I'm gay, but like. Malcom is really handsome. And I'm not attracted to him either."

Nico's gaze swung to the co-counselor of the Athena cabin. Then he looked back to Jason, frowning lightly.

"So then I was thinking, maybe I'm ace?" Jason continued, rambling now, more than anything. "But bro, Percy is hot as hell, and I'm incredibly attracted to him. So I'm just confused."

Nico was silent, staring down at the table.

"Demisexual?" He said randomly.

"What? What's that?"

"It just. . . Demisexual's don't really experience sexual attraction unless they have a strong emotional bond with someone. It's kinda what you just described to me."

Jason stared at him with wide eyes."Holy shit."

Nico smirked slightly, collecting his dishes and standing. "I gotta go get Will, but feel free to come chat during lunch."

"Yeah," Jason murmured, staring at the table and Nico walked away.

Mind blown.

By the time Percy got back Monday, Jason was mostly through his crisis. He had spent most of his free time Sunday researching sexualities and mostly demisexual. He felt that Nico had been right. 

Percy came jogging over after his return Monday afternoon. Jason was in the middle of sparring with a kid from the Ares cabin when Percy called him over.

"Hold on," Jason told his opponent as he stepped back. 

He still fought with the Roman style, and it drove the Greeks insane, Percy most especially.

"Yeah, sure," the younger camper said with an amused smirk.

Jason turned away and walked over to Percy. He was wearing an orange t-shirt and what looked like boardshorts, as well as sandals, and a couple bracelets that ran up his forearms. He was grinning, sunglasses pushing his messy black hair up.

"Hey, boy scout," Percy hummed, hands in his pockets.

"Hey, Percy, how was your weekend?" Jason asked, throwing an arm around Percy's shoulders and leaning on him.

Percy groaned dramatically, tilting his head away. "You're gross!" He exclaimed, yet slipped his arm around Jason's stomach, turning and leading him away from the other kids who were sparing in the small arena.

Jason couldn't ignore the flutter in his stomach as Percy's strong arm pulled him in tight against his side.

"My weekend was great. Estelle was so stoked to see me, we went to the park all day Saturday while mom and Paul went out grocery shopping."

"That's great!" Jason exclaimed, thinking faintly that he couldn't wait to see Thalia.

"Yup, and I talked to mom and Paul. . ."

Percy had stopped walking but hadn't let go of Jason yet, swaying them back and forth lightly.

"What about?" Jason asked, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember.

Percy looked down at him, looking amused.

"What?" Jason asked with a slight laugh, head tilted to be able to look at Percy comfortably.

"I was coming out to them this weekend?"

Oh gods Jason was an idiot.

"Fuck, I forgot!”

Percy laughed, eyes crinkling slightly. Jason's heart fluttered as his friend grinned down at him.

"Did you have a busy weekend?"

"Uh, a little? Nico and I hung out most of Saturday, Sunday I was in charge of activities."

"Oh yeah? It's good that you and Nico are so close," Percy hummed out.

"Yeah. He's a good kid. Wiser than his age."

"That's for sure."

They looked up at each other in silence for a bit, neither speaking, they were incredibly close, Jason could probably just lean in and kiss him…

Two things happened at once. First, Jason watched Percy's eyes flicker down to his lips, as he licked his own and started to lean in. And then they both heard the explosion from across camp.

"Oh shit," Percy exclaimed, pulling away. 

Annoyed shouting could be heard.

"Harley," they both said at once, then laughed.

"I got it," Percy said, pulling away. "See you 'round!"

Jason watched him jog away and just then processed that Percy had been about to kiss him.

Thursday night at campfire was the next time they were actually anything close to alone. They were sitting together, off to one side, munching on their smores and listening to campfire songs.

"Hey, do you wanna get out of here?"

Jason looked over at Percy, realizing suddenly that Percy was looking at him and not the campfire.

"What?"

"Come on, we're counselor's aren't we? Let's abuse our powers," Percy told him, standing and offering his hand to Jason.

Jason put his clean hand(his other one had marshmallow on it) in Percy's and let himself be pulled up. Percy snagged a bag of marshmallows and led Jason towards the lake.

"Why'd you get the marshmallows?" Jason asked with a laugh as he sat on the dock.

"The nymphs like them."

Percy ripped open the bag and pulled a few out. He held his hand out and a few nymphs popped out of the water, snatching them and then disappearing.

"Huh. . . " Jason said softly, staring at the ripples in the water. Percy kicked off his shoes and then sat next to Jason, dangling his feet into the lake. 

They sat in silence for a while, shoulders just barely brushing, Percy occasionally giving the nymphs more marshmallows, occasionally eating one himself.

"Hey, Percy."

"Yeah?"

"I think. . . " Jason stopped, clearing his throat. He was staring at the water, watching the way it rippled around Percy's ankles. "I think I'm demisexual."

Percy was silent for a bit, then looked over. "Okay. . . Could you explain that to me?"

Jason smiled slightly as they made eye contact, he carefully explained it to Percy, who listened silently, absorbing this information, his feet kicking through the water as he thought.

"Thank you for telling me, Jason," Percy said softly, putting his hand on Jason's thigh. "And I support you completely."

"Thanks," Jason said softly, smiling at Percy.

Percy grinned back, offering him a marshmallow then looking back over the lake. Silence stretched over them, they could faintly hear the campfire songs drifting over.

"Percy?" Jason said softly, trying to get his attention.

"Yeah?"

Percy looked over at him, and Jason leaned in, quickly kissing him. Percy made a slightly surprised noise but was instantly pressing back into him. Jason pulled away first, just far enough that he could look at Percy in the pale moonlight. Percy swallowed, licking his lips before leaning in and kissing Jason again, hand resting on his leg.

"Wow," Jason breathed out.

Percy started laughing, falling back to lay on the dock.

"Hey!" Jason protested, hitting his friend's stomach. 

"I'm sorry! But we kiss and what you have to say is 'neat'?!"

"Shut up! I didn't think you actually liked me back!!!"

Percy just laughed and shook his head, looking up at him.

"Jason, you were literally my gay awakening."

Jason felt his eyes go wide. "Oh-"

Percy grinned at him. "You remember that weekend you spent the night at my house?"

Jason nodded.

"That's when I realized I was attracted to guys, and specifically you."

"Oh. . . " Jason said, yet again.

Percy nudged his hip. "And here I was worrying you did like me like that."

Jason made a noise that can only be typed as 'ajdjshdhs', shaking his head rapidly. "No. You're- you're the first person I've actually felt this way towards in. . . Well a long time."

"Really? Not even Piper?"

Jason shook his head. "That was a weird situation . . ."

Percy shrugged. "Yeah, you're right."

He sat up and turned to face Jason, crossing his legs. Then he laughed again, shaking his head.

“Wow.” He whispered, mocking Jason.

"Shut up!" Jason yelled, lunging and shoving the still laughing Percy off the dock. 

Send me a prompt!

[imagineredwood]

Request: “TWD crossover where after the Sons are brought by Jesus as allies and becoming friends with her for saving Bobby, Jax helps the reader kill Negan after he killed her best friend Glenn and shot her sister Rosita”

Pairing: Reader x everyone lol Mainly, Jax, a little Bobby, and Jesus

Warnings: Death, blood, emotional hurt, all types of feels, slight mention of PTSD symptoms 

Word count: 4,322

***Varies from the original storyline of the show since obviously so there’s some overlap but its mostly AU. I wrote the interactions between the reader and everyone including Jax platonically but there is a moment of friendly affection between them that I guess could be seen as romanic if you squint want to***

“Woah!” 

There was an overlapping sound of guns being drawn and cocked, from both sides all at once. Jesus quickly put his hands up, placing his body in front of your line of fire, trying to lock his eyes with yours. You weren’t focused on him though. Your eyes were trained on the men behind him. 

“Hey, hey. Chill.” 

You lowered your gun, shifting to the side and aiming it away from him and back towards the group of men standing behind him, their guns drawn and aimed at you as well. Your people aimed at them and theirs aimed at you, but you and the blonde with a beard in the front were gunning for each other, your eyes locked with his as his top lip pulled into a snarl. He growled out to Jesus, his blue eyes never leaving yours.  

“I thought you said you were bringing us to good people? That we wouldn’t have anything to worry about?” 

Jesus nodded quickly, pulling his gaze away from you and putting it on Jax, his hands still up trying to pacify everyone. 

“They are. I promise you. They’re just on edge. We haven’t had it very easy lately, everyone is on high alert. You’re new and they weren’t expecting you. Please, just put the guns down. You guys too.”

He looked back over towards you and the group pointing, everyone waiting to see what you and Rick would do. They all looked towards you as you and Rick glanced at each other. Jesus meanwhile kept quietly pleading to you.

“Please Y/N. I brought them here as allies. They can help us. There’s strength in numbers. I would not have brought them here and put everyone at risk if I didn’t think we could trust them. They’re willing to work with us. I know you’ve been through a lot lately, I know. I know. Just please put it down. Lets all just talk. Hear them out.” 

You winced, internally struggling with if it was a good idea or not. Rick relented beside you and lowered his gun, reaching over and placing his hand on your wrist, pushing you to lower yours as well. 

“It’s ok.”

You still didn’t think it was a good idea but out of respect, you agreed, keeping your gun down and aimed at the floor as the other group slowly did the same. Jesus blew out a harsh breath and ran his hand over his beard, willing down his nerves that had resulted from the near shootout in front of him. He looked back over at Jax to see his reaction, thankful to see some of the aggression from earlier gone, though he knew it wasn’t unwarranted. 

“I’m sorry, Jax.” 

The blonde said nothing, eyes still traveling over to you and he rolled his shoulders. 

“Yeah.” 

Rick stepped forward and pulled you along too, Jesus standing between the two groups still. 

“I brought them as allies. It’s just them, they’ve stuck to themselves for the most part since all of this. They were all together before it happened. They trust each other, love each other. Their loyalty to each other stretches far beyond the outbreak. They know loyalty and they’re willing to work with us. They don’t have a secure location to stay so figured we can create an allyship here. They have somewhere secure to call home with us and we have more people to strengthen us. More muscle. More people to stay on watch, no more hours upon hours for one person. More backup for runs. I did this for us. For all of us, them too. Just...talk with them. I know that we can work something out. I know we can.” 

Everyone stared at Jesus in silence, both you and Rick eyeing the other group. You spoke first.

“How do you know you can trust them, Paul? You said it yourself, they’ve been together since before. Their loyalty is to each other, not us. How can we be sure that this won't come to bite us in the ass? I’ve about had it with making stupid mistakes and watching people I love die because of it.” 

The Sons didn’t miss the edge your voice took on towards the end of your sentence. The sound of pain, the anguish that was laced in. Your brows were knitted, the sorrow you felt in your chest manifesting itself on your face. Jax extended the olive branch, taking a careful step forward. 

“I know you don’t trust us. That’s a given. We don’t trust you. Neither of us trusts the other, yet. We gotta work up to that. But Paul sold us. You’re normal people, so are we. We’re all just lookin’ to survive. We stick to ourselves because trusting other people and letting them in is dangerous. We know that as well as you do. We’re not saying that we have to become some family, holding hand and singing kumbaya. We just wanna settle and if what he’s told us is true, you’re some of the only good people left around. We just want to make this work. The good gotta stick together. There’s enough bad and evil out in this world already. I see that you have a child with you.” 

He looked over at your sister Rosita as she held Judith in her good arm, the same take-no-shit, protective look that you wore on her face as well. Jax took another step forward before motioning to the older man with long curly hair behind him. He made a motion with his finger and the man stepped to the side, revealing a little blonde boy no more than 5 standing behind him. 

“Abel, come here.”  

The boy walked forward and you instinctively hid the gun behind your back as he came to stand beside the blonde leader, reaching up to grab onto his hand. Seeing them side by side now, it was obvious who the child was. He verbalized it anyways. 

“This is my son. I just want the best for him. I want him to be safe. To have as normal of a life as he can possibly have in a world like this. A steady home would be a start.” 

