#and that there was barbed fucking wire sticking out of the ground

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

one day, im gonna sit down and write a poem about how after adopting a dog who spends 80% of his time sat in my lap, ive come to appreciate how difficult it is to do things without jostling him and how id never appreciated the gentleness of the stranger who had picked me up, held me and carried me home when i tore a chunk of flesh out of my leg at age 9 when i ran into barbed wire playing hide and seek tag, and how a man i didnt know had done everything he could not to jostle me as i clung to him, and just how difficult it must have been for him not to jostle me, and how he didnt need to be that gentle or to help me at all but when he was the first adult a different child could find and ask help from, he didnt hesitate to do everything he could, and how every time im trying to do anything without jostling archie, i think of him, and how anytime some piece of media tries to tell me that computers have figured out humans can only destroy, i cant take it seriously because with nothing to gain from it, he did everything he could to help a child who was hurting.

i just dont know how the fuck to put all of those feelings into coherent words because theres just so much feeling and emotion that goes into it, and because im always more critical of my work when its more optimistic or positive and how that definitely says something all by itself, but i still dont know how to word any of it.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

World of Trouble

Summary: Your Halloween costume leads to a punishment from the man himself...

Pairing: Saviors! Negan x f!reader

Tags: !NSFW! spanking, fingering, p in v penetration, (consensual) punishment sex, Negan being a cocky asshole, orgasm denial, praise kink, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, little bit of cum play ?

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: ok this fic is choppy, janky and just all over the place. I wrote it in a day and a half so it was a complete rush cause I want to get it out for Halloween so yeah, pls be kind

You thought it was funny.

After all, don’t people need a joke in times like this? Isn’t everything bleak enough? That was your reasoning when the idea initially popped into your head for the perfect apocalyptic Halloween costume.

Despite Negan being a man who loves to tell a joke, no matter how risqué or inappropriate the timing, you weren’t sure how Negan would react if he's the butt of one. 

Ever since late August, you had been wavering on the idea. Some nights you were adamant that your choice in Halloween costume would end in you being bound to the fence alongside the dead. 

In the midst of your internal debate, while out on a run, you came across the ultimate sign that set aside your indecision. 

A leather jacket.

It wasn’t an exact replica of Negan’s and it hung loosely on your frame but it was the push you needed. You already had a white t-shirt in your limited closet and you’d pay the few points needed for some black jeans. 

A red scarf was harder to come across but most definitely a necessary piece. Ever since the leaves began to fall off the trees surrounding the Sanctuary, Negan’s red scarf has been making an appearance, tucked neatly in by the collar of his leather jacket.

You had to be inventive, scavenging an old sweater and cutting it up to create a makeshift scarf that at least remotely resembled the original.

And finally, the pièce de résistance. Your trusty companion. Your very own, bootleg Lucille. 

Thankfully barbed wire wasn’t the problem. In the Sanctuary, something like that can be found stored in at least half of the supply closets, hoarded away for the fence or in case the real Lucille needs a quick spruce up.

The real issue was a baseball bat. It wasn’t as if the Saviors were regularly raiding school gyms or stadiums, and so there was hardly any sports equipment for you to choose from.

It was a struggle and eventually, you ended up with a hockey stick that some Savior decided to put into the armoury.

It wasn’t Lucille but hell, it’d have to do.

Everything was ready. You even found some long expired brown eyeshadow and decided to dab some on the bottom of your face so it looks like you have a beard. And so your look was complete, possibly the very first costume to ever exist of your fearsome leader.

And how long did it last?

40 minutes. It didn’t even take a full hour of you strutting around before word got back to Negan. 

When you imagined the impending confrontation, you assumed it would be a lieutenant telling you off as Negan spewed insults over a walkie talkie.

It’s only now, when you hear the low grating noise of Lucille dragging along the ground, growing nearer and nearer, do you realise you won’t be getting off so easily. 

Slowly turning, you bring your hockey stick decorated in barbed wire up to your shoulder, mirroring a pose you’ve seen him do plenty of times.

“Well, ho-ly shit! I don’t know whether I should be smug or freaked the fuck out!” he declares, his gaze wandering down your outfit “you’ve really out done yourself this time, doll”.

You shrug, hoping that if you seem casual about this then he’ll let it slide. “It’s Halloween” you say bluntly, hoping that’s the only excuse you need. 

Some Saviors linger around you both, a mixture of excitement and anticipation radiating from them at your Negan costume and Negan's ambiguous reaction.

“And you thought the creepiest thing you could dress up as is me?” he narrows his eyes at you, subconsciously mimicking your own pose as he lifts Lucille up onto his shoulder. 

You open your mouth to respond but no words come out, a slight sense of dread setting in. A beat of tense silence hangs in the air, thick and charged, as if the whole Sanctuary is holding its breath. 

A deep chuckle cuts through the silence as Negan clasps a hand on your free shoulder. 

“Well, fuck me, I am honored!” he beams “you even smeared some shit on your face so ya look like you got a beard! Now that’s the kind of dedication I like to see from you sorry fucks!”.

He steps away from you, letting his hand drop off of your shoulder as he raises his voice, making sure the others hear.

Relief washes over you. You could feel the tension draining from your muscles at his approval. 

“I love it,” Negan says, his voice growing serious again “but Lucille? Now Lucille here isn’t a big fan of copy cats and that limp dick excuse of a Lucille you got hanging over your shoulder? That shit just makes her see red”.

Any warmth in Negan’s eyes fade. His brows knit together as his mouth becomes a hard line, replacing any sense of humor. “And she thinks this is worthy of a punishment” he adds.

Fuck. 

Negan doesn’t wait around for your reaction, turning on his heels as he barks for you to follow. You do so hesitantly, knowing there’s nowhere to run and that this is something you’ll unfortunately have to face head on.

This isn’t the first time you’ve done something daring while living in the Sanctuary. Although, this is the first time you’ve seen him genuinely annoyed. 

Usually Negan has always appreciated your boldness, especially when most of the Sanctuary’s residents are too scared to even look him in the eye. In the past, you’ve tried to poke and prod at Negan’s authority by complaining about sanitary products costing points or the lack of blankets available to the workers during Winter. 

Grimacing to yourself as you follow behind him, you wonder if you’ve finally taken it too far.

Marching up the flights of stairs to his private quarters, you try to ignore the confused looks of others as two Negan's pass them by. 

Despite knowing you’re in for a world of trouble, a small smirk tugs at your lips, glad to have brought some sense of silly excitement to the Sanctuary.

You try not to show your shock as he brings you to his bedroom, making sure the door is locked behind you. You only take a few steps into the room before you stop and simply loiter there, watching as Negan sets Lucille down by the doorway to the ensuite before going inside. 

“Y’know there are no actual rules about impersonating so I don’t think you have the grounds to punish me” you attempt to defend yourself, setting your fake Lucille against the wall.

“Talking back won’t help your case,” Negan calls out.

You scoff out a laugh as you get distracted by his room. A part of you can’t help but wonder why a man like Negan would want half the things that litter the area: trophies from other people’s past glory, a vase, a houseplant.

“Yeah well, it’s just some fun, it’s—“ suddenly Negan’s there, right next to you with his gloved hand too close for comfort.

He cups your face, squishing your cheeks together as his other hand brings a wet cloth to your face.

“And get that shit off your face,” he does the job for you “my beard ain’t that fuckin’ bad”.

You stay quiet, not wanting the embarrassment of trying to speak with your cheeks squished and a cloth rubbing at your face.

Once he’s satisfied your face is clean, he simply drops the cloth to the floor. Negan looks down at your attire “Well hot damn, good news is my style is incredibly sexy… but no matter how hot you look, thanks to me, you know I can’t let your shit slide anymore, sweetheart”.

You frown, a challenging look in your eyes.

“I’m serious, you’re pissing off too many Saviors with the shit you pull,” he yanks off his scarf, letting it land on the couch “and now, with this, you’ve forced my hand”. 

Next, Negan takes off his leather jacket, inadvertently showing off some tattoos as he delicately places it on the back of his armchair. 

“You know I gotta give you some kinda punishment… but that don’t mean it can’t be enjoyable for the both of us” he continues.

The smirk on his face says it all. 

And just like that, it all makes sense. Of course he would bring you up to his bedroom and not to the cells when this is what he has in mind.

You shrug, some of your spirit returning in the form of a playful smirk “What? You gonna spank me?”.

“You want me to?” He unbuckles his belt and slowly pulls it through the loops of his jeans, the material hissing as it moves. 

Negan has never been a man to bluff.

You try to act nonchalant but you can feel your cheeks heating up. “Maybe,” you play it coy “will you iron off half my face even if I say yes?”.

Now it’s Negan’s turn to shrug. “That depends, this a trick or a treat?” he asks.

Normally you’re not this bold. Maybe leather jackets give people unlimited confidence? That seems to be the only solution as you walk over to his couch and place both hands on the armrest. You bend forward just enough for Negan to see your intent.

You glance back over your shoulder, your eyelids at half mast as you throw him a sultry look. Negan keeps his eyes locked on to yours, his boots heavy on the floorboards as he walks up behind you.

The leather of his glove growls as he places his hand on the centre of your back and pushes you down further. 

There’s no point in ignoring how your pussy throbs as he makes sure your head is against the couch cushions and your ass is up in the air, the armrest providing the perfect support.

“That's what I thought“ Negan praises, his hand slowly making its way down to your ass. 

“And I thought I was getting punished, not a yoga class” you goad.

Negan doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t even wait or let the anticipation of his response build. He goes straight for it, smacking your backside hard enough to leave a handprint. 

A gasp leaves your lips, the sensation more stingy than it is painful. You have little time to prepare yourself as Negan wraps his belt around his hand.

“Just relax, baby,” he instructs softly, his tone in complete contradiction to his actions “and be grateful I’m letting ya keep your jeans on… for now”. 

Despite your thin layer of clothes acting as a barrier, the belt bites into your flesh. The sound of the belt whistles through the air before meeting your ass with a sharp crack. He does it over and over again, alternating between cheeks. 

You hiss at the sudden heat, your body clenching as the pain morphs into a dark, intoxicating pleasure.

“Well, damn!” Negan exclaims approvingly, momentarily stopping “you’re taking this like a trooper, ain’t ya?”. 

He pauses and you wonder if he’s waiting for a response. You swallow, your throat dry from the amount of gasps you’ve let out in such a short span of time. 

But before you can answer, you feel it. Not the belt. Not his hand delivering another slap. This time, it’s him; proud and unabashed as he brings his clothed crotch right against your ass. 

Suddenly, the belt didn’t seem too hard.

“I think it’s about time I see my work of art” he declares, pressing his hips forward to make sure you feel his entrapped boner.

For a man so brutal, Negan’s touch is gentle as his fingers glide around the waistband of your jeans. He lets his touch linger there for a few moments, waiting for your sign of approval. 

You’re well aware of Negan’s ego and how he wants to know just how badly you need him. He yearns to see that raw desire. As much as you want to banter back at him again, your brain fogs with need and you push back against him, your sore ass rubbing against his bulge.

He responses with a grunt as his hands slowly leave your waistband, too distracted to continue. Negan has something else in mind as he gives a slight tug of your hair, gesturing for you to stand upright.

You don’t even have time to turn to face him, your ass still snug against the tent in his pants as he roughly pulls you in for a bruising kiss.

His hand fists your hair, holding you in place as he devours you. Desperately trying to keep up, your breaths come out in short, sharp pants between desperate kisses.

Negan keeps his hand in your hair, using it to manoeuvre you away from his couch and over to the bed. The only time he takes his hands off of you is when the back of your legs hit against the soft bedsheets. 

The second you’re able, you take off your leather jacket, watching Negan follow suit as he begins shedding his clothes.

Your jeans are the worst to take off, the rough denim scratching it’s way across your sensitive backside as you quickly discard it. Once you get to your bra and panties, you stop, wanting Negan to take off the rest.

Negan doesn’t have the same sense of modesty as you, not stopping until he’s completely bare. Sitting back on the bed, you bite your lower lip and shamelessly dart your eyes across his body. 

The dark curls that cover his chest, the tattoos that scatter across his body, the happy trail of body hair that lead you lower, to where he stands erect and proud.

You gulp.

Negan joins you, kneeling on the bed in front of your body as he studies you. With a hum, he shakes his head. “No, this won’t do,” he tuts.

As the words hit you, a wave of self-consciousness washes over you. Whatever excitement that was evident in your face slowly drops away and you do nothing but blink up at him, waiting for Negan to continue.

“Yeah, I’m gonna want to fuck you in the leather jacket,” he elaborates “now that would be hot as all hell and I ain’t letting that jacket go to waste on my bedroom floor”.

You rolls your eyes as you let out a breath. “You fucking asshole” you huff, well aware that Negan was being vague on purpose just to toy with you. 

He chuckles, unable to deny your accusation. “Careful baby, you start insulting me like that and you’ll be getting another spankin” he threatens playfully, though you know he’s being serious. 

Negan leans down, almost hovering over you as his hands gently touch your bra straps. 

“But first, you got more layers to shed” Negan lets each strap fall to your arms before his fingers deftly work the clasp of your bra, the metal giving way easily. 

Without looking where it lands, Negan lets your bra drop to the side. You feel utterly exposed to his hungry gaze, watching as he drinks in the sight of you. 

A groan leaves him as he reaches out, his calloused hands gently cupping the weight of your tits. His thumbs brush over your pert nipples, making your squirm at the contact. 

“You going to play with my titties all day?” You question, hoping to spur him into action.

“It’s a punishment, doll,” he reminds you, bending to the side to pick up your leather jacket “if I decide all I want to do is stare and watch you finger that sweet little pussy till it’s raw, then that’s what’ll happen”.

“And is that what you want?” You ask, trying to maintain any self control you have. Part of you would actually apologize for your costume if it means getting his dick closer to your pussy.

“Nah, I want you to sit back and really think about what you did,” giving the jacket a quick shake, he spreads it out over your shoulder “think you can do that for me, darlin?”.

Making sure the jacket is secure over your shoulders, you adjust it to make sure your tits are still in view. “I guess I could try” you reply in a flirtatious tone, scooting back against the pillows.

“On the bright side, even though this is a punishment, I’m still a fuckin’ gentleman,” he says with a proud grin. 

You're quick to notice how his hands inch up past your thighs and towards your panties. Hooking a finger underneath them, Negan gives a slight tug “So I’m gonna need to loosen you up before I fuck you senseless”.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you gently lift your hips. That cocky smile never leaves his face as Negan slowly drags your panties down your legs. In an instant, they’re gone from view and end up on the floor alongside the rest of your clothes.

Negan’s eyes lock onto your core, unable to help himself as he reaches out and parts your folds.

“Fuck, you’re that wet already?” he says it like a question despite the answer being on his fingertips. You bite your lip as his fingers brush against your wet, swollen flesh. 