You nodded slowly, understanding. You knew he hadn’t used his child as a pawn. He was showing that he had just as much to lose as your group did. He was bearing himself and his weakness, and that counted for something in your book. With a single nod, you holstered your weapon and looked over at Rick, who then asked his three questions. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Take some more beans, Daryl. You had a rough run today.” 

You put an extra scoop on beans in Daryl's plate and he nodded, placing his hand on your shoulder and squeezing softly. 

“Thanks, darlin’.”

He left towards the dinner table with his plate and you looked over ready to serve the next person waiting. You smile was less than faint as you locked eyes with the blonde form the new group. 

“Jackson, right?” 

He nodded and returned your smile a bit less tightly. 

“Call me Jax.”

“Jax. Got it. Do you want anything specific or just a little bit of everything?”

You motioned to the food on the counter and Jax smiled again. 

“I’m a simple man. Just gimme a bit of everything.” 

You both stood in silence as you served his plate, handing him a bottle of water. 

“Thank you.” 

You managed to smile regularly this time, though it was slightly forced. 

“You’re welcome. Enjoy it.” 

As he walked away, Paul came up beside you, his smile mirroring yours. He reached over and grabbed the serving spoon you were holding, serving another plate in silence before handing it over to you. 

“Go eat. I’ll serve the last couple of people.”

Taking the plate from his hands, you turned to go and sit but his hand made its way to your elbow, grasping it softly. You turned.

“Thank you for trying. I know you’ve been through a lot. I know its hard to trust new people, especially after...everything. But thank you for giving them a chance.”

For the first time in a while, your smile was genuine and you nodded once in acknowledgment.  

“I’m trying.”

With that, you turned and headed over to where your sister was sitting, her patting the seat next to her as you got closer. Sitting down, you put the first spoon into your mouth and looked around, your eyes falling on Jax as he sat with his son in his lap, the both of them laughing, talking and eating together. You watched as Abel held a slice of apple out to Jax, him taking a bite of the fruit and playfully nipping the tip of his finger as well. The boy laughed, the sound warming your heart, and you looked back down at your plate figuring that maybe these people weren’t so bad after all. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“They’re coming around from the back! We got a couple minutes tops before we get flanked by both those people and the walkers. We need to head back.”

Jax nodded in agreement with your statement, knowing that putting up a fight here was not smart. Sure you hadn’t gotten all the supplies you’d come out on this run for, but what difference did it make if none of you got to make it back for the group to receive them. 

“She’s right. There’s too many, it’s not worth it. Let's just circle around back the way we came. We go out a little further, lose them and then we’ll head back to the compound.” 

Chibs and Tig agreed, as did Daryl and Michonne. 

You were all on the same page. Now you just had to get the hell out of there. You all spun around and started heading back in the direction you had came from, planning to wrap around the building and head back into the forest where you’d left the truck hidden. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, everyone moving in unison quietly. Somewhere off in the distance to the right the crunching of branches could be heard, but the setting darkness of a run lasting too long was leaving the group with low visibility. You all instinctively closed the gaps between you, closing in together. You and Jax focused you gaze and rifles in the direction of the sound while the rest of the group watched your backs. Jax whispered quietly beside you. 

“Walkers?” 

Shaking your head, you kept your eyes peeled. 

“No. They would’ve made more noise already. It’s that group.”

He nodded and squared his shouldered, bracing the butt of the riffle against himself, ready for the kickback. You tapped his arm softly though, nodding forward with your head.  

“Let’s keep moving. We don’t know how many there and are a firefight this close to walkers isn’t smart. Let’s just try and get back home.” 

Everyone silently agreed and you continued your way through the trees, this time a bit more urgency in your steps as you tried to get out without a problem. You’d made it good couple yards before you heard the cracking of branches again, this time from two separate directions. You didn’t have much time to react as the two men from the store came into view, guns raised. They were yelling something as they walked forward but whatever it was got lost in the sound of bullets raining down, Tig, Daryl, and Chibs wasting no time in putting them down. Shouts could be heard from further back in the forest and it was clear from the sound that you would be outnumbered. They had more people and were now fueled by the anger that their scouts had been put down. There was no discussion within the group as you all took off running now, not bothering with trying to stay quiet. Chibs and Daryl took the back, laying down small waves of cover fire to keep them back far enough while you and Jax lead the way back to the truck. You knew it wasn’t that far away, you could see the road through the trees, but there was still a ways to go. Jax pulled the walkie talkie from his side and phoned in to Bobby who was waiting in the truck, just in case a situation like this had arose. 

“Get the truck started, we’ve got company!”

The engine roared to life ahead of you and came fully into view now, all of you piling into the vehicle. Tig, Chibs, Daryl and Jax jumped into the bed of the truck, aimed and ready to take down whoever came out to follow while you and Michonne dove into the cab beside Bobby. 

“Everybody in?” 

You nodded quickly, trying to catch your breath as Bobby looked over at you. It all seemed to happen in slow motion as someone came out of the forest on the other side, parallel to the driver side window, aimed directly at Bobby through the window. It was a tactic that always worked, one that you and the group had used yourself a number of times. Take out the driver and everything turns to chaos with everyone now a sitting duck. There was no hesitation as you brought your side arm up and aimed at the person, firing through the window. The sound of both the glass shattering and the round firing off in the closed cab was deafening, and your ears rung as your round hit them dead center in the chest. They’d fired a round off as well albeit a second too late and had missed as their body fell, the bullet imbedded in the top of the door, thankfully not in Bobby. 

The two of you shared a quick glance, Bobby’s eyes wide as he nodded at you once. There were no words exchanged between you and he quickly took off the emergency brake and floored it. You hadn’t noticed Jax watching from the back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You watched as Chibs pulled the last, particularly stubborn piece of glass from Bobby’s arm before cleaning it and getting started with a dressing. You felt a presence behind you and looked over to see Jax to your left, stopping as he came to stand right beside you. There was a good moment of silence as you both watched Chibs slather on antibiotic ointment on the wound and cover it with gauze, until Jax spoke. 

“I know Bobby already did, but I wanted to thank you. Him and i go way back and I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost him. I saw it happening and I couldn’t get a shot fast enough. But you did, and you saved him. That means a lot to me.” 

You nodded and softly pushed your shoulder into his. 

“Don’t worry about it. We’re partners right? Gotta look out for each other.” 

Jax nodded and threw you a smile which you returned. Turning away, he stopped and placed a hand on your shoulder. 

“I’d say we’re a little passed the partner thing now. We may even be considered friends at this point.”

He gave his crooked smirk and raised eyebrows look, pulling a soft laugh from you as you agreed. 

“Yeah. I guess you could say we’re friends.” 

“Well come walk with me then. As friends.” 

With a playful roll of your eyes, you turned and followed him, walking alongside him slowly. You figured that there was something he maybe wanted to say, something he wanted to discuss, but he stayed quiet for the most part as you both took in the fresh air and looked around the Hilltop. Eventually his stride slowed some and he looked over at you. 

“I know I already said thank you for saving Bobby like that, but I just wanted to say it again. We really do appreciate what you did, both today and since we got to the group. I know you didn’t trust us at first. Hell, people didn’t trust us easily even before the outbreak. I know it was hard on you, to let us in and live alongside us. I can imagine that it isn’t easy to build a family with the people of your group and worry if you’re making the wrong decision when you let someone else in. You gave us a chance through and all of us are thankful for that. If you ever need anything, know that we’re here, right alongside you. We’ll have your back through anything. Know that. We’re here.”

You nodded slowly, looking down at a random rock that was laying at your feet to try and will the brewing tears down. After losing Glenn and damn near losing Rosita, you vowed that you wouldn’t trust anyone else. You wouldn’t let anyone new in. You wouldn’t care for anyone else. It was just becoming to painful to keep losing people that you had grown to love and that was exactly what you were trying to avoid when it came to these Sons as they called themselves. You didn’t want to become emotionally invested in anyone else that could die at any seconds and widen the hole that was already present in your heart. As he spoke though, you realized that maybe it was already too late. 

They’d been around for a good 2 months now and while that wouldn’t be long in the world before, you’d been through more than enough in this dystopia to come to not only trust them, but care for them. You’d grown used to them, used to their presence. Used to Juice and Chibs bickering, used to Bobby’s pacification when things got tense, Tig’s odd yet sometimes endearing nature. You had grown accustomed to all of them by now and you figured you were already in too deep. You cared, and if this conversation meant anything, you were willing to bet Jax and his cared as well.

With a rough sniffle, you nodded and looked up at Jax who’s eyebrows were knitted in sympathy as he watched you. He reached forward and wiped away a lone tear that had escaped with his thumb. You smiled at the action and reached forward to pat his chest softly before taking a step to keep walking. Jax followed suit.

“I had a, uh, friend. He was my best friend. His name was Glenn. He was the sweetest thing. He was strong, don’t get me wrong, but he had a heart of gold. He cared so deeply for us, always did whatever he had to do to get us by. He was with Maggie. He was gonna be a dad.” 

As you walked, Jax silently reached over and linked his arm with yours, supporting you as you opened up to him.

“We loved him and he loved us. He was with us since forever. Shit he was a part of the group way before I was. Even in that time though we just clicked. He was the best friend I’ve ever heard, even before the outbreak.”

You voice trailed off slightly as you reminisced, thinking back to his bright smile. Then your thoughts shifted to the sound of his voice as he told Maggie he would find her, his face so battered and unrecognizable, you’d looked away immediately. Those last words and view had haunted you since it happened. Anytime you thought about him, no matter how happy the memory that triggered the thought, it never failed that that night would flash and consume your thoughts. Jax could feel you tense beside him. Your voice had taken an almost unrecognizable tone to it when you spoke again.

“That bastard Negan killed him. Right in front of Maggie. In front of all of us. He had us all kneeling on a group like some fucked up game of duck duck goose. he picked him at random. None of us were expecting it and that’s why he enjoyed it. He got off on it. He’s so sick he even joked about that fucking bat of his doing such a good job. He terrorized everyone. Takes shit that doesn’t belong to him, kills people for any reason he sees fit. Maims them and thinks he’s being kind for taking it easy on them. He shot Rosita, almost killed her but let her live in return for a bigger cut of our stuff. He’s already caused enough damage. He needs to be taken out.”

Though he had yet to actually meet or come into contact with Negan yet, Jax already knew that he was the type of man that thrived in these conditions. The type of man that was beyond redemption, beyond talking to. He wasn’t the type of man that could be changed and made to see the error in his ways by appealing to his better nature. He wasn’t a man that had one. He trusted your judgement and he had already spoken to Rick and gotten the quick story of how he was your biggest threat at the moment. Hearing you speak though and give the details, Jax knew now that this was personal. Negan was going to keep coming at the group harder and harder every time until he broke you all and that wasn’t something that Jax was prepared to let happen. Not to his knew family he wasn’t. You’With a deep breath, Jax nodded and tugged your arm back some. d helped his group and he was going to help you. He didn’t know when or how just yet, but he wouldmake sure that you got your retribution.

“It’s getting late. Lets get back to the group, see how Bobby’s holding up.” 

With a smile, you nodded and turned with him, both of you walking back in a comfortable silence. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You good?”

You nodded but kept your eyes trained on Negan as he knelt in front of you. Jax stood a couple paces away but still close. He was going to let you have this kill. 

He and the Sons had managed to bump into a couple saviors while out on a run and had killed the first before they cornered the second that was no more than 19. He was wimpy, jittery and quick to throw both his partner and the saviors under the bus, begging for his life in exchange of information before they’d even done anything to him. Jax had recognized right away that he wasn’t a natural born killer, not even a good killer after all this time. In the midst of begging for his life, he had asked if he could join your group instead. Neither Jax nor Chibs had failed to notice the three fingers missing from his right hand. Upon asking, the kid had told them that his fingers had been taken as punishment for stealing three cans of food, orders from none other than Negan. The kid was scared shitless but had nowhere else to go. He had seen the confrontation as a way out though and Jax had struck a deal with the seven fingered boy; if he could sneak them into the compound, they would give him a chance to join them. 

Tig had been against it from the beginning and so had you, prefering to just kill him and be done with it and the threat, but Jax wasn’t going to let go of the opportunity to kill Negan without a fight. It was the opportunity of a lifetime and Jax reminded you that it wasn’t only about you getting revenge, but neutralizing a threat that had been around for far too long. You and the others had been convinced after that and had stuck by Jax’s plan as the boy drew up a map of the compound and worked out a plan. 

Now here you were, Negan at your feet as you stood with the barrel of you gun pressed firmly to his forehead. 

His eyes held no fear as he looked up at you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. 

“You think this will fix things? You think this will make a fucking difference? Everyone is gonna know it was you and when they get their hands on you, you all are gonna have a lot more to worry about than just a little brain matter splattered on he ground. What happened to the asian and the redhead is gonna look like a papercut when my saviors get done with you.”

He gave a hearty laugh, eyes closed and head thrown back as he did and you could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears as your anger took over. Pulling your gun down and holstering it, you didn’t miss the flash of confusion that crossed his eyes. It didn’t last for long though as your fingers curled around the handle of your hunting knife and pulled it from its sheath plunging it down into the center of his head, down to the hilt. You didn’t watch as you did it, your eyes looking straight forward passed him. The squelching was enough to tell you that you had done your job, but you twisted the blade just to be certain. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, Jax’s hand coming to rest on top of yours and squeeze gently. 

“We gotta get out of here, darlin’,” 

With a nod, you pulled the knife from his head and let his body fall forward with a soft thud. Jax took you by the elbow and began pulling you from the room, your mind in somewhat of a haze as you came to terms with what had just happened and that you had done what needed to be done to ensure that at least Negan himself wouldn’t be able to ever bring harm to someone that you loved every again. The saviors may try in the future but you would be ready then. You’d done this for Glenn, for Rosita and for the rest of the group that was your family, Sons included. It had been a long time coming and it would be a lie to say you didn’t feel some relief now knowing he was gone. Following Jax and the rest of the boys out, you silently snuck out of the compound as quickly as you had gotten in and escpaed, heading back to the Hilltop to see if maybe now you could get some peace.

[sammy-writes-stuff]

Traits, Trials and Truth, Ch 30

FINAL CHAPTER

Chapter Thirty: Aftermath

Start.  Previous.

Thomas' finger hovered over the "enter button on his keyboard dramatically.

"Come on Thomas! Just one more click then hello success fame and fortune!" Roman practically danced from his corner of Thomas' living room. He no longer simply worse a plain white costume with red and gold additions: his whole outfit was now gold, still with his signature red sash, no white in sight.

After he had regained all his colour (and his hair), he had vowed to never be that colourness again.

"You have completed the project there is no use in delaying submission." sighed Logan, adjusting his glasses.

"I'm SO PROUD of you SON!" Patton squeezed, dancing on the spot.

"Not your son..." Thomas sang playfully.

"I dunno you guys..." Virgil sighed from the stairs. He recoiled a little under the gaze of the others. "Putting yourself out there like this...a lot could go wrong."

"That's true, Virgil." Thomas conceded. "Are you comfortable that we've assessed the possible risks and outcomes?" Logan asked.

Virgil swallowed. "Yes actually. You guys were very thorough." He paused for a bit.

"We understand Virgil." Patton said softly. "It was a hard process for everyone."

Several months had passed since Pitch had disintegrated. True to his word - he showed up every now and then. Never in human form, in the form of black sludge.

Logan now routinely strolled through the infospace, cleaning it up and disposing it. They would then have a casual talk about what may have caused it. There wasn't always something obvious, but they always enjoyed the chance to discuss things.

Roman kept an eye on the dreamscape - it being mostly back to normal. It took a while not to flinch at the sight of his subjects and he had completely remodeled the throne room, scrubbing any memory of what had happened there.

The meadow wasn't there. Roman guessed nothing would grow there even if he tried. Instead he left the barren patch of earth as a reminder.

It was humbling.

Patton kept an eye on the back of the mind.

Virgil would always double check the areas after the others had finished. They understood, and were grateful for it.

"Okay." Virgil mumbled. Roman punched his arm affectionately, but immediately regretted it.

"God, I'm so sorry Verge...I forgot - "

"Don't get your pantyhose in a twist Princey." Virgil smiled slightly. "It doesn't really hurt anymore."

Thomas smiled, then took a breath, and hit send.

With a whoosh his manuscript was sent out into the world of publishers.

"No matter what, it's my favourite book!" Patton said proudly, grinning and putting his hands theatrically on his hips.

"Well it is about us after all." Roman laughed. "Though I still think you should have left out the part about the hair and the glitter..."

"Gotta be honest Roman!" Thomas shrugged. Partly as a coping mechanism, and partly because writing it all down was an easier way for Thomas to communicate with his friends what exactly had happened to him over the past year...he had turned his story into a book. Maybe it could help someone else be a little more truthful with themselves.

His friends had rallied by his side, that day, and he would be forever grateful.

If they hadn't been there...

Virgil had nearly completely faded. Thomas had nearly set the house on fire even under supervision.

"Well done buddy." Virgil nodded.

Thomas' phone buzzed.

"Huh." He said, reading the text. "Leo wants to hang out."

"Sounds good...but maybe a movie night? Something quiet..." Virgil suggested nervously.

"You know, a movie night sounds wonderful." Thomas smiled, and Virgil relaxed.

The sides said good night, then sank into the mindscape kitchen.

"Alright, I'm taking orders." Virgil announced. All three hands went up. "Cool...four then."

"I would prefer a HOT chocolate rather than a COOL one if it's an option!" Patton spoke up, eliciting a groan from Virgil as he set about making them.

He'd made his now famous hot chocolates half a dozen times now, and reserved them for special occasions.

He set the steaming cups down in front of each of them, then went around and slowly applied whipped cream and grated chocolate to the tops - completing his masterpieces.

"You are a true marvel, Gordon Restlessly."

"Come on dude, you can do better than that." Virgil grunted as he sat down in his own chair.

"Paul Hollywood?"

"You did not attempt to wittily adapt that name at all." Logan frowned.

"Yeah because I didn't need to! Hollywood...because of his dramatic nature and his make-up."

"Wouldn't you be the Hollywood then?" Patton asked cheekily.

"Fine. I'll be Paul Hollywood..."

"Is this a role play now?" Logan raised his eyebrow. "If so I will be Jamie Oliver."

"NOOOOOOOO..." Roman groaned.

Virgil just smiled and raised his mug. The others followed suit and their glasses met in the middle, making a merry "chink!"

They each drank deeply, then pulled away with a salacious moan, mustaches plastered on their top lips, then dissolved into giggles.

When Virgil reached the bottom of his drink, he swirled the choclately dregs thoughtfully.

"Do you think we'll ever truly get rid of him?" Virgil almost subconsciously flexed his arm slightly.

Patton looked at Logan, then to Roman, then set his own mug down too.

"I don't know." The father figure said softly. "Maybe one day, well into the future. But for now...we keep doing what we are doing."

Logan set his own empty mug down. "Patton his quite correct. As an illness, Pitch is frightfully lawless - he doesn't need reason to sprout where he does. However, I can confidently say we will never give him solid power ever again."

Virgil nodded, still staring downwards.

"He was never meant to be a side, he had to force that and I think he made a mistake doing that." Roman nodded.

Virgil lifted his chin slightly. "I think Tristan...well the parts he took...held him back in places." He had been mulling over every exchange he had had with Pitch since he'd been beaten.

"Like Malachite!" Patton gasped.

Logan looked thoughtful. "That may make some sense actually...Pitch was a much more efficient villain before he bonded..."

"Trust you to admire his efficiency." Roman huffed, folding his arms.

"Puns." Virgil said suddenly, cutting off Logan's angry retort and eyes growing wide.

"Yes?" Patton asked, now extremely invested.

"Pitch started making really bad puns and dad-jokes."

"He was being unproductive!" Logan gasped. "Tristan was stalling where he could..."

"He's a bloody hero." Roman mused.

They lapsed again, all staring in their respective empty mugs.

"No matter what comes," Patton finally said. "We just have to take it day by day. Maybe Pitch will be gone for good, but for now: we be mindful. We be on-guard. But we function. Sure - we may have bad days, but even on my worst days I will never be unhappy to spend time with all of you."

Virgil smiled in spite of himself.

He was not one for change, but they had all gone through a big one. Things wouldn't be the same, at least not in a hurry.

But maybe Patton was right, and at least they can rely on the solidarity of each other.

Feeling warm inside, Virgil snuggled deep into his hoodie as Patton began to clear up.

Logan looked around, and found it hard to picture how alone he had felt in the thick of it all.

As Patton rejoined them, he grabbed Patton's hand and squeezed. Patton linked up with Roman, but both Roman and Logan paused - waiting for Virgil's permission.

"Are we really doing this?" Virgil groaned.

"Not if you don't want to." Logan assured.

Virgil paused for a moment, them grumbled moodily and completed the circle.

They were on a journey, but they were not alone.

There was a slight silver glow to the group that flashed as they connected.

No. Virgil smiled.

They definitely were not alone.

THE END.

Authors Note: 

Wow! I just want to say a MASSIVE thank you to those of you who commented, left kudos, and even just reading it. This process of writing and posting has honestly helped me so much! This is the first time I’ve published my writing in years and your interest, tips, and kind words have honestly just made my day every day.

My goal for this was to have some choice Virgil angst, but it kinda spiralled into angst for everyone! I never set out to make Logan the hero, it’s just how it happened but I’m happy that I gave Logan that role, he don’t get enough love!

To be honest, when I set out I had a vague plan but I let it go where I felt it went naturally.

Originally, Pitch was going to be the voice that Virgil hears the start, but I loved Tristan too much to make him a simple mask, and I like them as separate characters.

It was important to me that Pitch wasn’t a side. Personally, I have accepted my own anxiety (in part thanks to Thomas and his videos), but I’m not prepared to accept that my depression is anything more than a disease.

It was also important for me to try and not play down the severity that is depression, and that it’s not an easy fix. The ending isn’t a slam dunk win for the sides, but they are helping Thomas function with a mental illness, even if Pitch is much weaker at the end. And I owe a lot to my medication and other outside help, so I wanted that to be a big factor too in Thomas’ recovery.

I just love these guys so much! And I loved sharing this with you. Remember to be honest with yourself and your feelings. They are valid, if only for the reason that you are feeling them. There doesn’t have to be a reason to be sad, because often there isn’t.

So thank you, once again, for the love and support.

Kia Kaha,

-Sammy

xxx

Tag List: @callboxkat @potatogirl309 @thegreyacefromspace

[concussed-to-pieces]

Best I Have

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Another AU, for the Thirsty Crew! Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes  and OF COURSE @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

“Mr. Ambrose!”

Dean grunted, a bit startled and pausing at the sound of his name. “Yeah?”

The man who had spoken looked familiar, but Dean couldn’t place him. More shit rattled free up top, I guess. On the older side, round face. He seemed good-natured enough. Dean shook his hand, still trying to figure out who this guy was. “Sika Reigns.” The man prompted after a minute or two of Dean studying him.

“Oh!” Dean felt like an idiot. “I’m sorry sir, I’m used to all the--” He gestured around his head, indicating where Sika’s thick black hair once was.

Sika chuckled ruefully. “You and me both, kid. Listen, my hairline isn’t important. I heard you’re planning on facing Brock soon, and that a few of the legends have given you their blessing.” Sika cleared his throat. “Maybe a few implements, as well.”

Oh. “Listen, if you’re here from Heyman, I ain't interested in his terms and I told him that from the get-go.” Dean bristled, but the older man was already shaking his head.

“Hell no, calm down. I’d like to offer you my son.”

“You…what? Your…okay, I’m a little confused here man.” Dean stammered. I didn’t think dads still tried to pawn their kids off like this. “I mean, Funk gave me a chainsaw and Foley gave me Barbie. Those are weapons. No offense, but what am I supposed to do with your son? Who even is…does he work in the indies or something?”