With a groan, Negan plunges two fingers into your warmth, scissoring them apart to stretch you out. You moan out, your back arching as he sets a steady pace. 

“Y-yes,” you gasp out when the pad of his thumb finds your clit “keep doing that!”.

Negan curls his fingers upward, targeting your g-spot. The look on his face is like a kid at Christmas, completely elated to have his fingers deep in your pussy.

He adds a third finger, pumping them in and out of you, listening to your moans and gasps to gauge how close you are. Leaning down, Negan meets your arched body and nips at your breasts.

His mouth brushes against your skin as he tuts “C’mon now, don’t tell me you’re about to cum already!”.

You nod frantically, hands clutching at the bedsheets “Yeah, yeah I’m ready, I’m gonna—“.

Negan chuckles darkly and before you can reach your high, his fingers slow their pace.

“Oh, I don't know about that," he pulls his fingers out abruptly and gives your clit a light tap with them "you haven't earned that privilege yet, baby". 

Your mind is in a haze as he licks his fingers clean, tasting you. It takes a few moments for your brain to compute what he’s denying you. 

“I…” you begin but you trail off, your throbbing pussy begging for release “Negan, please, I— I get it, ok?”.

His smile softens slightly and if anything, it only makes you more wet. “I know you get it now,” he agrees, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek “maybe, sweetheart, just maybe… if you beg nice enough, I'll let you cum on my cock instead”.

You take his words as a challenge. Throwing out all sense of pride, you babble on “Please! Y-yeah I just, I need you inside of me, please Negan, I’ll be good”.

Every word goes straight to his dick. 

Negan takes a moment to truly savour the sight of you begging and writhing under him, knowing this is some top notch jerking material he can use at a later date. 

"Now that’s what I like to hear" he praises, positioning himself between your thighs. He grips your hips and thrusts into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely.  

Even though the sudden stretch and fullness makes you feel breathless, you practically shout out “Negan!". 

He pauses but only for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. “Shhhhhhh,” he coos, his tone bordering on patronising “best be quiet before you wake up the wives, I’d hate to make those gals jealous”.

With a low groan, Negan begins to move, pulling back almost to the point of withdrawal before slamming into you once more. The leather jacket beneath you squeaks, each thrust pushing you further up the bed.

You can feel every inch of him, the primal yearning to cum on his cock sounding more and more appealing. Negan’s chest heaves as he labors over you, his body glistening as he works up a fine sheen of sweat. 

He doesn’t know where to look. His eyes dart everywhere, trying to take in each part of your body. Negan watches your face, the desperation to cum etched into each expression. Of course he watches your tits too, seeing them jiggle with each thrust he gives you. 

But his favourite part to watch is how well you‘re taking him. To see how your pussy welcomes each inch, letting him go flush against you every single time.

Bringing his gaze back up to your eyes, he pistons into you. “You’re close, I can feel it” he says with a clenched jaw, trying to hold off. 

“Please!” is the first word out your mouth followed quickly by a gasp as Negan goes for your clit again. His thumb rubs firm circles around the sensitive nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

You inner walls clench desperately around his cock and before you know it, everything crashes around you as you finally cum.

It’s as if your whole world blurs together and all you can focus on is his cock deep inside of you. 

Your pussy spasms violently around him, your vision whiting out as you moan loudly. Negan wants nothing more than to feel your sweet pussy throb around him but he knows he can’t hold off any longer. 

He quickly pulls out and thrusts into his hand to finish. His cock glistens with your juices before Negan unloads a thick load right onto your tits. 

You both pant, taking a brief moment to come down from your respective highs.

“Look at those beautiful titties,” Negan breaks the silence, admiring his handiwork “just when I thought they couldn’t look any better”.

Gently bringing a hand up, you run your finger along one of the lines he’s painted. “If I knew this is what the punishment would be, I would’ve pissed you off a lot sooner” you say breathlessly.

Negan hums as he flops down beside you, his eyes glued to how your fingertips play with his load. 

“Maybe you should’ve,” he replies “or maybe this is a sign that we should have some fun like this more often”.

You bite back your smile “Maybe it’s both?”.

“But y’know I can’t really just be going around screwing anybody and everybody,” he continues, making you pause, unsure where this is going “it’s bad for the image, y’know?”.

Your expression doesn’t change.

Negan takes in your confused look, trying to put the pieces together for you. “I mean, I don’t think the wives would appreciate me screwing around… unless, of course, I was screwing around with another wife…”.

“Oh”.

That’s all you feel as though you can say. A part of you immediately tries to rationalise this, trying to convince yourself that you’ve got the wrong end of the stick here. 

“Goddamn, did I really fuck you that hard?” Negan laughs “I’m asking you to marry me, baby, you should be jumping for joy right now!”.

You sigh, bringing your non-sticky hand up to your face “Negan…”.

“Negan, yes?”.

“Negan, I’m covered in your jizz and you’re seriously asking me this?! Now?!?” You exclaim. 

He stops for a moment, taking in your words. “Huh, ok, good point,” Negan grunts as he gets up, giving you a great view of his ass “I’ll go get some towels and you think about it, yeah?”.

Before you have time to reply, he’s walking into his ensuite “And I want an answer when I come back!”. He disappears into the adjoined room, turning on the light.

You lay back, allowing the pillows to practically consume you. The thought passes through your mind if only for a split second.

It wouldn’t be that bad to be yet another wife, would it? All you’d have to do is look pretty and have good sex… and never socialise with anyone else… and only be seen as one of his wives and nothing more.

You close your eyes, hoping that would prolong the impending decision.

Letting out a long sigh, you curse “Fuck”.

[karlachismylife]

And We Just Disagree

CW: gn!reader, hurt/comfort, mentions of arguments (no actual fighting written), reader is having bad feelings, but it's a good ending, smoking.

(Title from "We Just Disagree" by Dave Mason)

Having arguments is always hard. No matter the point of disagreement, no matter how big or small, loud or quiet, they always leave you miserable whenever you fail to find a compromise or convince someone to accept your point of view. Every fight strips all your defences clean off, right to the bare, hurting periosteum, scraped with the harsh blade of someone's animosity.

You'd rather never argue at all, but there are times where you can't just accept whatever you're given. You're not afraid to stand your ground.

But God, it never gets less exhausting. Especially with Simon.

You don't fight often, and whenever you do, you find a solution sooner or later. After sliding through the loops of the barbed wire he surrounded his six-layer walls, you found that he wasn't as bad with disagreements as one could think. He never yells, never lets offensive words spill from his lips - whenever he says something harsh, he's just beng honest. Maybe you'd preferred a little more sugarcoating, but you didn't choose this man for being easy to deal with.

Maybe that's why having actual fights with him hurts so fucking much. Because you want to be as gentle and accepting with him as possible and you know the wish is mutual, but sometimes you just bloody can't.

That's when you find yourself feeling vulnerable and unsafe in your own apartment. As if every time you lose Simon's unconditional support for whatever reason, you lose your home entirely. He stops whatever discussion you were having, pinches nis nosebridge, blond eyebrows painfully furrowed, and throws a gruff "I need a smoke" your way before slipping away to the balcony.

Outside the apartment door to smoke at the communal staircase, if he needs more time.

Going out for a whole circle around the apartment building - once, when you honestly thought you might break up over the issue.

Today is a balcony day. It's a slight consolation, but it fails to reach you as you curl up in a ball of gloom and misery on the living room couch - the balcony is in the bedroom - and feel your fingers get cold and unpleasant nausea rising somewhat up to your solar plexus. Not all the way to the throat, but it isn't any less irritating; your body knows something wrong and tries to tell you.

Stupid body that doesn't understand it's not an issue you can just resolve by puking a poisonous fruit out or cuddling up to the members of your pack for warmth. A genius and yet such a useless evolutionary mechanism.

The balcony door closes with an echo that makes you uncomfortable. Simon walks silently, a literal Ghost no matter the size, every creaking floorboard memorized without even trying, but you notice his shadow in the corner of your eye and feel the couch dip heavily underneath his mass.

He brought cigarette smell - a tangy clove aftertaste of an expensive, fashionably black cancer stick - and outside's coolness to the living room. It's the only familiar thing about a man that feels no closer than a stranger in your depressed post-fight misery pit.

"Lookin' good, love." His voice startles you, not because you weren't expecting to hear him speak, but because it sounds exactly like that - like a stranger just coming up to have a chat and hopefully learn your name, phone number and relationship status.

"You're not so bad yourself, I suppose." Your answer is a bit distant, but you accept the game. If it's strangers he wants to play, you'll be a stranger. No one said you have to be a convincing one. "I like you."

"I like your eyes," Simon retorts immediately, a small movement indicating he's turned his body towards you in an invitation. "Even when they're sad."

A tired sigh. You're tired. Your eyes are tired. Your body and mind are tired.

"I don't want to be sad. Not when I'm with you."

"I want to make you happy, then, love." He's being sincere. Just a lad offering something so simple and yet dsirable to someone he took a shine to.

Can he make you happy right now?

"I want to kiss you." It's not the solution to all problems, you know that, and yet you out your wish since it'll probably make the pathetic feeling of your own smallness go away.

"I want to kiss you too."

You finally turn to him, offering him to drown in your upset eyes, and Simon meets your gaze with the same solemn expression, a sad frown on his face right up until his big hand - smells uniquely like a hand of a man who just had a smoke - cups your face and pulls you in for a short, soft, shallow kiss.

Your stranger's kiss.

"Let's talk about it again, lovie," he whispers, resting his forehead against yours and brushing his thumb along your jawline reverently. "'M not gonna talk until ya say everything ya want, a'right? Will listen. We can resolve this, I know we can."

He's right. And he's there for you, so you can be there for him too. You clutch his loose T-shirt right under his collar and sigh, looking down as you feel warmth seeping back into your body reluctantly.

"Wanna kiss a few more. Then talk."

This is definitely not something Simon will ever argue against.

[n3g5nx]

Negan x Reader drabble/oneshot

Bigmouth Strikes Again (The Smiths)

lyric based fic

/ suggestive at times but not smut, takes place mostly during the line-up, first person "I/me", gender ambiguous

The air was thick with tension and primal fear. Everyone sat as quiet as possible, knees dug into the dirt, as a man with a baseball bat, Negan, sauntered down the line. Time seemed to stand still when he stopped in front of me, his tall form looming inches away. I was frozen, heartbeat accelerating as a tight lump formed in my throat. Was this the end?

"Well, damn, aren't you an unexpected treat?" He drawled, slinging the bat over his shoulder. "Shame we have to meet under these circumstances because, shit, you are hot."

My face contorts in disgust, nose wrinkling at the blunt flirtation. Sure, he may be attractive, but this man was a goddamn freak. "I'll smash every tooth in your head." I spat out despite the fear.

Negan chuckled, the amused sound echoing through the intense atmosphere. "I like this one, Rick. Can I keep 'em?" His grin spread as he casually addressed the groups leader. "Like a trade for all my men you killed. Maybe I won't have to kill any of you."

Rick looked terrified, sitting in silence with his mouth slightly ajar. The nature of the situation was surreal, the fate of my life suddenly dangling by a thread. Would he kill me if I didn't go with him? If not me, then who? I gulped hard, considering his words carefully.

"I'll go with you." I finally said in a rush, receiving worried glances from the rest of the group. "If you don't kill any of them. Please." My voice was trembling now, but I stayed determined as I met his cold gaze.

Negan started pacing around the line-up, training his index and his tumble down his jawline like he was thinking. "Or," he started after a moment, "I do both."

A chill ran down my spine, fear and rage welling up inside me. "Fuck you."

"Is that an invitation?" He smirked, looking back at me with raised eyebrows and a lecherous tone that made my stomach churn.

I inhaled sharply, trying to come up with something as Negan approached me again, using the end up his bat to tilt my head up. I was acutely aware of how dangerously close the barbed wire was to my face as I looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Yes. It is." I finally say, my voice as calm as I can manage, "but only if no one dies."

Negan's expression shifted, a fire lit in his dark eyes. Slinging the bat over his shoulder, he crouched down and grabbed my face with his one gloved hand. I kept steady, looking intently into his eyes with a steeled expression. Whatever I had to do, as long as my friends were okay, it would be worth it. Anything.

"Shit, sweetheart, you drive a hard fucking bargain." He practically purred, swiping his tongue along his bottom lip as he pondered my words.

He glanced at the others, all of them with their heads hung low and eyes glued to the ground. I could feel every droplet of sweat on the back of my neck, my hair sticking tightly to my skin. After what felt like an eternity, Negan dropped my face and stood up.

His lips curled into a sinister grin as he clasped his hands together. "Alright, you've got yourself a deal." He declared with a jovial voice, keeping his burning gaze on me. "But anyone acts up, you act up, and someone's going to die. Got it?"

I nodded quickly, the horror of the situation settling down on me like a pit in my stomach. I was effectively selling myself out to the sicko who's threatening me and everyone I care about.

"By all rights," I mumbled to myself, shifting my gaze to the ground, "You should be bludgeoned in your bed."

Negan chuckled, seemingly hearing my quip. "You are so damn feisty. I like it."

I don't know how long it took, but something inside of me was actually drawn to Negan. I felt a twinge of shame as I lay in his silken bed, head resting against his bare chest as he gripped my shoulder possessively. I could feel each rise and fall of his chest, the rhythm slowly lulling me into a state somewhere between sleep.

"So, sweetness, you still plan on smashing my teeth in?" He said in a low, husky voice.

"Sweetness," I mirrored back at him with a sarcastic smirk, "I was only joking."

[mxehmzari]

Tolerate it

“ While you were out building other worlds, where was I? Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire? I made you my temple, my mural, my sky Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life.”

༉‧₊˚. Warnings : none?

༊*·˚ Tags : oneshot, angst?, Sebastian, black butler, Kuroshitsuji, gender-neutral reader, not proofread

Note : A fanfic I wrote instead of studying, inspired by Tolerate it by Taylor Swift. It's my first time writing a fic and English is not my first language, so please bear with me.

As I watch him run his hands through his hair, grumbling about the conversation that we just had a few whiles back, it was obvious that he was upset. Mad even.

Where did this squabble even start? As far as I can recall, he came home again today at an ungodly pleasing time, being tired and pent-up about this reoccurring habit, I have finally spoken up about it.

Which he did not appreciate, not even one bit.

We used to handle disagreements so well, well…used too as time goes by, came with hurdles between us that shaken our bond. This makes me ponder, was there ever a bond in the first place?

“ What do you want me to do about it?”

Was all of this even worth it? Can this even be salvaged? All of this is coming down on to me, rethinking all the times he's been like this. Refusing to make amends. Refusing to take fault. To communicate.

“ I don't know. What do you want? “

Sebastian does not like it when I talk back. In every 'misunderstandings' that we have, he always makes it seem like everything was my fault. That I was to blame.

“ You wanted this. “ I did? I wanted this?