“Roman?” Mr. Reigns called.

Dean heard footsteps behind him and he immediately turned around, fists raised. Oh. Oh. Roman wasn’t as tall as him but he was broader. Dean thought momentarily that he had short, slicked-back hair, but upon further inspection he realized Roman’s hair was pulled back into a bun. The tight smile that he was given contrasted sharply with the intimidating black gear the other man was wearing. Is that a cattle prod?!

“We’ve already spoken about your…situation, and we believe this is an excellent strategy. He’s an unknown factor, he’s strong, capable and, most importantly, he’s the best weapon I can offer you.” Sika sounded proud enough to burst. It made Dean almost queasy with jealousy. “Terry and Mick mean well, they always have. But I’m fairly confident Lesnar will have ample warnings of your little red wagon.”

“And where the hell am I supposed to stash him?” Dean asked, still reeling from the whole interaction. “He’s a little bigger than a chainsaw, man!”

“Underneath the ring, of course.” Sika shrugged. “Where else?”

Where else? Dean had to agree with that, this guy was obviously going to stick out a bit in any crowd. Underneath the ring. “And what is your input on this…this weird ass plan?” Dean demanded of Roman, already tired of the ‘strong silent’ routine.

Roman inclined his head. “I’m here to help.”

…

Seth had been softer when they’d started out. A little brother, to be protected until he proved himself. Dean still regretted all the times he’d defended Seth. He should have let him take the hits, should have let him suffer a little more. Maybe then he wouldn’t have turned on Dean. Maybe then he would have understood how much Dean did for him.

Dean had been alone for the first time in years that night, laying in the middle of the ring after being handed his ass on a silver platter by Rollins and his new lackeys. Ambrose's vest and body were torn to pieces, the metaphor not lost on him in the slightest while he spit up blood in the locker room shower with Seth’s voice yelling “crazy!” on repeat in his aching head.

Their dynamic duo went up in flames, the Shield no more. They fought like rabid animals every opportunity they got, putting each other into the hospital on a monthly basis. It felt almost wrong to be focusing his energy on someone else, but with Rollins out injured for a while, Ambrose needed new ways to try and hang on to his limited sanity.

So he’d picked a fight with Brock Lesnar. Not his smartest move to date. Yet for some reason a lot of folks had gotten behind him. He guessed everyone must be tired of that lazy asshole storming around like he owned the place. He still hadn’t expected a chainsaw from Terry, though. That was unanticipated (and definitely illegal, love you anyway you crazy old bastard).

This arrangement with Roman smacked of weirdness though, and if there was one thing Dean was all over it was weirdness. Roman kept to himself during their training sessions, didn’t push his boundaries and didn’t say much. He was…bland. Almost to a fault.

They had to at least be able to work together. Dean knew that, kept reminding himself of that. Also kept reminding himself that Roman wasn’t Rollins. Sometimes he caught himself just before calling Roman Seth, just before dropping an inside joke or punching his shoulder like he had with Seth. This guy wasn’t here to be his friend.

Neither was Rollins.

Seth and Roman were like night and day. Rollins was excitable, easily flustered and distracted. Roman was…well steady was really the only word Dean could think of. Roman would wait, and wait, and wait. There didn’t seem to be an impatient bone in his body. Most of Dean’s training regiment was repetition, running the same pattern on the mats and pads until he could do it in his sleep. So having Roman around to bounce off of certainly made his training a hell of a lot easier.

Another thing Dean kept having a problem with was that this guy was here to help with one fight. Roman was just an implement, a means to an end. It was weird that he was taking such an active role here, and his dad gifting him essentially as a big, blunt object was still…it sat funny with Dean.

He’s the best weapon I can offer you.

Ambrose shook himself all over, squaring up yet again.

“Can I ask you something?” Roman began, lowering the pads a fraction. Dean nodded in reply. “Why Lesnar?” The larger man questioned.

Dean froze up for a second. A long second. “Because I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Oh.” Roman got into position and Dean assumed that was the end of the questions, raising his fists. “I don’t understand how that makes you an idiot.”

Ambrose sighed heavily. “Look, I appreciate the vote of confidence. But the fact of the matter is that this is a fight I’m probably not winnin’. It’s a time-waster, you and I both know that.”

“Why bother doing it then?”

Because I need to do something. “Boredom, I guess.” Dean shrugged, doing his best to seem flippant. Because it’s either fight someone or tap my fingers against my knees until I wear holes in them. Because it’s either get my ass kicked or sit around thinking. Because I’m tired, so damn tired of everything and if I start focusing on that... “Needed something to do while Rollins heals his knee.” And oh no, oh no, that was the wrong thing to say.

Roman seemed confused, letting him get in a few hits before opening his mouth again. “Seth Rollins? He’s the guy that you tagged with, right? The Shield?”

Dean crouched, scowling. “We've been trading asswhuppings. Kane fucked up his knee though, so I have to be patient. I’m not gonna’ break into a hospital while he’s rehabbing. I’m not an animal.”

“Didn’t he put your head through-”

“I’m not stooping to his level.” Dean snarled. “I fight in the ring or not at all.”

“Does it bug you that people call you the crazy one?” Roman queried, his brow furrowed. “I mean I haven’t really been following your feud, I rely on Dad to keep me up to date for the most part. But…the cinderblocks?”

“I’ve had worse man, much worse.” Dean itched absently at his neck. “Rollins knows that. S’why he did it. Wants to see how far he can push me, I guess.”

“What the fuck.” Roman breathed.

“Dude I’ve gotten my face pulped on cinderblocks that didn’t break. Trust me, the ones that break are preferable.” Dean found morbid amusement in spouting advice that no normal person would ever need. “Rollins has always been a button pusher. S’what he does. Unfortunately for him, though, I’ve learned a few things along the way.”

Roman cocked his head curiously, like he was actually interested. Like he wanted Dean to keep talking. Dean just grinned at him, tapping the pads.

“Up, c’mon. This ain’t chat time, Reigns.”

“Oh! Sorry.” Roman straightened the pads back out, looking a little disappointed.

“Maybe another time, huh?” Dean suggested grudgingly after a few minutes had gone by. “Some other time. After we kill Brock.”

“Yeah.” Roman’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, which made Dean very curious.

“Man I know I shouldn’t, but I gotta’ ask. Why the heck did your dad like…drop you into my lap?” Dean didn’t expect the way Roman flinched and he almost snapped Reigns’ wrist off with his next swing. “Shit, sorry. My bad.”

“No no, it’s fine. I…it’s a tough question to answer.” Roman said quietly. “Brock and Paul said some things about my family that they could have kept to themselves, to make a long story short.”

“Goddamn, those cocksuckers.” Dean snarled. “That’s as good a reason as any to get involved with him, I don’t blame you. Shit, I wish I had a reason for tangling with his ass. Your family is a legendary one in this business, what the fuck could they have to say about you guys?”

“More than enough, that’s what.” Roman’s face hardened. “So here I am, greenhorn through and through. But the only one who could step up to the plate.”

“Dude this is some Highlander shit, wow.” The sense of awe Dean felt was almost overwhelming. “Can I…I mean, this is gonna’ sound real weird but could I like. Teach you a few things?” He asked hesitantly. “I know you’re going to be there and it’s going to be hilarious to see the look on that pink bastard’s face when you show up, but can I maybe…I dunno’, work with you or somethin’? It would just be cool to actually have a reason to fight Brock.” Instead of me doing it because I can’t handle doing nothing.

“Defending my heritage and the honor of my family isn’t something cool, Ambrose.” Roman seemed irritated. “This is a serious issue. People think they can say offensive shit because my dad isn’t actively in the business anymore, or because my cousins do their haka, things like that. It’s not as if anything has changed when it comes to Lesnar, we’ve all seen the footage of him from the Guerrero matches.” Roman’s fists tightened around the pad straps.

“Shit, I didn’t mean…I’m sorry man, I’m bad at talking sometimes. I meant like. Not cool.” Dean struggled to explain his thought process. “Just more than what I have right now. I’ve got no family to defend, no lineage or anythin’. I’m just a scrappy, mouthy shit. But you’ve seen me fight. Think about it man, that’s just how I tangle when I have a petty fuckin’ grudge. I’ve never...crap, I’m doing this all wrong.” Dean grunted, tugging at a handful of his light-colored hair in frustration. He tried to collect himself while Roman just stood there, waiting. “Look, I’m not trying to be offensive. Ain’t my intention an’ I’m incredibly sorry if I’m comin’ off that way. I’m…I know your dad offered you to me as an assist that Brock won’t see coming. But this fight I picked is totally pointless. There’s no angle to it at all, it’s literally just ‘Crazy Guy Wastes Time And Gets Paid To Do It’.”

“You can’t be that hard up for money, man. I refuse to believe that. You’re one of the top guys in this company.” Roman pointed out.

Dean chuckled mirthlessly. “It’s not about the money, Reigns. And it’s sure as shit not about my prowess or defending anything. It’s…” Dean trailed off, starting up a tempo on his collarbone.

“It’s…?” Roman prompted him after a minute or two, raising an eyebrow.

“I got this…this issue with standing still. I have a lot of nervous energy to expel. Dunno’ what the normal amount is, but I can say with confidence that I’ve got a lot more than normal. I thought that going after the big guy would help work through a little of it.” Dean tried to sound nonchalant. “Til’ Rollins is all better and I have him to throw around again.”

“You really know Rollins, huh?” Roman was watching him closely. “You’re always scrapping with him and you guys still work well to-”

“No we do not.” Dean gritted out. “We used to. We do not anymore. End of discussion.” He cracked his neck, hearing the satisfying pop in his ears as he rotated his head. Roman busied himself with adjusting the pads on his hands. “Look, I don’t know how up to date your dad kept you. I’m assuming you ain’t seen the footage from the night Rollins broke us up.” Dean said by way of apology, knowing that being gruff and moody wasn’t really going to do either of them any good.

“No, I didn’t look for it or anything. Should I?” Roman asked quietly.

“Fuck no. That was just the last time I fought for something I believed in, y’know? I thought Rollins and I would be partners forever. We went through hell and high water together. And he kind of…well, look, right now ain’t the time for a sob story about my commitment issues, alright? My offer is on the table if you want it. I’ll gladly toss myself at Lesnar, I’ll fight harder than I’ve ever fought before. I don’t want your ass gettin’ a beatdown because you ain’t had to do this before.” Dean held up a hand when Roman opened his mouth. “Just think on it for a while. Talk to your pops, he’s the guy that threw your hat in with ‘The Lunatic’. Even if the answer is no, that’s okay. I’ve got weapons and I’ll use ‘em to cripple Lesnar so you can have the last blow hopefully without getting yourself hurt.”

“Why, though? Why would you...?”

“I don’t need this victory. You do. Your family does.” Dean said bluntly. “I don’t need jack shit from Lesnar except a huge, angry opponent who will help when it comes to killing time.” He cleared his throat. “This fight is a terrible idea. For anyone, really. Brock ain’t a merciful dude. I’ve dealt with worse than him, but you haven’t. So I’ll take the brunt of his bullshit.”

“You’re not really answering my question, Ambrose.”

“It’s important that you have something to fight for.” Dean reached forward and began undoing the target pad straps on Roman’s hands. “How often do you fight, and what is it for?”

“I’ve never been in a real fight in my life.” Roman replied honestly. “In high school I would push the other jocks around. That’s it though. Kid stuff, we weren’t exactly throwing punches.”

“Ground up, huh? Alright. We’ll start with evasion.” Dean grunted, snapping the straps into place around his own hands.

…

Roman was from a long, proud, downright prestigious line of athletes. He would never stop being impressed by his family’s dedication to whatever they set themselves to.

But when his father told him he was going to fight Lesnar one way or another, his heart sank to his shoes. He had been hoping to break into the business, yes, but maybe in a less…drastic manner. This was a suicide mission and it confused Roman to no end, the notion that his father was totally willing to hang the family hat on Roman’s performance in something he’d never officially done. Oh certainly, he’d wrestled before. Growing up in his family practically guaranteed it.

It was different when it was personal. Hearing what Brock said about his family, what Heyman said about his family lit Roman’s fuse. He’d agreed to his father’s plan without a second thought at the time, raring to defend his siblings, his cousins.

Now, laying on his back on the mat gasping for breath, he was a little concerned with himself. Did he have the ability? Absolutely. Was he going to be able to keep it together so he could win? Maybe not so much.

Ambrose growled, seeming exasperated. “You need to conserve your energy, man. Maybe switch up your workout for endurance, do some more jump rope.” He suggested, plopping down beside the dark-haired man.

Roman nodded, too tired to do much of anything else.

“The good news is that Brock is a glass fuckin’ cannon. All it takes is one damn good shot to rock him, and then if you don’t let up…” Dean punched his palm, “Boom! You have anythin’ in football that could be good for that? It's easier to re-purpose instead of go flat-out new.”

Roman blinked up at the ceiling while Ambrose rattled on, not really paying attention to what he was saying. The fight was less than a week away and his confidence continued to wane even as he doggedly trained with Dean.

“Hey, d’ya think when you win I could hold your arm up?” Ambrose asked. He always spoke in absolutes and it made Roman feel just a tad better. When you win, when Brock loses. “Kinda’ like how the ref does.” Dean had done a complete one-eighty as far as his attitude went once he realized that Roman wasn’t some dumb lug. The thinner man seemed almost happy to teach Roman, weirdly enthusiastic about passing along his techniques. Which leaned more towards the street fight side of things, but any port in a storm as far as Roman was concerned. Someone who would bad mouth his family didn't deserve anything above a good old-fashioned ass beating.

“Sure, why the hell not.” Roman managed to shrug while still on his back. “Could be cool.”

“Badass.” Dean had a smile that could disarm a drill sergeant, Roman was certain. It was rare, but when he did smile he could light up the room.

“Oh, I talked with my dad about you training me.” Reigns said a little while later, as Dean was running the ropes.

“Was he pissed?” Ambrose panted, nearly slipping on the mat and taking a second to regain his balance before he was off again.

Roman shook his head, putting his hands on his hips. “Nah, it was kinda' weird. He seemed excited about it. Said I could learn a lot from you.”

“That's so cool, oh wow. Sika thinks I'm smart.” Ambrose draped himself over the middle rope, his eyes wide in delight.

“He doesn't get why you would sacrifice your opportunity to beat Brock, but he's happy all the same.” Roman clarified.

“I told you, man, it's not personal for me. It's just me bein' bored.” Dean reached out and rumpled Roman's hair, the gesture rough but oddly fond. “You're going to do great.”

“Do you actually think that? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?” Roman asked, furrowing his brow when Ambrose slid out of the ring to stand in front of him.

Dean took his shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. “Not only do I think you're gonna' beat him, I think you're gonna' beat him to within an inch of his life.” He searched Roman's eyes, doubtless seeing the fear that Reigns tried so hard to conceal. “Why do you think you're not going to beat him?”

“It's not that I think I won't beat him. I know it's going to be difficult and there's so much riding on me to beat him. I'm...I guess I'm nervous.” Understatement of the century. Every time Roman thought about getting in the ring for real, in front of all those people...

“You've got this, man. I swear. As long as I'm still pullin' breath into my lungs, you're not losing this fight.” Dean promised, extending his hand. Roman shook it after a minute, feeling a tiny bit better. Ambrose always seemed to know just what to say when it came to reassuring him. Roman was incredibly grateful for the weird opportunity he had been granted. Training with 'The Lunatic' was definitely a once in a lifetime kind of experience.

There was a bruise under Dean's eye from a punch gone wrong earlier in the week. Roman had floored him with the shot, apologies already pouring out of him as he crouched beside the other man. Ambrose had looked rattled for a minute before accepting a hand back up. “Holy shit, why didn't you tell me you could hit?!” He'd scolded Roman, “we could have been working on that instead of these speed drills! C'mon, hit me again! Let's go Reigns, time's a-wastin'!” He seemed ecstatic, he was definitely the only person Roman had met who was excited about getting punched in the face.

Once Dean figured out he could punch, he of course had to build a specific move around it. Roman privately thought it seemed kind of goofy, but he couldn't deny how badass it looked when it worked. Aim with his left hand, use the momentum of his hip rotation to add a little extra heat behind it, land on his feet without hurting himself. They practiced it over and over until Roman was pretty sure he could have done it in his sleep, both of them ending up laying on their backs on the mat panting hard.

Dean held out a fist to him and Roman tapped his knuckles against the other man's, turning his head to the side to catch Ambrose's grin. “You're gonna' do great.”

…

Dean's ears were ringing almost loud enough to drown out the roar of the crowd. There had been an explosion of pain at the base of his neck about two suplexes back and that's when the nausea kicked in. Everything was going wrong, where was Roman? He had swung with all his might, Barbie whistling through the air in his hands and Lesnar had somehow dodged the blow. Dean had been graced a back full of steel chairs as the prize for his insolence, and now he slumped in his corner with a very angry, very pink Brock standing over him.

For some reason KONGOS wouldn't get out of Dean's head, the opening accordion lick for Come With Me Now adding a little extra crazy to the clanging in his ears. I've wasted time, I've wasted breath, I think I've thought myself to death.

But he wasn't about to give up. Oh no, hell no. Ambrose intended on making Brock work even harder for this victory. Brock was pouring sweat, furious and pawing at his own face as he tried to keep his temper under control. Heyman was shrieking from ringside as always, Dean could feel the impacts of his hands on the mat as he attempted to leash his beast. Something else, though. There was a violent bump that came from beneath Dean, beneath the canvas, right before Lesnar hoisted him back up across his shoulders.

I was born without this fear, now only this seems clear. I need to move, I need to fight, I need to lose myself tonight.

Dean swung wildly at Brock's head, knowing that if Lesnar landed that F5 there might not be anything left in him to get back up. He managed to flail free, scramble away while Brock was off balance. Dean rolled out of the ring with Brock hot on his heels. His foot caught on something, the apron maybe, and he sprawled forward, his head cracking off the steel steps. The arena faded in and out around him as Dean bit down on his thumb, hard enough to hear the crunch of his skin giving way.

Confused what I thought for something I felt, confused what I feel for something that's real.

Brock's huge form was suddenly dripping sweat on his face and Dean found it in himself to wrinkle his nose in disgust, to roll up into himself. Brock sneered, one large hand grabbing the back of Dean's neck and hauling him upright. Dean made himself dead weight, laughing breathlessly when Brock struggled to keep him standing.

Something, someone hit Ambrose from behind, the shock hurting more than the actual blow from the chair. He tumbled to the floor again, not sure if this was the last time. A familiar cackle met his ears and Dean wondered if he was imagining things, if his brain was just filling in a few more painful blanks for him.

He didn't have very long to wonder as another someone threw their body over his own, arms wrapped around his head to shield him from the next onslaught.

...

“You okay?” Roman panted in Dean’s ear, grunting when the chair cracked against the back of his ring gear. “Sorry about this mess, Rollins was waiting for me.”

“Both of you were under there? Shit, you coulda' passed me a few more chairs. Some assist you were.” Ambrose sounded trashed.

“He had a sledgehammer, man.” Roman remembered the horrified second of realization he had when he saw the blunt weapon within arms reach of Rollins, the oh my God before he was pulling himself under the crossbeams beneath the ring and engaging the other man with extreme prejudice. “Are you okay?” Ambrose chose that moment to hiccup, blood and spit dribbling out of his mouth. Roman swore, wiping the mess away. “I’m gonna’ take that as a no.”

“Bit my tongue on one of the suplexes. What am I up to?” Dean raised his head, unfocused eyes looking for the signs that fans held. “Twelve, damn. That’s a pretty good number.” His head dropped back down, hitting the matted floor with a wet thud. His eyes rolled back in his skull, body shuddering underneath Roman.

“No no no, Ambrose!” Reigns said frantically, cursing himself for wasting so much time fighting with Rollins. If he had appeared when he was supposed to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. He got to his feet, catching the next shot from Rollins and tearing the chair out of the other man’s grasp. “You-!” Roman seethed, tossing the chair back into the ring and leveling a Hogan-style finger point at Seth. His all-natural pythons may be a few inches shy, but he felt like it was the thought that counted. “You!” Every word that came to mind at this point was definitely not something pay-per-view friendly so Roman settled for grinding his teeth in a silent snarl. The crowded arena echoed the “YOU!”, murmurs rising after the initial confusion as to what the hell was going on. “SUPLEX CITY!” and “SHIELD!” and “YES!” chants began to circle, to duel.

Ambrose grabbed at one of the many empty pockets on the side of Roman’s pants, the battered man’s fingers scrabbling for purchase on Roman’s clothing. Roman hauled Dean up by his belt, Ambrose holding onto his arm even after he let him go. “What’re y’doin’ here, Seth?” Dean slurred. “Didja’ come t’pologize? Huh, buddy?” The raw pain in Dean’s voice startled Roman. “Come t’say ya’ sorry, Seth?”

Rollins started laughing again. “God, you’re pathetic!” He chuckled, bouncing from one foot to the other with Lesnar at his side. “I came to take part in my favorite pastime. Kicking your ass!”

Roman felt Dean sag against him, like his last ounce of fight had petered out. “Who the hell are you, anyway?” Lesnar asked Roman.

“He’s th’guy thas’ gunna’ pin y’ ass.” Ambrose said, pushing away from Reigns and blearily raising his fists. “His name’s Roman Reigns.”

Roman watched curiously as an odd expression crossed Brock’s face. Behind him, Heyman looked like he was about to burst. “I ain’t afraid of some other shitty offshoot of that fuckin’ family tree.” Brock said finally, grinning. “C’mon Reigns, you want a one-way trip to Suplex City that bad?” He beckoned. “Let’s get this over with.”

Roman crouched warily. “I’ve got Rollins.” Ambrose grunted, not looking like he ‘had’ Rollins in the slightest. If anything he was already swaying on his feet, weaving a little as he struggled to stay upright.

Roman did the only thing he could think of, exploding from his crouch with his arms outstretched to catch Brock and Rollins at the thighs with his shoulders and knock them both down. “Move Dean!” He shouted, Brock’s clumsy fingers tangling in his long hair to jerk his head back at a painful angle. The burly fighter didn’t give Roman a moment of pause, clubbing him with a closed fist to the side of his head that knocked him against the barricade. Roman saw stars, hastily raking at Lesnar’s eyes to give himself some breathing room like Dean had showed him.

No-Holds-Barred Street Fight it will goddamn be.

Ambrose practically fell on top of Rollins and was all over him like a bad suit, fists pounding into Seth’s neck and ribs at random. “Fuck you, sneakin’ around like a damn coward, with your Daddy’s sledgehammer!” Dean apparently had forgotten about the whole pay-per-view appropriate language thing, because he was swearing like a sailor when it came to Rollins.

Roman didn’t have much attention to spare for Ambrose. Brock was back on his feet, Roman still trying to shake the cobwebs from getting his head bounced off the barricade. Brock seized a handful of his hair again and Reigns was seriously regretting his last elastic snapping while he was duking it out with Rollins. Lesnar pulled him into an upright position to slap him across the face, that satisfied smirk the only thing Roman could focus on.

For my family.

Reigns caught Brock’s hand before it could connect again, debating momentarily on wrenching Lesnar’s wrist like Dean had demonstrated once or twice to stress out the tendons. Lesnar released his hold on his hair, winding back to take Roman’s head off. Roman’s free hand was suddenly full of wood handle, his fingers automatically gripping down on the bat while Ambrose full-on shoved it against Brock’s leg. The barbed wire tore into Lesnar’s skin and Brock hollered angrily, lashing out at Ambrose with a kick to the head that knocked him flat.

Roman dragged the bat up Brock’s leg, still maintaining his hold on the other man’s dominant hand. “All I have to do is swing, big man.” Roman snarled, “One good swing and you’ll be out of a job. You really wanna’ play that game with me, Lesnar?”