“ I never asked for this. I never asked for your absence, for your lack of affection. I never asked for neglect! “

With every word that comes out of my mouth, I hold myself back from raising my voice, for I know that it would only make things worse.

“ I do not know what you're talking about. I have given you everything you wanted, everything you've wished for. What else do you want?”

What else do I want? You. I want you. Though I can not say that aloud for my pride is holding me down. To add context, Sebastian has been out a lot these past few weeks. I understand it, I really do. Being a butler is no easy job, but you see. . . On his days off, he'd rather stay out than return, or sometimes he'd rather not go back home at all. I miss him, and for him to act as if it does not affect him one bit answers my debate.

“ I can't do this anymore.” I leave my place and enter my, our bedroom and grabbed a bag. I started packing my clothes and all of my other essentials, while he just stands there in disbelief.

“ You can't do what exactly? “ Unlike before, his voice and tone was less sharp and harsh.

“ Sebastian, I can't continue living like this anymore. We agreed on sticking on each other's side, and you go on leaving me all alone in this damn house. You don't even bother on coming home, either.”

I stood up, zipping my bag, it was full to the brim. Stepping out of the room, I gather as much courage, looking at this damn demon's eyes. God. I miss him. I miss him, but this is too much. It's getting too painful.

“ Sebastian. I think. . . This is for the best.”

“ Do what your heart desires. Leave.”

He remained stoic. Does it hurt him as much as it hurts me? Does he really not want this in the first place? Was I a fool into thinking that loving a demon would actually be alright? He's a demon, for fuck's sake! Was he just tolerating me? I barely even knew who he was, but I was contented. I was contented with what we have. What he had. I did not love him less.

“ I wish you well, Sebastian. Take care.” I try my hardest to not break down on the spot, to not run back to his arms and sob, to not hysterically cry on the ground. I turned around and grabbed my bag.

He did not utter a word. As I stepped out, he closed the door and with a click the door was locked.

[mothspark]

The Town Critter

So in my short time of dabbling in the dpxdc community I’ve seen a bunch of AU’s as one does, but there’s one that I’ve never seen so imma write it here. Now I don’t know if this has actually been done and if I’ve never noticed, so if it has feel free to tell me! Anyways onto the actual AU.

TW: ⚠️Body Horror and Talk about death and Centipedes⚠️

Danny gets cursed into being 3/5 of a bug. What bug you may ask? A centipede.

The premise of the story is that in a major fight with a ghostly magic user, Danny gets cursed to become a creature that instills fear and disgust to the general public. Since a lot of things generally don’t scare most of Amity Parkers, the spell was desperately grasping for something that would bring terror and fear into the hearts of the living around them. It just so happened that a woman walking down the street and caught sight of a centipede. Not a millipede that you would see every once in while that was much smaller and more bearable, but a giant centipede that with one bite could create a new rouge for Phantom. The one that fuels the nightmares of many. And so the spell latched on to the form ans fear a centipede takes and creates.

The ghostly mage deciding not to stick around and find out, gets the hell out of doge and disappears before Danny can soup them. Getting ready to chase the stupid ghost before his parents or the GIW get them, he is stopped when a searing pain starts in his body. Eyes widening in panic, Danny though fuck it to the chuck it bucket and scrammed like the ghostly wizard. He didn’t want to be caught by either of the mentioned people either, and flew up high and kept flying, even as the pain started to rival the ever so brief but lasting eternity of pains the portal left him with. The wind whipping past his face as his body slowly morphs until he ends up crashing into a field, and while his core fought the spell, it still took a strong hold on him. As he slowly blinks, the black spots wavering in and out, he could feel how his body grew, his skin feeling too tight, his legs merging together to form a tail, the feeling of his spine popping out and covering the tail. He could feel each and every new leg as it cracked out and a slosh could be heard as if blood was leaking out and onto the ground. The feeling of his side ripping to accommodate the four new arms, something goey dripping down as if coating his arms and tail, slowly turning freezing cold as they hardened. His head felt as if it was splitting, everything to loud as his ears thinned and extended still staying in the same face. At one point he even felt himself detransform. And at last, he felt the pain at the very end spike as if two barbed pieces of wire had shredded through the new appendage, and suddenly the world was no more, even as voices neared.

As for the dpxdc part of it all? He landed in the Kents field.

So basically its like Clark 2.0 just a lot more blood and tears and a much bigger boy that’s very hard to hide. Imma just use bullet points from here.

When Martha and Johnathan go out to inspect what the hell the wracket was, the crying and moans of pain pulling on the poor old couples heart, fully expecting to have to put poor some animal out of its misery they sure weren’t ready for the sight to greet them

Danny in his cursed for is a combination of his two forms with skunk hair that covers two too bigs eyes the actual size of dinner plates, with half of one armored leg the size of Martha, safe to say their was almost no hiding him.

At first he was apprehensive when he woke up in their barn, cleaned as much as they could with hose and a sponge, but slowly they gained his trust.

The towns folk of Smallville were just as apprehensive, if not more so then the monster the Kents took in. But eventually they caved when one day a toddler that got lost was returned unharmed praising this giant half bug boy, calling him the next big hero, and how could they not except him?

When it started to get colder the ladies got together to make a giant six armed sweater for the their dear little critter, because he may not be the cutest but he sure was getting up there next to Pams little Pomeranian, and the men started to renovate the Kents “cellar” or the giant hole Danny had dug in his first days when he wanted to feel safe, under the house. They added additional heating and a latch hidden under the rug in the living room for when Danny wanted to get into the house without getting out of the “cellar”

Danny helps around the farm when he starts to feel better, reaching places that would need a ladder and joints that neither Kents had now a days, and doing some of the heavy lifting here and there

When the Supers finally come around for the holidays, Clark is instantly suspicious of the new “cellar”, but with a warning glare sent his way he put his hands up and just got settled in, no matter how much he wanted to investigate

Jon, though, didn’t seem to get the message and immediately went to explore the new space

Now obviously Danny had tunneled further down for the winter, branching out all the way to the actual little town. The occupants fine as long as the critter doesn’t burst the pipes again

So Jon only sees a warm basement with a bunch of tunnels leading to different places and wants to know where they go, and like any good Super uses his x-ray vision only to see this giant centipede human looking thing rounding the corner into the main tunnel

Danny, scared to move cause he got used to people just treating him like a lil kid, stars at the actual thirteen year old, fear clear as day, and could only cover his too long ears as the boy screamed

Jon rushing out, it met with the frantic Kent family asking whats wrong while Martha and John marches over shaking their heads and muttering

Danny is then introduced on the spot

I’ll reblog this with the art tmr! There’s more I want to add but imma stop for now

[lancearcherinrippedjeans]

Eternity - Chapter 9

*************

Is has been ALMOST A YEAR. WOW. So many of you have been waiting, here it is.

*************

Starring - Sawyer Holden, Veronica Rodriguez, Nova Jay, Kenny Omega, Adam Page, WARHORSE, The Young Bucks and many small appearances

Word Count - 6,076

Category - Angst, violence, small comedy bits, but this is a very "dark" chapter

Chapter 9/?

Summary - Full Gear has arrived. How will this rivalry end between Sawyer and Veronica? Their lives are about to change forever.

Warnings/Comments - There's so much violence and anger and NEGATIVITY in this chapter guys. Follow @adriii-omega

*************

ALLELITEWRESTLING- 

BREAKING NEWS : The finals to see who will be the new number one contender for Hikaru Shida’s women championship will now be decided in a Barbed Wire Death Match! The matchup of Sawyer Holden and Veronica Rodriguez will now be the MAIN EVENT of Full Gear this Sunday! 

Warhorse had been lifting in a gym near his home. Music blasting through his headphones, his mind was only on this last rep. The music quieted, meaning a notification had popped up. He sighed, before bending over to pick up his phone. His eyes largened, “Oh no… no. No!” He rolled his eyes, as he already saw tweets from the other AEW wrestlers picking sides. “I got to do something. They’re gonna to fucking get hurt!” He yelled in the gym, which he thanked God was pretty much empty. 

He clicked on Sawyer’s contact name and typed out a text- “I’m calling you in 30 minutes.” Warhorse saw she read it, and shut the phone off before he could see her response. He was determined to wonder what was going on through his friend’s heads, knowing that neither of them were thinking straight.

Sawyer responded to the text, before throwing her phone back down. She got back to her spot on the mat, near Lance Archer. She shouldn’t have any distractions, especially not the night before this huge match. She kept her eyes on the red spots tapped down on the punching bag. She kept going faster and even harder as Lance Archer shouted things at her, keeping the punching bag in place.

They had been training her for this match since the night after the brawl that she claims Veronica started. 

“Left! Right! Stomach!” Archer watched as Sawyer was definitely hitting the targets, but holding back on her strength. He pulled the punching bag away to where she couldn’t reach. 

“What the hell, Lance?” Lance put his hands on Sawyer’s shoulders, “Sawyer, you’re supposed to be my baby murderhawk. And you won’t murder shit if you don’t get your head in the game.” 

Sawyer opened her mouth to protest before he interrupted, “Close your eyes. I want you to think about the match.” Sawyer huffed, closing her eyes and crossing her arms.

“Now imagine, there’s exploding barbed wire all around you. There’s kendo sticks broken everywhere, thumbtacks all over the ground. And you and Veronica are standing face to face, you’re so close to winning that championship,” Sawyer visibly felt angrier, the thought of Veronica winning consuming her, when Lance slapped Sawyer one good time across the face, “And she once again slaps the taste out your mouth.”

Sawyer opens her mouth to yell at Lance before she realizes how angry Veronica made her, stooping that low, like they weren’t even equal anymore. Sawyer opened her eyes, throwing the boxing gloves off and turning back to the punching bag.

Lance held the bag in place as Sawyer delivered punches, this time not holding back. All Sawyer could see was Veronica’s sinister smirk, wanting to beat it off her face. Sawyer’s knuckles started to throb, ignoring it continuing to attack the bag.

The thought of Veronica standing tall at the end of the match made her lose it, causing the punching bag to rip open, sand falling everywhere. Sawyer didn’t even look surprised. She didn’t know how hard Veronica was training right now, but tomorrow, nothing would matter.

Sawyer didn’t want the championship opportunity. She wanted to humiliate Veronica, teach her a lesson. Hell, Sawyer wanted to end her best friend.

*************

 “To the soon to be champions of All Elite Wrestling!” Brandon Cutler raised his drink in one hand, while holding his camera in the other. “Introducing your soon to be tag team champions… The Young Bucks!” Matt and Nick did their signature pose, making Veronica roll her eyes with a chuckle. 

“Ooo me next!” Kenny rested his hand on Veronica’s waist, and with his free arm, flexed his bicep through his shirt. “Fine.” Brandon huffed. “The man who not only will win tomorrow, but go on to defeat Jon Moxley… the Cleaner… Kenny Omega!” The group applauded, as he made a couple faces at the camera.

“Introduce my girl,” he pointed at Veronica, making her grin. “How could we forget,” Cutler said, putting her in the frame, “The lovely, Veronica!”

Matt whistled, “Sawyer or Shida don’t stand a chance.” He smugged, while Nick draped his arm around her shoulder.

“You damn right they don’t!” Cutler screamed from the other side. She looked around in bliss, spacing out as the group joked around a bit. 

Nick nudged her, “You alright? You sort of zoned out on us.” The group turned their heads looking at her, “Yea. Everything is perfect. Just thinking how good we’re all gonna look with the gold tomorrow.” She raised her glass in the air, causing the rest to clink their root bears. 

Veronica stifled a yawn, and sipped on her drink slowly. She squeezed Kenny’s hand making him turn his attention to her, “I’m glad you’re here.” He whispered. She gave him a toothy grin as her heart began to flutter, “I am too. Tomorrow is our night.” He kissed the inside of her palm before setting it in his lap, and continuing his conversation with Nick about a recent video game he started playing. She only heard bits, as the only thing on her mind was not wanting to let down the people around her.

*************

Sawyer sat her phone up on her bathroom sink, just finishing her shower. Warhorse stared at her in silence, before speaking up, “I should be there.”

“Jake-“

“No! It’s true, I felt like I could have prevented this…COME ON A DEATH MATCH?! Whose brilliant idea was that?”

“Try Kenny Omega. You think I would trust myself with that idea?” Sawyer said, finishing drying her hair. He held his hands in defense, “I’m just saying Sawyer, Veronica has won more of these matches. I just don’t want you guys to actually hurt each other out there.”

“Jake, she’s hurt me more times I could count… but when she went against the script to embarrass me on national television, that’s when I knew she was putting that mop head, a championship, and this company over our friendship... I’ve accepted that I’m not getting my best friend back. And if that’s the case, I want her to be terrified of me.”

“Sawyer you don’t mean that,” Warhorse tried to reason with her, “It’s the heat of the moment. When you win and you’re celebrating, all you’re gonna want is Veronica there with you.”

“You can fly in, right? That’ll be enough.” Sawyer tried to say sarcastically, but Jake wasn’t amused. “I mean it, Sawyer. Be a good sport about it. Even if she won’t. Things may never be the same but that doesn’t mean to make the situation worse.”

Sawyer huffed, “Alright MOM. I’ll be a good sport. I guess you got a point.”

Warhorse smiled, “I know I do. Now! Get some rest, partying is the exact opposite of what you should be doing right now.” Sawyer groaned picking up the phone, “I will…but I would like to note that you said “WHEN” I win.” She cheekily grinned, making him groan.

“Oh my god! Goodnight Sawyer! I Love you.”

“Goodnight, Jake. Love you too.” Sawyer hung up, putting her phone on her nightstand. 

*************

Sawyer set her stuff in her locker room. Sighing to herself. So many interviewers, makeup artists, and stage hands came up to her in the fifteen minutes it took to find her door. She looked in the mirror, questioning herself, “Is this all worth it? For revenge? To prove I’m not below her?”

Looking in the mirror, she began to wonder who she had become. The old Sawyer never let her anger get the best of her, but now, she couldn’t even recognize who the new Sawyer was.  Her negative thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock, and before she could even answer, John Silver and Alex Reynolds walked in.

“There she is! The next number one contender!” Alex said, pulling Sawyer in for a hug. Sawyer clenched her teeth, trying to look as unannoyed as possible. “Hey you two! Silver, are you ready for your match?”

Silver put on a cocky smile, “Oh, you already know. Orange will never know what hit him, he’ll be like,” he cleared his throat, putting on a raspy and lazy voice, “Oh my god I can’t believe Silver beat me, I guess I should’ve gotten my hands out of my pockets.”

Alex laughed at Silver’s impression, while Sawyer cringed. Alex and John quickly noticed Sawyer wasn’t laughing, as they awkwardly quieted down. 

Alex put his hand on Sawyer’s shoulder, “Are you okay? You seem…off.” Sawyer shook her head, “I’m great. Just the fact that my best friend has put me through living hell and tonight I’m finally giving her a taste of her own medicine.”