“Fuck you.” Brock spat, barely getting the chance to raise his other arm before Dean grabbed it, forcing it back down. Ambrose looked like he was barely there, his eyes half-closed and essentially his whole body wrapped around Lesnar’s arm.

Seth reared his ugly head, his nose appearing a little worse for the wear as he got to his feet and started towards the huddle of men with murder in his eyes and the sledgehammer in hand. Roman cast around frantically for a plan, a fragment of a plan, really. Something, anything!

He pulled Brock close and then shoved him back quickly, using the larger man to knock Seth down. Ambrose went along for the ride, unfortunately, and Roman’s heart slammed into his throat when Rollins lunged back to his feet, that sledgehammer raised high over his head.

Roman didn’t really think, he just dropped the bat and moved. Aim with the left, rotate his body into the motion. His fist connected with Seth’s jaw, the thunderous blow resounding through the arena.

Rollins stopped dead. Everything went silent aside from Brock’s heavy breathing. The sledgehammer slid free of Seth’s hands, dropping harmlessly to the floor. Rollins quickly followed, his body toppling like a rag doll. Roman realized (and he wasn’t sure if he was excited or horrified) that he’d just knocked the other man out.

Brock hauled himself back up, scrambling to climb into the ring. Fury bubbled in Roman’s chest like a living thing and he tipped his body back to roar, laughing wildly when the crowd echoed the sound. Where was Suplex City now? Heyman cowered beside the ring and Roman stalked him, catching him by the scruff of his neck before he could slink away.

“If I ever hear that you've spoken poorly of my family again, I will make you goddamn regret it.” Roman snarled, releasing the advocate immediately afterwards to focus solely on Lesnar. Brock had one of the many chairs in his hands, looking wary. Reigns sauntered around the ring, scooping Barbie back up. Dean somehow was halfway upright, clinging to the apron like his life depended on it. Roman tousled his hair on the way by and Ambrose arched up to his touch, snapping his teeth playfully at Roman’s hand.

“It’s up to you now, Reigns.” He said, resting his face on the side of the apron. “All up to you. Y’ got this, big dog.”

Big dog.

“You need to be with me, who's gonna' lift my hand when I win?” Roman asked.

Dean nodded slowly, raising his eyes to stare at Lesnar. “I'll make it up there. Promise.” He tapped Roman's fist with his own. “For your family, man.” He sounded exhausted.

Brock skittered as far back as he possibly could without dropping out of the ring again, holding the chair like a shield. Roman had no problem waiting, tapping the sole of his boot with the bat and leaning against the ropes with just a hint of insolence in his posture. He liked to think he'd learned a thing or two about pushing buttons from Ambrose, and he was not disappointed as a second later Brock charged at him with the chair.

Barbie met the chair with a ringing impact, the metal object ripped from Lesnar's hands by the force of the swing. Brock was left weaponless at the mercy of a young man fresh out of developmental, crafted by 'The Lunatic' himself and carrying the honor of his family.

Roman hoped that Brock at least realized the error of his ways before being rocked by another perfect Superman Punch. Roman straddled Brock's chest, pinning his arms down with his knees and delivering shot after shot to the other man's jaw. “Keep my family's name out of your damn mouth!” Roman shouted in Brock's face, his final punch snapping Lesnar's head to the side with a jerk of finality.

The arena was on its feet at the beginning of the beatdown, boos overwhelmed by steadily rising cheers. Roman pulled himself up and threw his head back for another roar, this one triumphant instead of angry. The Beast lay unconscious at his boots, his advocate probably still cringing in fear by the ring post. Roman turned on his heel to grab Ambrose's arm and easily pull him into the ring. “Take what's yours, Ambrose.” He ordered, Dean stumbling forward to pin Lesnar.

The three-count was called, the bell rung, and Ambrose was abruptly hugging Roman's legs. Reigns laughed and dropped the barbed wire bat so he could drag Dean to a semi-standing position and hug him for real. “You did it, Roman!” Dean yelled over the crowd, slamming his forehead into Roman's shoulder. “Holy shit, you did it. Wow.” He said a little quieter.

“We did it.” Roman replied firmly, tugging Dean's chin up so he could see his eyes. “We, Ambrose.” He wasn't sure if he would ever stop smiling, especially when Dean slowly smiled back. True to his word, Ambrose hoisted Roman's arm high, almost toppling with the effort. Roman grabbed his wrist, effectively raising both their arms. “This wouldn't even have happened if you hadn't taken me under your wing, man. Thank you.”

…

Dean closed his eyes and just basked in the adoration for a minute. He didn’t need it, but damn was it good to have when he was walking wounded. He palmed the back of Roman’s head, fingers running through that thick mane of hair. Roman hadn’t stopped smiling, his whole face lit up with joy as he kept his hand raised.

Roman’s dad was helped over the barricade by security and the older man climbed into the ring, raucous cheers starting up as people began to realize who he was. Sika, to Dean’s surprise, caught both men in a tight hug while saying “my boys!” over and over. “I’m so proud of you Roman. Thank you, Dean, for keeping my son safe.” He said quietly, making Ambrose tear up a little. Roman didn’t look much better, nodding and quickly rubbing at his eyes when his father released them.

“Thanks for believing in us, Dad.” Roman said, the sincerity in his voice hitting Dean like a punch to the gut. He didn’t have very long to focus on the feeling because Reigns was hugging him again, his dad wrapped around the outside of the embrace in another hug of his own. “Thank you, Ambrose.” Roman pressed their foreheads together. “Thank you so damn much.”

Dean closed his eyes again, not able to handle the unchecked affection in Roman’s gaze. “Anytime, man. S’what I’m here for.” He mumbled, his shoulders drooping as his body realized that the fight was over. You can stop now, Dean. Roman would leave, they had accomplished what they set out to do and that was it. You can stop now. Dean abruptly felt nauseous again, his knees starting to shake under him. He grabbed frantically at Roman’s shoulders, his fingers useless and clumsy as everything slowly dissolved into numb tingling.

“Dean!”

…

Ambrose had taken a hellish beating at the hands of Lesnar, twelve suplexes and more. Roman felt like an idiot for expecting him to walk out of the ring.

Dean looked dazed as he was secured to the backboard, blue eyes unfocused and fingers twitching wildly at his sides.

Sika’s hand landed on Roman’s shoulder. “Go with him, son. He needs you.” He shrugged when Roman looked back at him. “I can manage this part. Be with your partner now. He’s used to being alone. Let him know he isn’t anymore.” His dad gave him a knowing smile and Roman swallowed hard, nodding quickly.

“He has a concussion.”

Roman had wanted to say no shit, but he figured that would be bad form.

Ambrose had a death grip on his hand. He’d seemed surprised when Roman walked into the exam room, when Roman had taken his hand and squeezed it tight.

A concussion in this company could be a death sentence and Roman sincerely doubted that this was Dean’s first one.

“He’ll need supervision.”

Again, Roman wanted to say no shit. Dean’s jaw had tightened and he’d begun to protest, “I’m not some idiot kid, I can take care of myself.”

“I’ll stay with him.” Roman had stated firmly, feeling Dean’s eyes trying to burn a hole through him. “He’s my partner.”

Later that night Ambrose leaned his face against the car window and huffed out a loud sigh. “M’ sorry about all this, man.”

“What the heck are you apologizing for?” Roman asked, tapping at the screen of the GPS. “I’m lucky I’m not identifying your body at a freezer after that fight.”

“M’ sorry about Rollins. I didn’t…I figured he was still out of commission for weeks.” Dean fidgeted in his seat. “Thank fuck he didn’t have room to swing under the ring.”

“You can’t really be blamed for that maniac’s actions, man.” Roman finally got the GPS to work, punching in his address.

Dean chuckled, the noise forlorn. “I don’t know why the hell you’re the only person to figure out that I ain’t as unstable as I’m supposed to be. It’s weird.”

“In a good way or…?”

“Yeah. In a good way. In my kinda’ way.” Dean settled down in his seat, fingers tapping away at his kneecaps. “Where we goin’, anyhow?” He asked curiously.

“My apartment.” Roman cleared his throat. “Is there anything at your place that you need as far as tonight goes?”

“Nah, I’ve got a fresh set of clothes and my toothbrush in my gym bag. You sure you want me in your apartment though? Don’t wanna’ scare off any roommates or significant others.” Ambrose seemed legitimately worried.

“I live alone, you’re fine.” Reigns answered dismissively, giving his apartment a mental once-over and hoping he hadn’t left his boxers in the bathroom again. I get so damn lazy, he scolded himself, not noticing how quiet Dean had become until Ambrose coughed awkwardly.

“You don’t have any roommates or anything? That’s wild man, I don’t think I’ve ever lived anywhere by myself.” Dean twiddled his fingers. “Have you always lived on your own?”

“Since moving out, yes.” Roman shot Dean a curious look. “Why?”

“It’s just kinda’ strange to me is all. You have a big family though, so I can understand wanting your own space.” Dean reasoned. His back straightened up, as if he’d remembered something. “Oh! Shit! That thing you did during the match! The yell thing!” He said excitedly, bouncing in place for a second. “What the hell was that?! It was awesome!”

Roman laughed at Dean’s sudden enthusiasm. “I dunno’ man. I just felt like I needed to yell, so I did.”

“And Barbie, I can’t believe that shit! Just whackin’ that chair outta’ the park like Babe fucking Ruth. I’m…shit, I would have popped a boner if I’d had the presence of mind.” Dean teased, his tongue poking between his teeth as he grinned. “We done right by Mick, Funk, and your family, s’ all that matters.” Dean wriggled in his seat. “What are you gonna’ do from here on out? I’ve got the feelin’ that you may have a future in this company, y’know?”

“I was thinking I would stick with you. If they’ll let me, of course.” Roman deliberately kept his expression bland, his eyes focused on the road. He heard a quick, jerky intake of breath from the man beside him and Dean fell silent again.

“W…Why though?” Ambrose asked softly after a good five minutes had passed.

“I thought we worked well together. I’d like if you could keep teaching me.” Roman replied simply. “If the higher-ups permit.”

“I dunno’ if I’m ready for another partner, Reigns.” Dean said hesitantly. “I…It’s got nothing to do with you, okay?”

“Give me a chance, Ambrose. I promise I’ll work hard.”

“I ain’t worried about your work ethic man, I’ve seen that’s through the roof.” Ambrose protested. “After Rollins, I just don’t know if I should do partners anymore.”

“I can help with that. Superman Punch is his Kryptonite.” Roman didn’t expect the explosion of laughter from Ambrose.

“Oh my God, I totally forgot--that was fucking insane! You got four feet of air, I swear you did! Fuckin’ legendary, if nobody got a picture of you mid-swing I’m hiring a professional photographer. Hit hard and fuckin’ often, Roman Reigns!” Dean rambled, gesturing wildly with his hands. “I wish you’d been in the Shield man, definitely could have used you in a few fights.”  

“I’m here now, man. Might as well put me to work, right?” Roman asked while he parked the car.

The way Dean’s face scrunched up in thought gave him a little bit of hope.

…

Someone wanting to work with him, wanting to prove themselves to him, was foreign to Dean. He was pretty sure that this ‘letting his brain heal’ business was just a plot to get him to trust Reigns. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except for the fact that he was bored and it was working, damn it.

After the third day on Roman’s couch, sitting in the air conditioning with the blinds closed, Dean felt like he was going to start foaming at the mouth. While he was brushing his teeth he debated staggering through the apartment with the toothpaste all over his mouth, making zombie noises. But no, he was an adult. Probably a bad idea. He rinsed his mouth out and wiped the toothpaste foam away. His fingers started up a tempo on the sink and he stood there, staring at himself in the mirror.

The bruise under his eye had been replaced by a few scrapes, his tongue still a little sensitive from how hard he had bit down on it. Dean sighed, checking his eyes like the trainer had told him. His pupils continued to react fine to the light. Dean knew he was a lucky bastard, getting out of that fight with nothing but a concussion and some nicks. The base of his neck was still more than tender and that worried him to an extent. Mostly because he couldn’t really see it to monitor the healing process.

Ambrose trotted down the hall to Roman’s room, knocking on the door before pushing it open. “Hey Reigns, I need you to check my neck real quick.”

Roman groaned, obviously still half-asleep as he nodded and wriggled a little closer to the edge of his bed. “M’kay, c’mere.”

Ambrose ducked down, expecting Roman to sit up and take a look. Instead, he felt a mouth press to the skin just below the area that was painful, the sensation making him freeze.

“There’s a bruise, but m’sure y’ already knew that. S’okay, I fixed it.” Roman waved a hand, flopping back down onto his mattress. “Still sleep time, Ambrose. Shh.”

Dean touched the back of his neck, his mouth slightly open. What the fuck. “Roman did you just…?”

Roman grabbed Dean’s arm, dragging the other man into an awkward, almost horizontal position in the bed beside him. “Shh, sleep.” Roman mumbled, clumsily petting over Dean’s mop of curly hair.

Dean knew this was stupid, that Roman was out of it and didn’t even know what he was doing. But that didn’t stop him from relaxing a fraction in the other man’s grip. And then a fraction more. “Reigns, y’need t’ let me go.” He said quietly after Roman made no move to release him.

Roman growled, sounding sulky. “Nuh.” He opened one eye to glare at Dean. “No way. Some other guy did that before.”

Dean stiffened. “Well I mean, that was more like he threw me in the trash, honestly.” He tried to smile, tried to make it a joke like it didn’t still hurt.

Roman curled up around Dean, nudging his face into Dean’s chest. “Not gonna’ happen again.” He slurred confidently. “I’ll kick his ass.”

Dean snickered. It was easier than crying. “I bet you will.”

“Seriously.” Roman propped himself up, looking a little more alert. “I’ll kick his ass.”

“You haven’t even seen-”

“I don’t need to.” Roman huffed. “I’ve worked with you. You trained me.”

“Maybe I am just as crazy as he says, man. Didja’ ever think of that?”

“I doubt it.”

Dean had promised himself that after Rollins, that was it. There was no more Shield, no more teamwork, nothing that could lead to him depending on someone and getting his body destroyed when they turned on him. Because he was unstable, and that was why he had clung to Seth so tight. Seth wasn’t crazy like him, Seth was smart and capable and miles less fucked-up. Dean might fight until his last gasp, but Rollins was the one who always pulled the trigger.

Little brother.

Dean hadn’t noticed the tears dripping down his cheeks, hadn’t meant to start crying. Just another fucked-up tidbit, he supposed. One more thing knocked loose.

Fingers were wiping Dean’s tears away, brown eyes fixed on his own worriedly. “Ambrose, did I say something wrong? Didn’t mean to.”

“Nah, it’s just…it’s been a while since anyone had anythin’ nice to say to me. I’m insane, you know.” Dean shrugged, waving his hands around to illustrate his lack of stability. “The ‘Lunatic Fringe’, the 'madman known as Dean Ambrose'. That’s me, a wild and crazy guy.”

Roman shook his head. “I don’t see that, man.”

“I’m touched, Reigns.”

“I don’t!” Roman insisted. Dean almost believed him. “Why would I lie to you? I’ve been upfront so far, haven’t I?”

…

“Mm, kinda’ wondering when you’re gonna’ dig the knife in between my shoulder blades, honestly.” Dean said, sounding totally serious. “How much more vulnerable do I have to be, man? I’m recovering from a concussion and you pulled me into your damn bed to snuggle. You’re a special brand of evil if you want me any lower than this.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, man.” Roman groaned. “You’re lucky you’re concussed. I wanna’ give you the world’s baddest noogie for all the bullshit you’re spewing.”

“Kick the street dog while he’s down, huh? I see how it-” Dean never got to finish his sentence because Roman rolled on top of him, the larger man taking care not to rest too much of his weight on Ambrose.

“I ain’t Rollins.” Roman said slowly. His hands found Dean’s in the sheets. “You hearing me, Ambrose? Do I have your attention?”

Dean nodded once.

“I’m not Seth. I don’t think you’re crazy. Not by a long shot, okay? So put that shit to bed. You’re more than whatever he said you were.” Roman stated. “You can’t let that guy’s image of you become the only thing that matters. You’re so much more than a shitty gimmick, Ambrose.”

“I hate that you make shit sound true. It’s just gonna’ fuck me up more.” Dean whispered.

“Ambrose please listen to me.” Roman begged. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Don’t lie to me, Reigns. I swear to fuck, don’t you fucking lie to me. Just tell me I’m shit, tell me I don’t deserve anything and that I’m messed-up in the head.”

“What the fuck, Ambrose?” Roman wished his voice didn’t crack. “I’m…I mean Jesus man, what the fuck? No, I’m not gonna’ say any of that shit. Why would I?” Dean stared up at him defiantly. “Dammit Ambrose, come the fuck on.” When Dean just kept staring, Roman sighed heavily. “Okay, have it your way.” Pretending not to notice the defeated sag of Dean’s shoulders, Roman tucked his hair back behind his ears so he could actually see what he was doing. “Oh yeah, this guy beneath me is super fucked up.” Roman started, making sure he sounded as sarcastic as possible. “Yep, no redeeming qualities whatsoever. He’s all kinds of terrible.”

Dean snorted, shoving Roman’s chest. “You asshole.”

“Guy takes a king-sized failed football player in as a favor to his dad, shows him the ropes so he can beat another huge shithead. What a dick, that Ambrose guy. Making sure other people are as safe as possible, dealing with all his own problems in his own way. Goddamn, that no-good son of a bitch.” Roman couldn’t keep the grin off his face at this point. “That motherfucker, that-”

Dean leaned up and pecked him on the lips, stopping Roman mid-tease. “You’re doing it wrong, man.”

“I dunno’, I got a kiss out of it so I think I’m doing it right.” Reigns smirked, feeling very satisfied with himself. “If I keep saying things I don’t mean, will I get another one? Or should I say things I actually do mean?”

“Like what?” Dean made a raspberry sound.

“Like this.” Roman pressed his mouth to Dean's collarbone, licking and gently nipping the area. He heard Ambrose's breath catch, felt the other man's fingers quickly wind into his hair. “You're worth it.” Roman whispered.

Dean groaned. “Reigns...”

Roman didn't bother to respond, continuing his way down Dean's chest. There were still small cuts and nicks on Dean's torso from the match and Roman took the time to kiss every one of them, loving the way Dean began arching himself up to his mouth. “You're not crazy.”

“I am though, I am, he said I--” Ambrose tried to protest but Roman mouthed over a scrape at the edge of his boxers, iron taste filling his mouth and suddenly Ambrose's voice got urgent. “Oh no, mmfuck, Roman, you...” Dean squirmed, his eyes wide when Roman pulled back to look. “I kinda' have...I mean I kinda' like...y'know.” Ambrose mumbled, tapping the spot on his hip. “S'good.”

“Oh?” Roman bit down then, still gentle but not nearly as gentle as before.

...

Dean gasped, fingers lacing together on the back of Roman's head and holding him still. “Oh fuck, yes, shit, Jesus Roman!” He cried, that pain warm and good in his stomach like it hadn't been for months, years.

Roman carried on tormenting him with his mouth, teeth harassing Dean's already-battered skin. He didn't ask whether he was alright, didn't ask whether he was too rough, and Dean realized dimly that it was because Reigns trusted him. Reigns knew he would let him know if he went too far.

Dean caressed Roman's hair, the gesture weirdly intimate for him even with the other man's mouth inches away from his very interested cock. “You dealt with pain kinks before, Reigns?” Dean asked boldly when he could think straight for a second.

Roman smirked against Dean's hip, tugging his boxers down. The wet, red-purple welt he left on Dean's skin seemed to speak for itself, and the way he took Dean's cock into his mouth without a second of hesitation spoke volumes towards other experiences.

“Fuck me, Roman goddamn Reigns.” Ambrose sighed, cupping Roman's cheek. “I can't even believe you're doing this right now, holy shit. I'm gonna' wake up any second.”

“You have wet dreams about me?” Roman asked curiously, pulling his mouth off Dean's cock for a second to pump his shaft lazily. He rumbled in his chest when Ambrose nodded, feeling a little embarrassed. “Good.”

“Fuck do you mean, g-oh Jesus--” Roman felt the need to display his approval with his throat, taking Dean all the way down to his base. Ambrose dug his fingers into Roman's hair, feeling the satisfied moan Reigns let out around his cock. “Oh, you too? Roman you are so fucked, you are so fucking fucked.” Dean half-snarled, half-laughed as he twisted his grip. Roman's whole body shuddered and Dean watched hungrily as Roman snuck a hand down to touch himself. “Fuck yes, Reigns, fuckin' fist your cock while you suck me off. Do it, do it, please please.” Dean couldn't decide whether he was ordering or begging, but it didn't really matter because Roman was going to jerk himself off either way.

Watching the muscles in Roman's shoulders and arms shift and roll as he moved was a grounding experience for Dean. Roman could easily slam him against a wall, shit, he could probably put him through a wall. But here Reigns was between his legs, in the other man's apartment no less, in his own bed. Making everything good and okay and not broken, not crazy at all. Even with the pain singing under his skin, the throb of bruises old and new, Ambrose was wholly content to grip Roman's hair and luxuriate in the sensation of knowing that Roman wanted him like this.

…

Dean looked like a vision in the weak morning sunlight, the blinds making shadow stripes across his chest and abdomen. The filth that poured out of his mouth certainly didn't hurt Roman's focus, the encouragement and the compliments on his technique only increasing Roman's need. He had himself propped up on one arm and his knees, the other hand working his cock with slow, even strokes as he just soaked in every hair-pull, every twitch of Dean's hips.

Ambrose suddenly shoved himself up, his hand groping hungrily over Roman's chest and then reaching lower at his belly to palm his dick. Reigns gasped at the change of angle and Dean began jerking him off quickly. “Want you to come.” Dean crooned, his body shivering. “Fuck, Roman, p-please, I want...fuckin' come for me, Reigns, need you to come, need you to come-” He panted, doubtless feeling the way Roman's cock twitched every time he said come. Dean's other hand gripped Roman's hair at the back of his head and dragged his mouth off his cock.

“Now, Dean? Huh? You gonna' come?” Roman growled, craning his neck to bite down hard on Ambrose's shoulder. Dean cried out and Reigns felt him writhe under him and Dean squeezed and Roman couldn't hold on any longer, grinding his hips down against Dean's as he came.

“Fuck.” Dean sighed after a minute or two of silence, his breathless chuckle sounding too high in Roman's ears as he slowly licked his fingers clean. Roman watched wordlessly, still trying to catch his own breath. “You are something fucking else, Roman Reigns. Hell if I know what, but damn you are something else.” Dean fell back against the mattress, groaning loudly. “Holy shit.”

“I'll take that as a compliment. Now, I think I had some important business to attend to.” Roman slid off to the side of Dean and pulled his back to his chest, ignoring Dean's drowsy protesting as he spooned the other man. “More sleep.”

“Hey...thank you.” Dean murmured.

Roman hushed him, starting to pet his hair again. “Sleep, Ambrose.”

“Seriously though, I mean-”

“Ambrose.”

[thosemintcookies]

Ok so it's like 5:40am bit it's just... so much Christian discourse is about sexual chastity and it's like.. to what end do you abstain?? Because I feel like more than sexual chastity (other than for health reasons- idk what the situation was about venereal diseases and safe sex practices were back in the day) I feel like adultery was more about betraying vows and partner trust? The first sin was brought into this world through deception and lack of trust in the partner where eve was made to doubt Adam and Adam did lie to eve (I mean other people have different opinions and interpretations and I can adopt other views but I think this is what I'll adopt for the sake of this argument)

So like idk man like theres a lot of writing about lustful feelings or coveting for people who arent your partner and I gotta say the modern versions might be talking in sexual terms but emotional fidelity is more the pressing issue here imo? To cover is deeper than physical want, it's like yearning. Can bad interpreters stop thinking with their genitals and think about how covetousness plays out in the real world? Jesse's girl isnt just about wanting to fuck her. It's about the holistic woman. Let's not forget jesus spent his time with women, and sometimes without the presence of men. He himself, and early Christians (let's not forget Paul wrote all of Roman's 16 commending women he knew, not merely as wives of servants but servants of christ themselves) saw autonomous value in women. Respecting wives has been a huge theme throughout the bible.