John cheered, receiving a glare from Alex. John mumbled sorry before Sawyer continued, “I mean, this could’ve all been avoided. If she just didn’t slap me on national television. Like what the hell?”

The two men looked at each other then back at Sawyer, nervous looks forming on their faces. “Yeah…about that.” Alex said, scratching the back of his head, shuffling away from Sawyer. She arched her brow, when Silver blurted out, “We were trying to help you out, but we ended up pissing her off…” John cringed, “And we’re the reason she kinda slapped you.”

Sawyer sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “So my life is being risked in a Barbed Wire DEATHMATCH, because you wanted to make her cry?” 

“It was mainly John! He even called her a hoe!” Alex said, pointing at his tag partner. “Alex what the fuck!”

“JUST…get out. Please… before I kill both of you before the Buy-In even starts.” Sawyer said, grabbing her ring gear. 

Alex and John shuffled out the locker room, before Alex peeped in one last time, “You’re gonna do great, Sawyer. The Dark Order is all rooting for you.”

Sawyer smiled, hearing the door shut. Her mood became lighter, as she really did realize that she might have lost a good friend, she was making more along the way.

*************

The preshow had just begun to start. The few fans took their seats around the arena and began to cheer as the countdown to Full Gear was on. Hangman had just come from collecting his new and “improved” gear for tonight when he saw Veronica walking in. 

She looked stressed, her hair was tied up in a messy bun and her sweatpants sagged extra low. She honestly looked like she hadn’t had a good sleep in weeks. Seemingly to be in her own little world, not noticing any of her surroundings. “Thanks for making my gear, I bet it looks awesome!” She thanked the seamstress, before taking her items and beginning to head back. Hangman began to panic, holding his arm out while speaking before he got the chance to think. “I can’t wait to see it!” he shot. 

She jumped in surprise, “Oh…I didn’t know you were here,” she eyed him suspiciously, “Thanks though… and good luck tonight.” She tried to leave again, until he pulled her back. “Wait, no. You’re not just gonna leave me here again. Aren’t we going to talk about-”

“I don’t think there’s anything to discuss. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we all got shit going on right now. I’m not trying to be a distraction.” She spat at him with a bit of venom. It stung him a bit, making him loosen his grip. “You aren’t a distraction to me V! I just thought I finally had a friend around here.” Her eyes softened, but she shook her head with disbelief. “Why do you keep trying with me… haven’t I given you enough reasons not to trust me Adam? I’m no good for you.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me…” He said to her, “Just like you shouldn’t let Kenny keep making decisions for you.” Veronica looked at him in confusion. He chuckled at her expression, “Sweets, you gotta see what he’s doing to you.” He laughed. 

“You… you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This…” he pointed at her, “Has Kenny Omega and the Young Bucks written all over it. You’re their little group project.” He confessed. She clenched her fist to the side, and clicked her tongue. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Veronica responded. Hangman squinting at her, then at the bag in her hand, “Let me see your ring gear.”

“I don’t want to show you. You will have to wait like everyone else.” She pinned the bag behind her back, out of his reach. “Fine. You got me… is that free ice cream?” He pointed down the hall, making her whole body turn quicker than she could get the chance to react. He swiftly snatched the bag out of her hand, “Alright, let’s see…” He placed the bag nicely on a nearby table and began to unzip it. 

A smile formed, as he was in awe of the diamonds. He ran his hand down it, “Wow… Sandra really outdid herself with this one.” His hand stopped as his fingers got tangled, he looked over at her before pulling the jacket out. “TASSELS?”

“Would you be quiet!” She grabbed the jacket back from him, and put it nicely back in the bag. “Mind your business.”

“You have never worn tassels before. That’s new… kinda reminds me of a certain tag team, and those shorts are way… different from your usual baggy style.”

“Am I not allowed to try new things? My baggy pants, and hot tops are still there. I just wanted to spice it up for the pay per view tonight.” She smiled, “Plus… the tassels were a recommendation from Matt. It’s a one time thing.”

He scoffed at that, “He’s always recommending tassels to everyone… they couldn’t pay me enough to wear that shit.” She let out a small laugh before leaning in, “I think you could pull it off almost as good as them.” Veronica complimented with a smirk. “No, I’m okay… I’ll stick to my things, and you stick to… whatever that is.”

“I’m going to make you eat your words, Page.” She picked up her belongings, and made her way back to the locker room. He watched her go, and when she was gone he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Page let his head fall back on the wall behind him, and ran his fingers through his hair. Even after she put him through hell… she was back where she’s been since he met her. In his head. And with his match coming up in less than half an hour… he knew he was doomed.

*************

Nova waited for her cue to go out, which was a certain signal from Ricky and Brian Cage. Taz had come out, yelling at Cody and Darby on the mic. When Brian attacked Darby from behind, with Ricky following him after, she knew she was coming up soon. She watched as Brian threw Cody right into Ricky for a spear.

Right when they grabbed Darby, she ran out, pretending to get in between the two teams. The audience popped, Taz however, was screaming at the top of his lungs for her to move.

She went up to Ricky, pretending to lecture him.

“It looks like Nova and Ricky are having a bit of a disagreement here, Excalibur.” Tony Schiavone said, watching this all go down on the monitor. 

Nova “gave up”, throwing her hands in the air and turning towards Brian, who was holding up Darby by the back of the neck. They stared each other down, when Nova delivered a clean roundhouse kick, straight to the left side of Darby’s face. The crowd was shocked, but no one showed it more than Taz. 

Nova rolled out the ring, yelling at Brian to push Darby out. She dragged him over to the car, which he had made his entrance on, calling Ricky and Brian over. 

Brian hoisted Darby up, before powerbombing him onto the windshield. Nova and Ricky smirked, making their way up to the stage. Taz looked in disbelief, before holding his hand out to Nova.

She hesitated to put hers out, before she finally shook his hand, “Welcome to Team Taz.” He said, yelling at the camera guy to come closer.

“New Team Taz member! Nova Jay! The Supernova!”

Nova smirked, when Ricky grabbed her by the waist, kissing her passionately. They smiled at the camera before making their way backstage, Nova was finally noticed, and she was going to make sure everyone’s eyes stayed on her.

*************

Sawyer cracked her knuckles. Everything and everyone around her becoming quiet. Her earphones blasting. Her heart pounding. This was it. 

“Sawyer you’re on after this break!” Dustin Rhodes called from his monitor, “Go teach that bitch a lesson.” Sawyer handed her phone to Nova, who looked like she was about to vomit. “I’ll be fine.” Sawyer assured her friend, “This needs to be done.” 

“Why did it have to come to this though. Sure, you and Veronica have fought a hundred times before. But this is …” She stopped as she looked over and saw Veronica coming in. New ring gear on display, as she got rid of the baggy pants and went to new revealing shorts and a gorgeous rhinestone jacket with a picture on the back she couldn’t recognize, along white long tassels… it was hard to miss her. 

The wrestlers began to find any monitor they could, not wanting to miss a second of anything. Talking amongst themselves, placing bets. In awe of the reaction that the two had gotten in such a short amount of time. The crowd was awake, and ready for a fight.

“Knock ‘em dead baby! We’ll be here when you get back!” Chuck Taylor quickly yelled, making Sawyer turn just in time to catch him. She gave him a thumbs up, before she headed through the curtain.

Taylor glanced in Veronica’s direction feeling her stare already on him. He rolled his eyes at her before going to find a seat next to Trent and Orange.

 “Popcorn?” Trent offered as Chuck sat down. Orange lazily stuck some kernels in his mouth.

“I’m not sure what trick she has up her sleeve, but I don’t like it.” Chuck gestures toward Veronica who was beginning to warm up. “Her presence is enough to mess with your mind. Don’t worry about it, Sawyer is gonna WHOOP DAT ASS!” Trent said loudly, on purpose earning a scoff from behind them. The three turned around and were met with Kenny Omega and The Young Bucks. “You sure are biting off more than you can chew, Baretta.” Matt snarled. Orange looked between the two, lowering his glasses.

Trent spoke up again, “Matt, no matter how hard you try. She isn’t going to sleep. with you. You need to realize that. It’s starting to seem desperate at this point-”

“Choose your next words carefully, momma’s boy.” Kenny got in his face. “I wouldn’t let her name leave your mouth again, if I were you.” Trent bit the inside of his mouth, looking back at his friends. “Forget it man, let’s just watch the match.” Chuck patted down the chairs, getting them to cool it. From the back of his head he could feel Matt began to burn holes through the trio making him smirk to himself. He had hit a nerve with Matt Jackson, and nobody knew that but him.

The beat dropped for Sawyer's entrance music, making the crowd more electric than they already were. She couldn’t help the smile break through as she stood on the ramp. The pyro went off, and she posed for the camera. She removed her jacket, revealing a dark gothic attire. The front row of wrestlers applauded, as she walked down to the ring, she got on the apron and began to take it all in, knowing this was the only bit of peace for a long time.

Veronica tilted her head in Nova’s direction as she passed. Not caring about Ricky clutching her to his side, or the glare they both gave her. She shrugged it off and went out as if this was an actual “storyline.” 

She walked out earning a mix of boos and cheers. She closed her eyes and turned her back. Revealing her jacket, to be a picture of a throwback photo of her, Sawyer, and Nova… with a drawn on angel halo hovering over her, and devil horns drawn on Sawyer. She chuckled at her antics, and spreader her arms to let the tassels gracefully fall, “Let’s fucking go!” She yelled, before making her way to the inside of the ring.

Sawyer never took her eyes off Veronica, ever since her music hit. If looks could kill, they’d both be dead. The bell rang, and Sawyer extended her hands outward for a lock up, while Veronica extended a foot— that connected with Sawyer’s nose. She blindly rolled her up, but Sawyer kicked out before three making the crowd gasp. She quickly backed up in the corner, trying to avoid the ropes from blowing up around her.

“WHAT THE HELL V?” She yelled, getting in her face. “YOU REALLY WANNA START LIKE THIS?” She pushed Veronica, making her fall on her backside. She immediately got back up, getting right back in her face. “Hit me.” She repeated, while harshly shoving Sawyer. “I know you want to.” 

Sawyer raised her fist, only to be slapped by Veronica before she could react. The crowd sat on the edge of their seats in anticipation, watching Sawyer blow the hair out her face, and stare down Veronica between her brows. She slightly gulped, not breaking her stare. Sawyer began delivering rapid kicks to her sides, then quickly delivering an arm drag sending Veronica just inches away from ropes. 

Her eyes widened, as she realized how close she was. Turning around she attempted to run away, but was met with a dropkick that sent her flying into the ropes, immediately feeling the electric wire going off around her. She yelped, as she rolled to the outside, not wanting Sawyer to gain an upper hand. Her skin began to burn, and the wind that was knocked out of her was still trying to come back. 

Sawyer’s first thoughts being to go check on her, before remembering the reason they were in this match in the first place. She shook her head, shaking all the sympathy away. As she climbed to the top turnbuckle, she stood along with the crowd. Phones flashing, their voices rising. Screaming, as she attempted a perfect moonsault to the outside. Suddenly, feeling a devastating crack to her ribs, causing the audience to fall in silence. Veronica held the kendo stick in her hand, leaning on the barricade. She watched Sawyer lay on the floor, refs coming to check on her. She pulled Bryce by his T-Shirt, wanting to continue the damage. She swung another good three times, before rolling her back in carefully. She went for the pin, once again.

1…

2…

“This fight will continue,” Tony yells in his headsweat. Sweat beading off his forehead. “We all knew that wasn’t gonna be enough to put down the Angel Slayer.” Jim added. “It’s almost as if…that name couldn’t be any more truer tonight. The white, the diamonds, the entrance…Veronica is the angel that Sawyer is slaying tonight. We’re in for one hell of a ride.”

The two had been going back and forth for about fifteen minutes. Each seeming to have a counter for each other’s move, and when they didn’t…they just started beating the absolute shit out of each other. Blood was pouring from the hairline of Sawyer, who had been curb stomped on a pile of chairs. While Veronica's left eye was beginning to swell up, as well as a huge slash from being sliced by a piece of the broken table.

Luckily, Sawyer had done her best to avoid the electric wire throughout the whole match so far. The two crawled their way back into the middle of the ring, Veronica kicked pieces of broken table out of her way. She gestured her finger at Sawyer telling her to bring it on. She charged, only to be hit with a drop toe hold. She held her mouth, and realized she fell forward on a steel chair. Immediately, tasting blood. Veronica smirked to the hardcam , rolling out the ring and pulling up the ring skirt. She tossed a couple of kendo sticks on the ramp way, for an emergency. She faked a confused face, before innocently pulling out a light tube. She rolled in the ring, swirling it around. Sawyer saw it, and let out a groan. She raised her middle fingers up, spitting blood at her. Veronica laughed, wiping it off and whispered, “You asked for this bitch” before cracking the tube on her head, glass shattering around them. Quickly covering for the pin. 

1..

2..

Sawyer barely kicked out. Making Veronica throw a tantrum, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” She screamed at Bryce, who did his best not to back down. “LEARN TO DO YOUR JOB.” Veronica pointed her finger in his chest. 

“Back off of me. Focus on your match, Rodriguez.” 

“Don’t tell me- AH!”

Veronica was lifted from the ground, and placed on Sawyer’s shoulder, who when no one was looking had wrapped a piece of barbed wire around her kneepad. Veronica tried to scramble, hearing the crowd go crazy as Sawyer signaled for the Go to Sleep with her hands. She successfully hit it, cringing as she stuck to Veronica’s forehead. The crowd gasped, and held their hands over their mouths. She went for the pin.

1…

2…

Aubrey was milliseconds away from her hitting the mat, they could feel it.

“WHAT? VERONICA KICKED OUT. VERONICA KICKED OUT,” Excalibur rose from his seat. “BARBED WIRE IS STICKING TO HER FOREHEAD…WHAT THE HELL?” Jim asked with concern. “What are we witnessing here folks?” 

“This is awesome!” The crowd chanted, if there was a roof on Daily’s Place, it would have been blown straight off.

Sawyer laid in the corner, not knowing what else to do as she stared at her former best friend with widened eyes. Veronica waved towards the entrance ramp, signaling for someone to come out. Sawyer turned her head with confusion, tears forming as she saw Kenny Omega and the Young Bucks dragging a helpless Chuck Taylor and Orange Cassidy.  She stared in horror as she saw Orange and Chuck get hit repeatedly in the torso with kendo sticks. Their cries making Sawyer furious.

“You bitch.” Sawyer huffed, as she began to drag Veronica back by her feet. Veronica kicked, connecting with her busted lip, making her curse. Veronica quickly snapped up, ducking as Sawyer attempted to grab her. Going around her and connecting her arms for a snap dragon suplex. An idea popped in her head, as she looked at her boyfriend who nodded with darkened eyes. She backed up to the ropes, breathing in, and before she breathed out she delivered a devastating snapdragon sending Sawyer through a ton of pain, as her neck was met with electricity. She hid her face, as she repeatedly hit the mat, doing everything to not let her pain be shown.