But then theres sexual chastity for the sake of chastity which has become popular in Christian discourse and the other day I just had the thought like... to what end? I get that sex itself with many partners can be unsafe (see above) but things like premarital sex? Gay sex (okay here's the thing: the famous verse in leviticus was also written amidst like anti incest works about what counts- sisters (mom and dads side) cousins, in laws etc etc but kinship worked differently for the Israelites necessarily because they were not a particularly monogamous culture I guess at the time it was written- we cant simply transfer our ideas of relationships onto the verses 1:1. And also we have to remember that there are many stories of figures actually marrying their sisters (though only through one parent, oft the same father) and cousins and such and these were not particularly seen in the bible as morally contestable. The meaning of marriage and love and familial bond and stuff- marriage doesnt have the same connotation as it did then (people are quick to say God made Adam and eve so one woman and one man was the divine design but also forget about the rampant nonmonogny?? Hello?? Pick a consistent way to exercise theological concepts and frameworks??) And marriage also had a different connotation and cultural meaning for people living under Roman rule in the day of jesus.

I dont know it just seemed important to note. Also extra marital relations were also seen with a different weight. Like even take the case study of hagar and Ismael?? Abraham was promised many descendants and that was a covenant fulfilled through Ishmael who who also multiplied and also became a nation. Sarah was made a separate promise, and theres an interpretation that goes more like isaac was the fulfillment of the promise with Sarah, not abraham. I think that's significant both in realizing 1. God also recognizes women as significant agents and human beings (like how do we keep disavowing Mary, mother of jesus, and stripping her of that same kind of majesty, there is precedent for God wanting to honor women) and 2. Hagar's relations with abraham as legitimate and consensual because Sarah had consented to that union, and (she only grew to hate them after becoming bitter (to jealousy?) once the child was born

Anyway this all to say that I dont think sexual chastity and premarital sex (esp considering marriage as the legal institution we know now is not God-centered and again the cultural context is so off) arent necessarily as black and white as Christians tend to think it is. Sexual relations and behaviour (by which I mean more specifically romantic entanglements involving partner trust and mutuality) I think was "policed" more as a way to talk about honoring your partners and like basic tenants of respect for other human beings? Consent being the main issue here. You dont need to tie your balls down at the hint of desire as puritan Christian discourse kind of advocates for. It leads to bad sex later on in life. Just dont partake in the dissolution of trust and respect each other.

Oh shit its daylight now I have to be up in an hour fuck

[joannrochaus]

Why did this high school wrestler’s video go viral?

Hunter Wallace is a wrestler at Northwest High School in Justin, a suburb of Fort Worth, Texas. He didn’t win a single match this year, but he is the captain of his team. His coach explains why: “Hunter’s one of those kids that leads by example. He’s always positive. I’ve never heard the kid complain.”

Hunter also has cerebral palsy.

As the reporter who told his story says, Hunter has “an upper body built like an ox, but wobbly legs.” Nonetheless, he wanted to do squats to get stronger. A video of his workout went viral.

Hunter explains: “You got the right mentality, heart, and God in front of you, nothing will stop you. You just gotta push through it.” He adds: “I’m just like a normal person. God made me who I am.”

“Enemy-occupied territory”

Affliction finds us all.

World leaders and citizens from more than thirty countries are mourning the loss of 157 people who died when their Ethiopian Airlines jet crashed yesterday morning. The victims included at least thirty-two Kenyans, eighteen Canadians, nine each from Ethiopia and France, eight each from the US, China, and Italy, and seven from the UK.

Meanwhile, the Islamic State is losing its last territorial foothold, but terrorism experts believe that jihadis will continue their activities around the world. In related news, the Wall Street Journal reports that Osama bin Laden’s son, Hamza, is an emerging leader in al Qaeda. According to the State Department, he has been calling on followers to carry out attacks on the US and has been declared a Specially Designated Global Terrorist.

C. S. Lewis explained the reason for the adversity we face every day: “This is a civil war, a rebellion, and … we are living in a part of the universe occupied by the rebel. Enemy-occupied territory—that is what this world is.”

The good news is that, like Hunter Wallace, when we trust God in our afflictions, our rebellious world takes note.

“The waters have come up to my neck”

David was so close to God that the Lord called him “a man after my heart” (Acts 13:22). Nonetheless, he began Psalm 69 with the cry, “Save me, O God! For the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold; I have come into deep waters, and the flood sweeps over me” (vv. 1–2).

His words are in Scripture because they tell our story as well.

When we read about Joseph’s innocent suffering (Genesis 39:19–20), or Elijah’s lonely despair (1 Kings 19:4), or Hosea’s marital pain (Hosea 3:1–3), those who face similar struggles know they are not alone.

Reading through the book of Job, I was struck by this remarkable phrase: God “delivers the afflicted by their affliction” (Job 36:15). The text does not say that God delivers the afflicted “out of” their affliction, but “by” it.

Paul agreed. In Romans 8, the apostle cited grave threats facing believers: tribulation, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, danger, and sword (v. 35). Then he declared: “In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us” (v. 37). We are conquerors in our challenges, not despite them.

One way God redeems suffering

If Hunter Wallace did not have cerebral palsy, you would probably not know his name. Without Pharaoh, would we know of Moses? David had his Goliath, Daniel his lions, Paul his prisons, John his Patmos.

One way our Lord redeems suffering is by using it to show the world the power he provides in the midst of pain.

Rather than sparing Joseph from slavery and prison, God used his years in Egypt to save the Jewish race. Rather than keeping Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery furnace, God protected them in its flames.

Rather than removing Paul’s “thorn in the flesh,” God taught him to “boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Corinthians 12:9). Rather than transporting John from Patmos, Jesus visited his beloved disciple on his prison island and gave him the book of Revelation.  

How to “please the Lord” today

When we face sickness, we should ask God for healing (James 5:14). When believers are imprisoned for their faith, we should pray for their release (cf. Acts 12:5). Whatever our challenges, we should ask God for help (Matthew 7:7).

Sometimes God redeems suffering by removing it. Jesus healed the sick and raised the dead; God freed Peter from Herod’s prison (Acts 12) and Paul from his Philippian jail (Acts 16).

At other times, he redeems our suffering by sustaining us in it.

If God has not yet removed your “thorn in the flesh,” look for reasons why. Look for lessons he is teaching you and ways he is glorifying himself through your courageous faith.

You may not understand this side of glory all that God is doing with your pain (1 Corinthians 13:12). But we know that our Father loves us as much as if we and our circumstances were perfect (1 John 4:8). We know that he is glorified in our rebel-occupied world when we trust him in hard places.

And we know that he is greatly pleased if we trust him when we do not understand him.  

In the same psalm where David cried out to God in desperation, he later testified: “I will praise the name of God with a song; I will magnify him with thanksgiving. This will please the Lord more than an ox or a bull with horns and hoofs” (Psalm 69:30–31).

How can you please the Lord today?

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Why did this high school wrestler’s video go viral?

Hunter Wallace is a wrestler at Northwest High School in Justin, a suburb of Fort Worth, Texas. He didn’t win a single match this year, but he is the captain of his team. His coach explains why: “Hunter’s one of those kids that leads by example. He’s always positive. I’ve never heard the kid complain.”

Hunter also has cerebral palsy.

As the reporter who told his story says, Hunter has “an upper body built like an ox, but wobbly legs.” Nonetheless, he wanted to do squats to get stronger. A video of his workout went viral.

Hunter explains: “You got the right mentality, heart, and God in front of you, nothing will stop you. You just gotta push through it.” He adds: “I’m just like a normal person. God made me who I am.”

“Enemy-occupied territory”

Affliction finds us all.

World leaders and citizens from more than thirty countries are mourning the loss of 157 people who died when their Ethiopian Airlines jet crashed yesterday morning. The victims included at least thirty-two Kenyans, eighteen Canadians, nine each from Ethiopia and France, eight each from the US, China, and Italy, and seven from the UK.

Meanwhile, the Islamic State is losing its last territorial foothold, but terrorism experts believe that jihadis will continue their activities around the world. In related news, the Wall Street Journal reports that Osama bin Laden’s son, Hamza, is an emerging leader in al Qaeda. According to the State Department, he has been calling on followers to carry out attacks on the US and has been declared a Specially Designated Global Terrorist.

C. S. Lewis explained the reason for the adversity we face every day: “This is a civil war, a rebellion, and . . . we are living in a part of the universe occupied by the rebel. Enemy-occupied territory—that is what this world is.”

The good news is that, like Hunter Wallace, when we trust God in our afflictions, our rebellious world takes note.

“The waters have come up to my neck”

David was so close to God that the Lord called him “a man after my heart” (Acts 13:22). Nonetheless, he began Psalm 69 with the cry, “Save me, O God! For the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold; I have come into deep waters, and the flood sweeps over me” (vv. 1–2).

His words are in Scripture because they tell our story as well.

When we read about Joseph’s innocent suffering (Genesis 39:19–20), or Elijah’s lonely despair (1 Kings 19:4), or Hosea’s marital pain (Hosea 3:1–3), those who face similar struggles know they are not alone.

Reading through the book of Job, I was struck by this remarkable phrase: God “delivers the afflicted by their affliction” (Job 36:15). The text does not say that God delivers the afflicted “out of” their affliction, but “by” it.

Paul agreed. In Romans 8, the apostle cited grave threats facing believers: tribulation, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, danger, and sword (v. 35). Then he declared: “In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us” (v. 37). We are conquerors in our challenges, not despite them.

One way God redeems suffering

If Hunter Wallace did not have cerebral palsy, you would probably not know his name. Without Pharaoh, would we know of Moses? David had his Goliath, Daniel his lions, Paul his prisons, John his Patmos.

One way our Lord redeems suffering is by using it to show the world the power he provides in the midst of pain.

Rather than sparing Joseph from slavery and prison, God used his years in Egypt to save the Jewish race. Rather than keeping Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery furnace, God protected them in its flames.

Rather than removing Paul’s “thorn in the flesh,” God taught him to “boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Corinthians 12:9). Rather than transporting John from Patmos, Jesus visited his beloved disciple on his prison island and gave him the book of Revelation.  

How to “please the Lord” today

When we face sickness, we should ask God for healing (James 5:14). When believers are imprisoned for their faith, we should pray for their release (cf. Acts 12:5). Whatever our challenges, we should ask God for help (Matthew 7:7).

Sometimes God redeems suffering by removing it. Jesus healed the sick and raised the dead; God freed Peter from Herod’s prison (Acts 12) and Paul from his Philippian jail (Acts 16).

At other times, he redeems our suffering by sustaining us in it.

If God has not yet removed your “thorn in the flesh,” look for reasons why. Look for lessons he is teaching you and ways he is glorifying himself through your courageous faith.

You may not understand this side of glory all that God is doing with your pain (1 Corinthians 13:12). But we know that our Father loves us as much as if we and our circumstances were perfect (1 John 4:8). We know that he is glorified in our rebel-occupied world when we trust him in hard places.

And we know that he is greatly pleased if we trust him when we do not understand him.  

In the same psalm where David cried out to God in desperation, he later testified: “I will praise the name of God with a song; I will magnify him with thanksgiving. This will please the Lord more than an ox or a bull with horns and hoofs” (Psalm 69:30–31).

How can you please the Lord today?

The post Why did this high school wrestler’s video go viral? appeared first on Denison Forum.

source https://www.denisonforum.org/columns/daily-article/why-did-this-high-school-wrestlers-video-go-viral/