Sawyer stumbled to stand, as Veronica began to spit more venom at her, “You thought what they did was bad?” She chuckled, as Matt threw a kendo stick in her direction. She picked it up, and placed it under Sawyer’s chin making her look at her. “Watch this-” She swung, only for it to be caught under Sawyer’s arm. She gritted her teeth, not letting her react to the sting. Veronica did her best to pull it back, but she wasn’t budging.

Veronica reached her arm back to attempt to slap Sawyer again, but she grabbed onto her, slowly looking up at Veronica with angry eyes. Sawyer delivered a headbutt to Veronica’s, “That’s for bringing your boyfriend into this!” Left hook, “That’s for hurting my friends!” She kicked her in the stomach so her back hit the turnbuckles, “THAT is for putting a title over our friendship!” Sawyer balanced the kendo stick in her hand, “And THIS is for all the pain and tears you’ve put me through since July!” She went feral, whacking Veronica left and right. Veronica bawled up on the floor, trying her best to avoid her. Only to get hit harder, not being able to move. She whacked Veronica in the back once more long enough to climb to the top rope. Sawyer stood and looked around the crowd of people and wrestlers, who cheered her on as she finally did what she always wanted to do. A swanton bomb, on live pay-per view. The crowd erupted as Sawyer went in for the pin, without her Canadian Destroyer.

1...

2…

3!

The girls laid there, staring at the ceiling. Their breathing rapid, their faces red. Veronica felt the tears start to form, she scooted away to the other side of the ring, hand over mouth holding back sobs. 

“Sawyer.” Chuck shook her, “You did it baby. It’s over.” He groaned, holding his side. Her head snapped towards him, and Cassidy who were both equally hurting. “Me? I won?” She looked with disbelief. Orange gave her a thumbs up, as she pulled them in for a hug. “I’m so sorry you guys got hurt.” 

“Eh.” Cassidy lazily replied, “We lived.” 

Veronica watched the three, not realizing her own group was next to her. “Let’s get out of here.” Nick bent down to help her up, she wrapped an arm around his shoulder looking for Kenny who couldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he angrily stared at Sawyer, who had the biggest grin on her face as she stared back. 

“Kenny-“ Veronica reached out, his demeanor broken, as he saw her covered in blood. “Jesus Christ…”He commented, pulling her away, flinching when he heard her wince. “Careful with her hip, it’s gushing.” Matt commented. 

Veronica tried to respond, telling them that she was fine until she saw Hikaru Shida walk right past her, with her AEW Women's Championship straight to the ring for Sawyer. 

Jealousy filled up, and she couldn’t help looking away as they stared down at each other. The sounds of her boyfriend’s concern were muffled, as all she could do was focus on them. Sawyer couldn’t help but glare past Shida sometimes. Veronica’s tears staining her brain. Eventually, Tony Khan came out applauding as the crowd gave a standing ovation. 

It was over. It was finally over.

—-------

Sawyer tried her best to get rid of the smile on her face, but she just couldn’t. She was on Cloud 9. Of course, something felt off. She knew what it was, Veronica. But she knew, she couldn’t let this affect her celebration. She turned up the music playing from her speaker, hoping that even Rihanna could distract her from this feeling.

Just as she put on the finishing touches of her outfit, there was a knock on the locker room door. “Come in!” Wardlow walked in, bouquet of flowers in hand, “There’s the next women’s champ! God, you’re amazing.” Sawyer gasped, “Michael! You’re so sweet.” She took the flowers, giving him a kiss.

“So, you really gave Veronica hell out there. How about you and I go to dinner? You’re already dressed, and of course, I have another gift for you back at the hotel.” He smirked, grabbing Sawyer by the waist from behind, hands sliding up and down her body.

“That sounds lovely Michael, but some of my friends set up a party for me at my favorite bar downtown. You wanna come with?” She asked innocently, thinking nothing of it. Wardlow’s energy shifted, he suddenly just seemed furious.

“You’re kidding. You’d rather spend this win with vodka and screaming than wine and classical music?” He asked, acting like there was no discussion. “Uh, yeah. It is my celebration.” Sawyer grabbed her purse, heading for the door.

“And let me guess, Chuck set this celebration up.”

Sawyer stopped in her tracks, her mind was telling her a million things, but only one was the right thing to do. “Well, you caught me. Chuck did set this up. And Isiah. Along with Nova and Ricky. And how could I forget ‘your’ buddy, Max? My friends set this up, Michael. They knew this would make me happy and they were right, I’m going!”

“I knew you were still talking to that weirdo! I knew I couldn’t trust you. If you walk out that door, we’re finished.” He threatened. Sawyer only stared back, frowning, tears forming in her eyes.

“After everything I went through tonight,” Sawyer choked on her words, before cutting the act, “You think I’m scared of a white man breaking up with me? I’ve seen some stupid shit, but this has gotta be the stupidest shit ever. We’re done, the third shot is dedicated to you!”

Sawyer cackled, walking out of the locker room, knowing that Wardlow no longer affected her. 

On the other side of Daily’s Place, the Elite got to the back. Veronica doing her best to not crumble in front of the roster. She felt a hand leave her lower back, causing her to stop them in their tracks. “Kenny, what are you doing?” Matt asked, not sure why he stopped walking. 

“You guys go on without me… I have to catch up with Don.” He looked between them, giving a disappointed look toward Veronica, “Just let me know what the doctor says.” 

Veronica’s face grew with confusion, “You’re not coming with me?” Matt held his grip on her wrist, as she tried to walk away from them. “You’re hurt.” He reminded her, “I’ll make sure she gets back.”

“Thanks man.” Kenny spoke, “I got to go fix this. I’m not letting her screw up ruin my future plans.”

Nick’s eyes widened, as a silence fell between the group. Veronica felt her blood begin to boil, as his words finally hit her. “I can’t believe you. I know I didn’t win, but I tried my best and-“

“Save it. I don’t want to hear any more excuses tonight.” He rolled his eyes, before pulling out his phone typing rapidly. Nick and Matt looked between each other, not sure what to do. Veronica pushed through, wincing at every step she took. “You know what? This loss isn’t on ME. It’s on YOU, and you know that. You told the whole world that I was this Elite superstar, and you never once considered my feelings.” Her voice trembled, “Sawyer and Nova want nothing to do with me, because of you, and now I’m finally understanding why.”

She shoved Nick and Matt’s hands off of her as she walked off in her own direction. 

As Kenny watched Veronica walk away, he groaned, throwing his hands up in the air, “I swear to God, I don’t know what her deal is.” He marched off, mumbling to the Bucks about not following him. “She has to be kidding, none of this is my fault. I got her here at the top. In this company, I gave her everything. It’s all-” His own thoughts were interrupted, almost making him stop in his tracks.

“It’s all her.”

Sawyer and Nova stared back, trying their best to hide their grins. “Looks like someone will be sleeping on the couch tonight.” Nova joked. Kenny shook his head, embarrassment beginning to wash over him. 

“You couldn’t even help your own girlfriend, when she needed it most.” Sawyer spoke up, “What makes you think YOU could defeat me?”

He opened his mouth to argue, being cut off by a car honking grabbing their attention, Nova rushed over to the side door leaving Sawyer. 

“One day, Veronica will realize that you were nothing more than a weight holding her down. It really sucks that you were the reason we had to nearly kill each other tonight, but if you think that I won’t stop trying to get my friend back… you’ve got another thing coming.” She pulled her glasses down on her head, letting herself finally relax. 

“Goodbye, and Goodnight Omega.”

◤━━━━━━━━━━━◥

Feels nice to be back, chapter 10 is coming soon.

[cullxtheherd]

✨

𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 ✨ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐩

[🆇]

“Fuckin!!!” He starts off strong but sniffles, scratchy throat hitching as he tramples through the hip-high grass, “Make my own damn cult, HURKULES!” It isn’t the first nor the last time that they’ll have a stupid, dumb, idiot, drag-out fight about absolute nonsense, but? As it always does in the heat of rushing, quaky adrenaline? This feels like the last.

Ready to pillage and plunder a lifelong companionship he wipes at the pollen sticking to the sides of his beet-red, sweating face. “This is the last, stupid, no-good freaking time,” His voice carries on and up the side of the mountain he is traversing on his way back to the trailer park.

The snarl of a nearby, wandering Angel barely phases him and, with ease, he plugs a fat, double barreled load right between their eyes. “S’posed ta’,” Hiking the shotgun up he rests it on his shoulder, booted foot kicking at the corpse to be sure it’s really dead, “Be all about chillin’, grillin’ and bonin’ fat bottomed babes and whoever else I feel like w i t h my brother from another mother, but NO!” He spells it out for emphasis, “Capital N, O. N, O, P, E for Charlemagne!”

It’s been a long time since he has let the world or anyone else get to him like this. Generally speaking he is as easy going as they come, but fights with Hurk always seemed to hit harder than the rest and this one is no exception.

Angrily he wipes at a salty tear daring enough to track down his cheek. “Hate you,” He repeats himself, volume increasing at the sight of another, half-rotten fence he’ll have to jump, “Hate, hate, HATE YOU HURKULES!”

The barbed wire over the top rail is rusted and without much thought he grabs his sweater from over his shoulder, drooping it over in a thick, semi-even fold. Hoisting himself up is easy but the ground is uneven below, deceptively-tall grass a thick cover and he manages to roll his ankle in boots. This adds to his haphazard afternoon and he curses long and loud in a string of expletives that would make his Grandmother proud.

Lost in his frustrations Sharky isn’t privy to the steadily encroaching danger he is in. “Ohh,” He’s focused on his favorite sweatshirt which is caught on the barbs, “What the fuck- f u c k i n g!” All at once he straightens, an authoritative, heavy huff of air commanding his attention. “What the fuck was that,” A country, back-water kind of boy he already knows what’s staring him down but he turns and? Comically slow, leveling his stare with an approaching bull.

“Oh, f-” For reasons unbeknownst to him he runs instead of hopping back over the fence. He and his shotgun part ways before he ever sees the other side of the pen, “Shit, shitshitshit!” Weeds and tall, sour grasses whip past him, one of them cutting his cheek. “Oh naw, come on mister bull!”

With little hope and no care for his palms and their wellbeing he flings himself over the opposing side of the pen. The bull, ever-so-smarter than Charlemagne, stops just-shy of the prickly barrier and lets out a low, long and guttural moo. Udderly Bovine Triumph™.

“Fuck,” An arm hangs, useless - the webbing between his thumb and pointer is hooked painfully, “The fuckin’ fuck outta you, man!” The animal stomps, chuffing angrily through it’s nostrils and Sharky jumps, causing himself a great deal of pain and discomfort, “Alright, alright! I’m sorry!!”

Three hours later and slightly more than one twenty four pack down the gullet finds him much worse for wear and hollering Blondie, “Once I had love!!” A three quarters empty bottle of Jameson dangles from his uninjured hand; he’s been saving this for a rough day since the Peggies moved in, “And it was a fuckin GAS!”

“Not sure that’s how it goes, Charlemagne.”

“Wha-” It takes a moment for him to focus around a blurring duplicate image of his relatively new friend, “Ah! Hah! Been wonderin’ where you been Dep!”

“See you’re having a… day, hm?”

Sharky snorts, agreement plain as day, “And it is turning into one hell of a night let me tell you- here!” He presses the bottle into the Deputy’s hands, “Join me- commiserate in my misery.”

“Honestly,” The bottle cap unscrews in acceptance, “Impressed you know what that word even means.”

“Hey, hey! Now I’ll have you know that,” He sways, a wide, happy grin on his face and an unlit joint between his fingers, “I got my damn degree, thank you very much.”

“Your G.E.D.?”

“Hell no!”

“…diploma?”

“Fuck that, no! Homie I am talking about a license to chill,” Without missing a beat he sparks up the hand rolled, “An absolute handle on life and the finer things within, Shorty!!”

Taking a beat amongst the flames and pumping disco music to make note, "Sharky-?" It is very strange to see him without it, "Where is your shirt?"

"My-?" In the heat of agitated excitement, "LOST MY FUCKIN SWEATER, MY FAVORITE GUN AND MY MC-FUCKIN COOL TODAY, DEP!"

[mayhemproduces]

Joshua Bishop (c) vs Jon Moxley- Cage of Death- MPW World Championship

As Bishop finished his walk to the cage, he reached behind him, pulling the Cage of Death door shut himself as he entered. Bishop’s eyes never left Mox, and the staredown was mutual, as soon as Sabotage hit, Mox’s eyes had locked on the entrance ramp, and hadn’t moved. Two parallel sides of the cage are made of steel chain link fencing and the two others are made of steel bars. Inside the cage, littered in a ring, and attached to cage walls are full of different weapons- barbed wire, panes of glass, chairs, kendo sticks, doors, ladders, light tubes, cacti, trash cans, pretty much anything that could be used to cause extreme pain and suffering on another human being, can be found inside this cage. There is a scaffold across the top of the cage and elevated barbed wire boards on the outside of the ring. Like many who have treaded this ground before them, there’s a good chance neither of these two men will walk out of this match the way they walked in.

The two men were practically nose to nose as Bishop unstrapped the MPW World Championship from around his waist, and handed it off to referee Tom Dunn, as Steve Guy began official introductions. Tom Dunn had to separate the two men so we could begin.

“Los Angeles, California, it is now time for your main event of the evening! People of the Kia Forum, and those watching on PPV….

ARE YOU READY FOR A FIGHT?!”

The reaction from this crowd here tonight tells us that yes, Steve Guy, they are! Lets do it!

“Your main event of Darkness Falls 3 is a Cage of Death match, scheduled for one fall, with a 60 minute time limit, contested under Atlas Rules, and it is for the MPW World Championship!”

There wasn’t a person in the Kia Forum who was currently seated, and the crowd was already at a near fever pitch.

“Introducing first, the challenger, standing in the corner to my left. He weighed in this morning at 229 pounds, fighting out of Cincinnati, Ohio, and representing the Blackpool Combat Club. He is the current IWGP World Champion, he is the Prevayor of Violence, The Death Rider, Jon Moxley!”

While the reaction is mostly boos, we’d have to estimate that about 20 percent of the fans here tonight were in favor of the challenger, Jon Moxley… But, the other 80 percent…

“And the opponent…”

A very loud, very vocal majority of the MPW Audience were already losing their shit as Bishop bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, chants of “Fuck ‘em up Bishop, fuck ‘em up!” perminating from around the arena…

“Standing in the corner to my right, he weighed in this morning at 237 pounds, and is accompanied to the ring by Maserati Wes Barkley. Fighting out of Rip City, and representing the Rip City Shooters, he is your MPW World Champion, Mr. Up for Anything, The Intense Icon, Joshua Bishop!”

Bishop took a step forward to flex and perhaps try to intimidate Mox, but all it earned him for his troubles was a spear, as Mox drove Bishop back through the pane of glass propped up against the corner! Steve Guy quickly evacuates the ring, as Tom Dunn calls for the bell, Cage of Death is underway, and we’re already going full throttle!

Bishop is driven through the glass, but he’s already fighting back to his feet, using the corner to hold himself up, a beastial roar emanating from the World Champion! Mox tries to charge him again, but Bishop goozles Mox around the throat, lifts him up, and sends Mox to the mat with a HUGE Chokeslam! He practically does it with one arm too, Bishop’s left arm, the one Mox has been targeting for weeks, is in a thick brace tonight, and we’re not sure how much use Bishop has of that arm!

Mox hits the mat, and is already back up to his feet, as Bishop squares up and starts swinging away at the challenger as if this were a boxing match, many a punch connecting, and Mox is dizzy on his feet! Bishop putting fists to Moxley’s jaw, but Mox shuts it down by dodging a left hook, and then grabbing Bishop’s left arm, trapping it in a standing arm bar, and putting even more torque on Bishop’s already bad arm! Bishop drops to a knee, his face twisted in agony. There’s a good chance we’ve never ever seen the MPW World Champion in this level of discomfort before. Even when Syn, Abigail, VENY, or Pandemonium had dragged him into deep water in a match, Bishop looked lively, like he was having fun no matter how intense the battle got. But just a couple moments into this one, and for the first time since Josh Bishop has arrived in MPW, he looks hurt.

Mox continues to wrench the arm, his gameplan tonight would be no secret. Rip Bishop’s bad arm apart until Bishop can’t fight anymore. Mox continues to wrench down, but Bishop suddenly drops his hips and uses his momentum to fling Mox across the ring with sort of an arm drag! Mox is quickly back to his feet, but as he gets up, Bishop charges and slams into Mox with a shoulder block with some much force that Mox almost goes flying backward, right into a pane of glass! Mox explodes through the glass!

Bishop picks Mox back up, and traps him in the corner, before laying into Mox with several stiff corner clotheslines, using his good arm! Bishop continues to beat down on Mox, before grabbing Mox by the throat again, and once again using his good arm to deliver an overhead choketoss suplex, right into the middle of the ring. Mox rolls back up to his knees after impact, and manages to drag himself back to his feet, before Bishop charges and BLASTS Mox with a Pump Kick! Bishop drops Mox, and drops into the cover!

1…2… Kickout!

Mox out after a quick two. Bishop pulls himself up to his knees, Bishop is met with a boot to the face from Mox, who then pulls himself up off his back and to his knees, to blast Bishop with a stiff forearm. Bishop answers back, and now these two are throwing everything they’ve got behind these massive forearms, trying to gain the advantage over the other one. Mox and Bishop go back and forth, battering each other with forearms, the two men having both made it back to their feet now, both men looking for an advantage over the other one. Mox interrupts the flow by catching Josh Bishop with a headbutt, causing Bishop to stumble, before Mox grabs a light tube, and smashes it over Josh Bishop’s head! Bishop drops to his knees, as Mox hits the ropes, and drives his knee into the side of Josh Bishop’s head with a stiff bicycle knee strike! Bishop drops down to his hands and knees now, as Mox grabs Bishop back to his feet, lifts him up, and drives him down onto the chair from earlier with a Re-Animator DDT! Bishop’s head is driven into the steel, as Mox rolls him over for the first cover of the match for the Death Rider.

1….2… Kickout!

Bishop is out at a quick two, but Mox is quick to nail him with another forearm. Josh Bishop rolls to the outside, with Mox following him the entire way, stomping on Bishop as Bishop tries to escape. Mox follows Bishop out there, and catches him with a couple of stiff right hands, before sending Bishop into the steel bars of the cage head first! Bishop crumples down to his knees, but Mox peppers him with a couple more right hands, before tossing him back into the ring. Mox tosses a chair in with him, but turns his back momentarily to Mox the fans, cupping his hand around his ear, before asking the Los Angeles crowd to get louder, mocking their support of the MPW World Champion, Josh Bishop. By now, Bishop in the ring had the chair, and was using it as a crutch to try and help himself back to his feet, and as Mox rolls back into the ring, Bishop throws the chair, connecting with Mox right on the dome! Mox doesn’t go down though, and rather than show any signs of fatigue, Mox flips Bishop off and drops him with another spear!

Mox rolls back to his feet, only for Bishop to spring right back to his behind Mox’s back! As Mox turns around, he’s met with a charging Josh Bishop, who knocks both Mox and himself over the top rope with a huge clothesline! Bishop is the first back to his feet, and he grabs Mox, holding him up against the cage to pepper him with a couple of stiff chops to the chest, turning Mox’s chest a beet red, before Bishop picks Mox up, hoists him over his shoulder, and Lawn Dart’s Mox head first into the steel bars of the Cage of Death! Mox drops to his knees, maybe unsure of where he currently is after that last maneuver, only for Bishop to line up and catch Mox with a boot right to the head! Bishop grabs Mox again, this time lifting him up and running with him, using Mox’s body as a battering ram and driving it right into the chain link side of the cage! Mox lets out a cry of agony as Bishop is once again going after those ribs. Bishop takes a few steps back before once again driving Mox right into the side of the cage, finally setting Mox go, allowing him to drop to the floor and rive in agony. Bishop then goes over and grabs one of the barbed wire boards that had been left in the cage, tossing the board into the ring, but not before ripping off a strand of barbed wire, and wrapping it around his own bare fist, getting some of barbs stuck in his own skin, but evidently not caring. Bishop goes back over to where Mox is laying, and grabs him by the hair, pulling Mox up to his knees, and laying into him with right hands, the barbed wire around Bishop’s fist opening up Mox for the first time in this match, and causing blood to start seeping down Mox’s face. Bishop takes the barbed wire off his hand, and instead wraps it around Mox’s forehead, pulling back on it, digging the barbs right into Mox’s head! Mox cries out in agony as more blood begins to pore down his face and into his eyes.

Mox eventually decides he’s had enough of this, as he starts catching Bishop in the kidneys with a series of back elbows, forcing Bishop off of him. Mox reaches up and grabs the kendo stick that had been stuck to the side of the cage and pulls it down, before turning and blasting Bishop in the gut with the kendo stick! Bishop hunches over from that shot, as Mox then brings the cane down again, blasting Bishop right in the head with it! Bishop is stunned, and Mox grabs the kendo stick around Bishop’s throat, before driving him back on the floor with a White Russian Leg Sweep! Bishop’s head is driven back into the mat, and the kendo stick is driven right into his throat!

Mox gets back to his feet and wipes the blood from his eyes. Mox rolls back into the ring and grabs a chair, setting it up, and waiting for Bishop to get up. As Bishop gets back to his feet, and Mox smirks before smacking Josh Bishop right on the bad arm with the steel chair! Josh Bishop drops to his knees, and lets out a howl of pain! Mox swings and connects with Josh Bishop’s arm with the chair AGAIN! Mox throws the chair away, before hooking Bishop’s arm, and driving his knee into Bishop’s shoulder! Mox then drops into a Fujiwara Armbar, and is wrenching away at the bad arm of Josh Bishop! Mox trying to get Bishop to tap, and if he doesn’t, Mox may rip this arm out of socket!

Bishop grits his teeth and tries to fight through it, but Mox has that arm locked up! There may not be much Bishop can do here! Bishop is practically bitting his own hand to try and force himself not to give up. Bishop punches the mat, before resorting to last resorts, digging his fingers into Mox’s eyes, forcing Mox to break the hold! Mox gets up, clutching at his eyes, trying to blink his vision back, as Bishop waits for him to turn around. Bishop then grabs Mox, and sends him off the ropes, before using just his one good arm to lift Mox, spin him around, and plant Mox with a HUGE Black Hole Slam! Bishop into the cover!

1….2… Kickout!

Mox out at two, but Bishop looks like he’s ready to end things here tonight! A shout of “EXIT 187, NO SURVIVORS!” signals that Bishop is all but ready to finish this, as he tries to lift Mox up for the Bishop Bomb, but Bishop’s arm gives out trying to do so! Bishop drops to his knees, clutching his arm, in an unbelievable amount of pain! Bishop can’t get Mox up for the Bishop Bomb!

Mox is quick to capitalize, hitting the ropes, and driving a Regal Knee right into the back of Josh Bishop’s head! Bishop is on dream street, as Mox hooks his arms, lifts him up, and plants Bishop with a Paradigm Shift! The champion spiked right on his head, Mox may have done it here! Cover! To win the MPW World Title!

1…..2…. KICKOUT!

Josh Bishop survives, and so does his championship reign for the time being! But with just one arm, how much longer can Bishop keep up the fight?!

Mox pulls himself up to his knees, and takes a moment to wipe some of the blood from his eyes, and to catch his breath. Mox then rolls out of the ring and starts digging around under it, looking to introduce even more plunder to this match. Mox finds a door, and tosses it into the ring, before finding another door and propping it up against the ring on the outside. Mox then slides back into the ring, and goes back over to grab Joshua Bishop, who was already starting to get back to his feet. Mox grabs Bishop by the hair, and pulls him up to his feet, before going to his the ropes, looking for another spear, but on the rebound he’s scooped up and spun around before being driven into the mat with a devastating Black Hole Slam! The impact practically bounces Mox’s entire body off the mat, and as he tries to get back to his feet, Josh Bishop wraps a hand around his throat, and tosses Mox overhead, and into the barbed wire board propped up in the corner with an Overhead Choketoss! Bishop drags Mox out of the wreckage of wooden board and barbed wire, and goes for the cover!

1….2…. Kickout!

Mox stays alive for the time being! Bishop wipes his eyes, trying to get some of the blood out of them. These two were already swinging for the fences on one another, looking for the big bombs to put the other man down. These two might be the two toughest, most destructive men to ever enter Cage of Death, and neither man would go down without a near death experience in this one. Josh Bishop got back to his feet, and lifted Mox back up by the throat, looking for another chokeslam, but as Bishop lifts Mox into the air, Mox catches Bishop on the way down, and drives him into the mat with a DDT! Bishop’s head is spiked right down into the mat!

Both men are down momentarily, but Mox manages to sit up first, and before crawling over to the ropes to help himself back to his feet. Mox goes back over to Bishop, and lifts him up onto his shoulders, before charging the corner, driving Bishop into the turnbuckles with a Death Valley Driver! Bishop rolls out of the corner and out onto the apron, his whole body being rattled by a move like that. Bishop rolls to the floor so that he can get his feet under him, as Mox follows him out there. Mox grabs Bishop by the hair and throws him back into the chain link of the cage, before peppering Bishop with a couple of chops to the chest, following it up with a stiff right hand, right to the jaw. Mox then grabs Bishop by the head, and slams him face first into the door he’d propped against the ring earlier. Bishop lays against the door and Mox shoves him off of it, before grabbing the other end of the door, and bridging it between the ring and a chair he found and set up. Mox watches as Bishop tries to climb up onto the apron, and follows him up there, before catching Bishop with a couple of hard shots to the face, and following it up with a headbutt. Bishop has to hang onto the ropes to prevent falling off the apron, which gives Mox enough room to trap Bishop’s head between his legs. The crowd is on their feet, knowing where this is going, before Mox drives Bishop down with a Piledriver!, driving Bishop’s head down onto the hardest part of the ring, before both men are sent tumbling down off the apron! Mox may have just scrambled Josh Bishop’s brains!

Mox and Bishop are both laying on the outside, Bishop not having moved since that devastating maneuver out on the apron. Mox manages to get back to his feet first, before grabbing Bishop again, stunning him with a headbutt, and laying Bishop on the door. That’s when Mox takes a walk around the outside of the ring, and eventually finds what he’d been looking for- a ladder. Mox drags the ladder back over to where he’d left Bishop laying on the door, and begins to set the ladder up. Cameras cut to members of the MPW audience all pulling out their phones as Mox begins to scale the ladder, getting almost all the way to the top, and turning around, looking at Joshua Bishop sprawled out on the door, before taking a leap, and crashing down on Joshua Bishop, putting the Atlas Champion through the door with an elbow drop from the top of the ladder! Holy shit! Both of these men might be broken completely in half after that one! Mox lays across Josh Bishop, looking to finish this one, to capture the World Title!

1….2… Kickout!

Bishop survives again! Holy shit! Just what was it going to take here tonight?!

Mox rolls off Bishop and simply lays on the mat for a couple moments. You’d think it be an easy task, fighting a man with just one arm, but Joshua Bishop, as we know, is no normal human being. It would take an act of god to keep Josh Bishop down tonight, and Mox better start praying quick. Two arms or just one, Joshua Bishop is only ever one big move away from ending a match. Mox gets back to his feet, and once again drags Josh Bishop up to his, looking for another Paradigm Shift, but Bishop manages to spin out of it, before surprising Mox with a headbutt, sending Mox stumbling backward. Bishop backs up into the corner, measuring Mox for a second, before charging Mox and BLASTING him with the Killshot! A move borrowed from his tag partner Blade, and one that doesn’t require the use of his left arm at all! Bishop borrowing a move from his close friend and Rip City compatriot here tonight!

And he isn’t done borrowing from his fellow Rip City Shooters either, as Bishop picks Mox up, drags him over to the pile of chairs in the ring, and drops Mox face first with The Stroke! Shades of Maserati Wes Barkley, yes sir! Mox gets planted face first, and Bishop hooks the leg, Bishop using the ENTIRE Rip City Shooters arsenal tonight to retain the title!

1….2… KICKOUT!

While Bishop may know the moves, he’s not the master of them like his partners are. A Killshot & Stroke combo from Blade & Wes may have done it there, but the moves aren’t as lethal in Bishop’s hands. Still, that was close, and it may be the opening Josh Bishop needs to get back into this matchup. Bishop gets back to his feet, and adjusts his arm brace, wiping some of the blood from his face, and picking up Moxley, before just shitcanning Moxley to the outside of the ring, following him out there a moment later.

As Moxley gets back to his feet he’s grabbed by Bishop again, who nails him with a couple of stiff right hands, before trapping Moxley against the metal bars of the Cage of Death and once again resuming the biting! We knew Bishop wasn’t exactly right in the head, but he was practically making a meal out of Moxley’s bloody forehead out here tonight! Did he not eat before this match or something?! The blood gushing from Moxley’s forehead was getting worse at this point, as Bishop lets Moxley go, and just lets the challenger drop to the floor. Bishop goes so far as to take the blood of Jon Moxley, leaking from his mouth, and wipe it all across his face and down his chest, Bishop painting himself in the blood of his opponent here tonight.

Bishop drags Moxley back up to his feet again, and once again proceeds to start biting the the challenger’s forehead, Bishop like a vampire out here tonight or something. Bishop looks like he’s savoring the taste of Moxley’s blood. He picks the champ back up before driving Moxley’s back into the steel guardrail, once again causing Moxley to collapse down to his knees. It would be hard to recall a time we ever saw Jon Moxley in as dire straits as these, the MPW World Champion was absolutely just picking him apart finally. Bishop was starting to get into his grove, and one had to wonder just how much Jon Moxley had left tonight.

Bishop lifts Moxley back up, and lifts him and carries him, using Moxley like a battering ram and driving him right into the steel ringpost! Moxley collapses to the floor, clutching his back, as Bishop tosses him back into the ring, before sliding in himself. Bishop holds his arm up, once again, calling for the chokeslam, one of the few moves Bishop seems able to reliably pull off with just one arm here this evening. Mox seems to have it scouted by now, though, as Bishop goozles him, Mox peppers him with a couple of right hands, blocking the chokeslam. Bishop shoves Mox back into the ropes, but before Bishop can do anything, Mox takes his head off with a King Kong Lariat! Bishop goes down, and Mox falls into the cover!

1….2… Kickout!

Bishop kicks out, but as he does, Mox takes the opportunity to go right back to the armbar! For the second time in this one, Mox has the Fujiwara Armbar on Josh Bishop, trying to destroy whatever is left of that left arm! Bishop once again in unfathomable agony, and it actually looks like Josh Bishop is considering tapping out here! It would be the first time in his MPW career he’s done so, maybe the first time Bishop has ever done so! Mox continues to wrench on the hold, trying to rip Bishop’s arm out of socket, as Josh tries to crawl to the ropes. A rope break does nothing here in this match, but maybe Bishop can use the ropes to try and pull himself out of the ring and to safety. That is, before Mox transitions the hold, releasing the Fujiwara Armbar, and locking in the Bulldog Choke! Now Mox doesn’t need Bishop to tap, he can just choke Josh’s lights out, and that’s exactly what he might do here! Mox continues to synch in the choke, and Josh Bishop is fading fast! Josh goes unresponsive, and referee Tom has to check the arm!

Tom raises Bishop’s arm, and right before it drops, Bishop shows a sign of life, and Tom waves off the time keeper. Mox continues to try and wrench the hold, but Bishop starts to fight back to his feet, managing to get one foot underneath himself, and pull himself up to a knee. Mox continues to wrench the hold, but Bishop is back up now, before lifting Mox up, and depositing him onto the pile of chairs with a back suplex! Breaking the hold, Mox hits hard, and Bishop drapes an arm over him for the cover, to retain!

1….2… Kickout!

If Bishop had gotten a proper cover in there, that may have been it. Alas, only 2, and the match continues. Bishop pulls himself up to a knee, and manages to stumble into the corner, falling into a seat in the corner. Bishop watches as Mox starts to sit up as well, and the two lock eyes, before… they begin to laugh? Josh Bishop and Jon Moxley are… laughing at each other?

Whether it be delirium, or we’re seeing just how deeply insane both of these violent psychopaths are, Josh Bishop and Jon Moxley are sharing a laugh at the moment. Both men then pull themselves up, back to their feet, before they begin to swing on one another. Back and forth, these behemoths trade massive forearm shots, neither man backing down or giving the other an inch. Back and forth the forearms come, each answered by an even more brutal forearm, until Mox goes the dishonorable route and rakes Josh Bishop’s eyes! Bishop is blinded momentarily, and Mox tries to hook his arms for the Paradigm shift again, but Bishop spins out of it, and clobbers Mox with a big forearm to the jaw. Mox staggers back, but throws a lariat at Josh, that Josh ducks and charges the ropes, before Josh, astonishingly, leaps up onto the second rope and springs back, catching Moxley with a Law of Return, shades of another one of Josh Bishop’s allies, Pandemonium! Bishop catches Mox with an, albeit sloppier version of the springboard stunner Pandemonium employs, but it works all the same, sending Mox flying backward after being stunned! Mox rolls backward and up onto his knees, and Bishop hits the ropes, before diving forward and driving his forearm into the back of Jon Moxley’s head! The knockout blow Josh Bishop has employed to take out several an opponent in the past, may have just knocked out Jon Moxley! Cover!

1…..2… KICKOUT!

Mox out at two again! Just what the hell was it going to take tonight to beat Jon Moxley?! Josh thinks quickly, though, grabbing a chair, and setting it up in the middle of the ring, before grabbing Jon Moxley, and laying Moxley across the seat of the chair. Bishop then does something we rarely see out of the Intense Icon, Joshua Bishop is headed up to the top rope! Bishop sets his feet, and measures Mox, who isn’t moving, before Bishop leaps off, leading with the arm in that heavy metal brace, driving his forearm down onto the back of Moxley’s head, crushing it against the chair! The chair crumples under the impact, and Bishop kicks it away, rolling Moxley over, hooking both legs!

1…..2….3!

“Here is your winner, and STILL MPW World Champion, Joshua Bishop!”

Bishop does it! Somehow, with just one arm, Joshua Bishop knocks off Jon Moxley, and keeps the MPW World Championship around his waist! What a gutsy fight by the champion, despite everything in his way, Josh Bishop is still at the top of the mountain here in MPW!

The cage door opens up, and Maserati Wes Barkley & Blade, his Rip City compatriots, join Bishop in the cage and help him to stand, Wes holding the MPW World Championship, presenting it to the champion & his best friend.

Jon Moxley used every trick in the book, and tried to dismantle Bishop physically, but the fight, the heart of the MPW World Champion pulled him through tonight. And if there was any doubt that Josh Bishop was the baddest man in the MPW locker room, he erased those doubts tonight!

[wardenparker]

Killer Writing - chapter 8

Dave York x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

After divorcing Carol so she could marry her soulmate, Dave York threw himself into his work. There is no way he could have predicted that the unexpected collateral damage on an op would turn out to be his soulmate. Now all he can do is keep you safe, and try his best to get you to not hate him as the two of you try to navigate a blooming relationship that started out with threats and a mean right hook.  

Rating: E for Explicit. 18+! Word Count: 14.4k Warnings: *Blanket content warning for self-esteem, self-image, and weight issues.* Nightmares, curing, continued gun things, serious anxiety, discussion of PTSD/combat. Light dom/sub dynamics, soft dusting of ‘daddy’ usage, begging, basically the closest we can get to sex without them actually fucking, mention of breeding kink, Dave being exceedingly manly. Food mentions. Summary: Life in the cabin is going to present a few challenges, but might also pave the way to some new relationships amongst the group.  Notes: So sorry for the delay in posting time this week, guys. Chronic illness has truly been kicking my ass. Hopefully the way these two anxious babies love the hell out of each other will be worth the wait. 💘

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

It’s after sunrise when you wake up but who knows how long after, gasping for air and feeling like your heart is going to beat out of your chest. You’re at the cabin. The safe house. There is literally no safer place to be. It’s in the name. The dream you were having reverberates between your ears, making you reach for the man next to you to just make sure he’s okay. He’s alive, lying beside you, and that fucking bullet was aimed at you not him. He’s okay. 

The second you shift and touch him, his eyes open. Sleep had been practically non-existent last night. Several times, he had slipped out of the bed to check the security and put his eyes on the perimeter of the cabin. Needing to make sure that you were safe. He had fired off several text messages, still furious that they were coming for you despite their seller being dead and the information gone. His gut is telling him that they believe you might still have a copy of it, wanting to get their hands on it. "Morning." He rasps out, clearing his throat and trailing his eyes over your face to see how you are feeling this morning.

“Morning.” The impulse to practically throw yourself into his side is too strong to deny and you burrow under his arm immediately. “Did you sleep?”

“Would you actually believe me if I said yes?” He asks, head hurting but pushing it aside so he can focus on you.

“I would take it as a compliment.” You tell him, voice muffled against his skin. “I’d like to think you can relax around me, but I know things aren’t normal right now…”

“Baby…it’s not because I’m not relaxed around you.” He promises softly, hand stroking your back. “I’m just on edge.” He swallows. “I almost lost you last night.”

The brittle edges of your nightmare are sticking into your heart like barbed wire, and you sniffle audibly. “I dreamt it was you,” you admit, voice so quiet even you can barely hear yourself. “Th-that’s what woke me up…”

He knows how that feels. Dreaming about someone that he cares about being in harm’s way or killed. He soothes you, pulling you tighter and trying to ground you in his touch. “We are both safe. Right here in this cabin, in this bed, together.”

“I know.” The knowledge doesn’t stop you from wrapping your arm around him, though, and holding him as tight as he is holding you - both of you desperate to prove to yourself that you are actually safe. “I know you’ll protect me. I just wish I could protect you somehow.”

His lips find your hair and he sighs. “Honey…you are doing more by being here than you will ever realize.” He murmurs softly.

“I hope so.” With a weak smile, you press your lips to the warm skin of his shoulder and shift to slide out of bed. “Gonna brush my teeth so I can kiss you,” you explain when his brow furrows slightly at your moving away from him.

“Stay.” He insists. “I don’t care.” He doesn’t want you to leave, hating how vulnerable you sound and he feels. “Just kiss me.”

“But yesterday…?” You shake your head at yourself and crawl back under the covers, waiting no time in tucking right back into his side where you belong. “I’m okay, love. We’re okay.” Kissing him is as easy as breathing now that you’ve passed the awkward barrier of the very first time, and if he’d let you, you swear just would just live with your lips pressed to his.

���I –” He grins when he realizes his blunder yesterday. “I meant my morning breath was bad.” He tells you. “Not that I couldn’t kiss you. Carol never liked it.”

“Sounds like Carol was pickier than me.” Leaning in lets you nudge his nose with yours easily. “As long as I get to kiss you, that’s all I care about.”

Dave smiles and presses his lips to yours. “Good.”

This is the only place nothing else matters. Right here in Dave’s arms with his scent filling your nose and his body under your fingertips, his soft sighs vibrating in your ears with every taste of his lips. This is the only place that the rest of the world doesn’t exist and you can just be, even pushing away this morning’s intrusive thoughts when his strong arms wind around you and roll you onto your back - pinning you under his bulk in a way that makes you feel nearly dainty despite every hang up you’ve ever had with your own size.

“Baby.” He trails kisses along your jaw and nips your skin with his teeth. “You are so soft and warm.” He growls out happily, grinding against your cunt.

“All —” you whimper at the contact, swollen clit already hypersensitive to the searing hot pressure of having him against you. “All for you, love. Always.”

"I'm not going to - fuck you." He grunts, loving the way your breath hitches and your legs spread even more, giving him more access to you. "Not right now." He leans down and sucks on your pulse. "But I do want you to feel good. Do you want to cum baby?"

“Mmhmm.” Whining and squirming under him, you nod your head frantically as though he would even be looking at your face instead of concentrating on littering your skin with bites, licks, and sucking kisses that you’ll be feeling residually for hours. “Please…please — want to cum for you.” You beg, eyes closed in your own little world of bliss as you reach one hand between you to palm his heavy cock.

“Shit.” He hisses, hips rolling forward into your hand. It’s amazing how worked up you can get him. “Baby, let me make you cum.” He practically whines, pushing against your hand.

Though you would do anything to make him say your name in that needy voice, the need to feel him overwhelm all your senses gets the better of you. With one more gentle squeeze for good measure, you slowly and deliberately bring your hands up over your head. The thought of those elaborate restraints you unwrapped yesterday morning at his kitchen island makes you wish he carried cuffs or something, undeniable curiosity bubbling to the surface.

There is something about seeing you lift your hands up, submitting and giving yourself over to him that nearly makes him feral. He lurches up, grasping the sides of your panties in both of his hands and shredding to them in his eagerness to get to your naked folds.

“Oh fuck…” His full bulk between your legs keeps you from doing anything but whining at how desperate his reaction is, and despite the fact that he just ruined your best panties you absolutely could not fucking care less at the moment. Your fingers carefully wind around the wooden rods in the bed’s headboard, holding on tight as Dave’s hungry eyes take in your whole body underneath him. If you didn’t want so badly for your first time to be a romantic moment of passion, you would be begging him to fuck you right now.

There’s a grunt, a whine, when he pushes your legs up onto his shoulder but he’s too busy shoving his boxers down to even care. Letting his cock flop out and the weight of it rests against the slick lips of your cunt. “Fuck.” He hisses, shallowly thrusting and groaning when your wetness starts to coat him.

Every stunted shudder of his hips nudges the head of his cock over your swollen clit and you swear you might suddenly develop enough strength to break this fucking headboard from how tight you’re gripping the thing. “Need more.” Is the desperate moan that makes it past your lips. “Please, Daddy.”

There is a wicked smirk on his face when you say that. Pulling back, he spits on your pussy and slides his cock back through the extra wetness. Spitting should not be sexy, the voice in the back of your head protests, but here you are rolling your hips up to meet his own movements and practically crying at how good it feels to have him thrusting anywhere near your pussy.

He loves looking down and seeing the head of his cock sliding through your folds. Knowing that if the timing was right, he could just slide inside you. But this teasing is what is needed right now, not willing to take that step until you are ready. He ruts against you, groaning at how slick it sounds, how eagerly you are squirming under him. “Fucking gorgeous.”

“F-feels so—fuck—” With your mind everywhere and pleasure overwhelming every sensation, it seems impossible to form a coherent sentence let alone express just how amazing he feels not-quite fucking you. Your whole body is lit up like a star map, little supernovas of pleasure exploding with every thrust of his hips. “Holy shit.”

Dave groans, loving how fucked out you look, even if his cock isn’t buried inside you. Loving how you are experiencing pleasure beyond just the normal expectation. The puffy lips of your cunt catching on the shaft of his cock and making him groan as he ruts against you.

It feels otherworldly, this cloud you’re riding on so far above any kind of normal reality, and the rambling begging and pleading tumbling from your lips would be unrecognizable to your ears if you could actually process anything you’re saying. All you know is you desperately need to cum and you want him to utterly wreck you in the process. If you hadn’t committed to keeping your hands tangled in the bed frame, you might be clawing at him right now in an effort to drag him closer, but with every sensation better than the last, you don’t know that you would even want him to do anything different.

“Look at you.” He groans, keeping his hips moving and turning his head to scrape his teeth along the inside of your right knee. “So fucking eager to cum. You’re going to be a good girl and cum for me?” He asks, letting go of your calf and slapping the outside of your thigh. Groaning when you keen and arch up, almost making him venture too close to your entrance.

“P-please.” It might be the most-moaned word in your vocabulary, and you don’t even care. “So…so fucking close. Oh my god.”

He keeps rolling his hips, fingers biting into the soft flesh of your calves and making the skin indent from how he is gripping you. The slick sounds of his flesh sliding over yours and the slap of the way his hips meet your thighs fills the space in the tiny cabin room. Driving away every thought but the sole focus of how hot you are, how wet you are getting, and he loves the way that the wood from the headboard creaks from how hard you are pulling on it, using it to keep yourself from flying off the bed. "Fuck"

It’s on a longer pass of his hips that the searing head of his cock nudges your overstimulated clit just right and you practically black-out with the force of the organ that crashes over you. Even the best times you’ve even given yourself - even as amazing as yesterday and the day before were - it’s a little like being thrown off a fifty-story drop and trusting him to catch you. The way your body tenses up, grasping for any way to bring him in closer when he’s not actually inside you, makes his name sound strangled from your lips but fuck if it isn’t better than you had ever dreamed that to see moments with your soulmate could be.

He can feel the blood pounding in your clit. The way your cunt begs him to fill it, making him grit his teeth, hissing out a curse while he watches your heavy-lidded eyes flutter in pleasure. Steadily thrusting through your folds and loving the way that you whimper every time your overstimulated sex reacts to having him rub against you. His own pace stutters slightly as he gets close.

“C-cum for me, daddy, fuck need to see you cum.” The hears in your mind utterly change gears when you feel his hips stutter against you, no longer giving a single fuck about anything but his pleasure. Watching him. Having him cum all across your skin if he can manage it - and that thought has you breathless. “Cum on me, please!”

It's fucking filthy hearing that come out of your mouth. Making Dave groan when his entire body tightens and that rush of heat races down his spine to make him start throbbing. Dark eyes nearly coal black from how lust blown they are as he looks down at you, the first spurt of his release painting a long rope up your belly.

You swear you nearly cum a second time yourself just from watching - the way Dave’s whole body tightens like a bowstring over you and long jets of pearlescent cum look opaque white against your skin. “Jesus fuck…” You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until you let it go, falling back against the sheets and reaching to coax him down to you with one crooked finger. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

He doesn't care that he's going to get his cum on his stomach, when you beckon him down, he's lowering himself to you. Letting your legs fall off his shoulders so he can press against you and kiss your lips. "Yeah?" There's a smug, cocky tone to his voice as he pulls back, pecking your lips again. "How is that?"

“I thought seeing stars when you cum was a myth.” The hum in your throat when he misses you pitches up into a whine of protest when he pulls away. “Apparently not.”

“Only when you’re with me.” He teases, smirking when he looks at the mess he made of your body. “Want to shower?” He asks. “I’ll wipe off and start a fire for us.”

“Sounds perfect.” Reaching up for him one more time, Dave helps you haul your messy self off the bed and laughs when you struggle out of the bundled-up trap your shirt became during all that morning exercise. There isn’t anything in the cabin that you can wear yet besides what you came in, so it looks like no underwear for you until his team drops off supplies.

Dave grins, slapping your ass and admiring the way that it jiggles. “I’m not sorry at all.” He announces, chuckling at your pursed lips as you pick up your destroyed panties.

“These were my good ones,” you inform him, trying for scolding but falling far short. Everything that just happened was far too perfect to ever be upset about.

“I will buy you more.” He promises. “As many as you want in every color you can think of.”

“It’s fine.” They’re just panties, and it would be a silly thing to get upset about in the first place. “You’re just going to have to deal with me going commando until your team drops off our supplies,” you tease, throwing him a wink as you scamper off to the shower.

"Ohhhhh nooooo." He calls out sarcastically after you. "That's horrible. I guess I must go commando too."

*****

When you re-emerge about twenty minutes later after a scalding hot shower using soap that smells like him, you pull your clothes from the night before back on and find him sitting in front of the fireplace with a small fire crackling away. “So what is on the agenda today?” You ask him, plopping down right beside him and tucking into his side.

"I'm going to check the perimeter alarms when the guys arrive." He reaches over and grips your thigh. "Make sure that we have everything in place. Chop some extra wood."

“Is one of them going to stay in here with me?” The paranoia - the fear - leaks through the question and you instantly hate yourself for it. It’s fair for you to be scared, but you don’t want him to think you’re weak.

"That's why I want to wait until they get here." He reassures you. He knows that you are scared. If he hadn't led the life he has, he would be too. Fuck, there is a tiny portion of him that is scared. Scared of not being able to protect you and losing you to this. His hand flexes around the soft flesh of your thigh and he soothes it by rubbing gently. "I want you to feel safe and baby..." He waits until your reluctantly eyes meet yours. "You are doing great. You are so brave."

“I don’t feel it,” you admit quietly, leaning into the bulk of him further. He’s an anchor, keeping you from floating away in the panic and uncertainty of everything around you. “But thank you.”

"Baby...." He sighs and rubs your thigh. "I curled up into a ball and cried on the floor of my tent after the first firefight I was in." He admits softly. "People shooting at me, firing RPGs at our position and actively trying to kill me. I had to fire back. I had to kill them before they could kill me and my men." His voice is slightly hollow, and he is taken back to nearly twenty years before, fresh out of training and deployed. "Still didn't stop me from bawling like a baby when I came back to base alive." He looks over at you and gives you a stiff smile. "You are doing better than I did."

“If I had had to fire back to survive, I’d be dead right now.” That much you can promise him as you wind your arms around his waist and tug him tight against you. He is your anchor, and you are determined to be his if you can. “Plus, I think I’m in shock a little. But whatever it is, I’m just glad you’re here.”

"I'm going to stay here." He vows, his own arm lifting and coming around your shoulder to pull you tight. "I'm not going anywhere, baby. I have to find out the ending to your story." He teases, wanting to lighten the moment slightly.

“Fuck if I know.” Your laugh is practically a hiccup and you nudge his chest playfully. “I make it up as a go along. The end could come tomorrow or it could come in fifty years.”

"Life imitating art?" He asks, brow lifting, and he appraises you with a teasing grin. "Or art imitating life?"

“I never had any kind of life that art would want to imitate before.” Pushing yourself up a little, you press a soft kiss to his lips and grin. ���I guess that’s what the book will be for.”

He chuckles and leans over to kiss you again. "Then I guess I better make sure it's a good experience, huh?"

“Well, it’s definitely not boring.” A tilt of your head and a smirk accompany your small laugh, and you lace your fingers through his easily. “What should we do until they get here? Just sit around and keep being cute by the fire?”

"Well, I was thinking that you must be hungry." He hums. "Considering that you didn't eat much last night and go through and see what kind of food we have stored."

“You’re in charge.” That’s not even a stretch - knowing that he is far more capable of taking care of the two of you in this environment than you could ever hope to be. “Lead the way and I’ll happily follow.”

He snorts and smirks at you. "Oh, don't tell me that." He huffs, recovered from his irritation at you being in danger now that you are relatively safer and able to concentrate on you again.

“Why not?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently. “Daddy doesn’t want to be in charge?”

"Brat..." He hisses, narrowing his eyes playfully at you. "Don't make me take you across my knee and spank you."

“I might like it.” It isn’t a word you ever thought would apply to you - brat - but the way his eyes light up like fire when he says it makes you want to find out. You never thought you would end up calling anyone daddy in bed, either. “Can’t know unless we try.”

"Oh, we can." He promises, voice dropping down a few octaves. "I can imagine that ass with my handprint raised on your skin. Your little pussy dripping when you beg me to fuck you."

“Just like I almost did a half an hour ago?” You reveal, raising one eyebrow at him and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in the best imitation of a sultry expression that you can muster.

"I'm really going to kill that man when I get my hands on him." He groans, cock twitching again. "We could have....fuck...."

Now you actually feel a little bad, chuckling weakly as you shrug your shoulders. “It would have been the perfect way to end our first date…but…shit happened…”

He hums, reaching up and cupping your cheek. "I – shit, you are just amazing."

“Why? Because I want to sleep with you?” You scrunch up your nose and shake your head at him. “That just means I have eyes and a general attraction to men. I’m surprised you don’t have people lined up around your apartment building.”

"I'm picky." He teases, leaning in and kissing the tip of your nose. "Honestly, I'm too old to be going out and picking up random women, and I wasn't comfortable with someone getting close again. Not until someone punched me on the jaw."

“Not very well-behaved of me.” You snicker, kissing the tip of his nose in turn. “My brattiest moment, if I ever had one.”

"You can be bratty." He huffs. grinning at you. "I didn't hate it."

“We’ll see. I think the only time I’ll ever be throwing a punch your way again is when you’re teaching me.” Shuffling around a little, you push up into your knees, brush a kiss on his lips, and stand. “Want to check out our food storage situation?”

"Of course baby." He immediately stands, following you as you make your way to the kitchen. "Although you might try to punch me if I surprise you." He jokes, chuckling at your huff.

“You just want to get hit.” He does it to tease you, you know that, and you can’t deny enjoying it as a show of affection. The kitchen cupboards are full - pots and pans and all manner of tools alongside nonperishable foods and plenty of mixes. “The pancake mix only needs water.” You offer, after scrounging around a little. “There’s cooking spray and maple syrup. Does the stove need propane, or does it have gas?”

"It's all connected to a tank." He tells you. "It's all ready to go, just needs the pilot lit."

“Pancakes, then?” It’s the closest thing to a normal meal you can offer, and a little normalcy sounds comforting.

"That sounds good." He hums. "There is also some shelf stable bacon." He offers.

“Well now we’re just fancy.” You shoot him a grin as the two of you start to assemble the things necessary for your breakfast just as easily as if you were still in his apartment.

"We like the creature comforts." He argues playfully. "The boys will bring up your tea so you can cozy up with a cup in front of the fireplace like this is just a weekend away." He wants you to have that normalcy. "And a computer so you can work on your idea. No chance of them tracking it because there is no internet up here."

“I am an expert at playing pretend.” The familiar motions of cooking are soothing in their own right, making it easy to chat and smile despite the reason you’re tucked away from civilization. “That’s what my friend and I do all day long. Just…over the Internet.”

"There is nothing wrong with that." He understands. "I never consciously think about the fact that my mother is gone. I just- she's never available to talk, you know?"

“Ours is more like…playing the sandboxes other people have made.” You shrug, measuring out water from the sink to add to the pre-made flour mix. “You know - fanfic. She and I write together sometimes.”

"Really?" He arches a brow and smirks. "Getting together and plotting smutty little scenes?" He likes the idea of what might have been said between girlfriends, having learned early on what women talk about when they get together when Carol would have wine night at the house.

“We’ve…” Huffing, you pour your momentary embarrassment into whisking the pancake batter. “We’ve never actually met. She got a family and everything in Virginia and I’m just her weird Internet gremlin friend. But she’s great, and I…I just hope she’s not worried, that’s all. We usually talk every day.”

"If you want, you can give one of the guys her username and they can send her a message." Dave offers. It's not like people don't know you are alive now, so it would be less risk than if you were to try to contact her.

“That…that would be good. Thank you, love.” It’s actually a huge relief, but your eyebrows furrow a little anyway. “Maybe my dad, too? Just to tell him that I found you? We could say we went on a little vacation or something. Just so he won’t worry?”

"I'm actually going to send Resnick over to watch over your dad." He hadn't told you that yet, but he didn't want something happening to the old man because of all of this. "So if you want to write him a letter, he can give it to him directly."

Abandoning the bowl of batter momentarily, you fling both arms tight around Dave’s waist and squeeze. “Thank you,” you murmur into his chest. “My Dad and Katie mean everything to me. I mean…before you, they were all I had.”

"Now you have more than them." He promises, knowing that every single one of the guys would do whatever it took to keep you safe. The moment Dave accepted you as his soulmate, you had become one of the group - even if you weren't completely okay with what they did. "You've got big brothers and you'll love Kovac's wife."

“What’s she like?” All you know about her so far is that she once slept with Dave - so clearly she has impeccable taste.

"Well, she's your body type." He hums, taking the opportunity to leer at you while you turn back to your pancake mix. "Shoulder length hair that she puts pink and purple streaks in. She's got a dirty sense of humor - have to with Kovac for her soulmate. Takes no shit and funny enough, she's a writer too. Op ed for the Washington Chronicle." He chuckles. "For her birthday last year, she made Kovac get a tattoo of a rose on his ass because she always wanted one but she didn't want the pain."

The way you freeze up at the stove with your mouth hanging open and your eyes wide should be comical but it’s just too big of a coincidence. It can’t be. That would be far too crazy. “What…um…what did…” you shake your head, grasping at composure. “They have two boys? Five and three?”

It's Dave's turn to freeze, shifting back through the information that Kovac had given you during that afternoon in his apartment. Had it really only been yesterday? "They do." He nods. "Turner and Hunter."

“And a golden retriever named Bo?” You remember two years ago when they adopted the slobbering ball of snuggles. It was right after you and Katie had started talking regularly. “She…um…she publishes under her maiden name, right?”

Dave huffs, shaking his head. “Wilkins, yeah. She uses K.K Wilkins.” He puts his hands on his hips. “How do you know this?” His trust doesn’t waver but it’s starting to get fucking creepy.

The way you practically slump against the stove makes you grateful it’s not turned on yet, and you’re practically in tears for no other reason than being overwhelmed at this incredibly welcome turn of events. “Because I’ve been talking to her everyday for almost two years,” you tell him quietly, sniffling back an overflow of emotion. “Yesterday I thought it was a silly coincidence that Kovac’s wife has the same name as my friend. But…it’s not. It’s her. The tattoo story couldn’t be more than one person.”

His eyes widen and there is a moment when he just absorbs the fact that he could have met you through a completely innocent turn of events. And then he throws his head back and laughs.

“What?” Whatever reaction you had been expecting from him, this definitely isn’t it.

“Oh - fuck.” He manages to catch his breath and he reaches for you. “You- there was a story you, uh, co-wrote with her?” He tilts his head. “How to Sleep with Your Husband’s Best Friend - apparently I’m Dan. I didn’t even catch that.”

“No!” Bundled up against his chest, his laughter rattles through both of you and infects you right to the core. “I…um…I definitely had some good me time writing that story,” you admit with a laugh.

“God.” He huffs. “What are the fucking odds?” He asks, kissing your forehead. “At least the story was flattering.”

“I guess the universe really wanted us together.” What else could have done it if not the power of the universe and all your silly little soulmate markings. “We we’re going to meet come hell or high water.”

“You would have had to meet her in person.” He reminds you playfully. “Not just being her internet gremlin friend.”

“So instead, the universe decided to have me almost get killed. Twice.” While you might be playing it up like it’s overdramatic, it definitely is just dramatic with no over- or under-. “I was just being a good little gremlin…minding my own business…”

“Gremlin.” He shakes his head and kisses your head again. “Maybe the universe thought I needed to be showcased as the hero, saving his damsel in distress.” He teases.

“I’m a damsel. I’m in distress. I can handle it.” There’s probably no way he’ll pick up on the reference you’re making, but you toss him the best sultry smirk you can manage and cock your hip in his direction as you turn back to the stove to actually start cooking your breakfast, grinning with amusement over the whole thing. The world really did look at the two of you and go by any means necessary and then picked the absolute most insane scenario in the world to make happen.

“You have to admit, this is a way cooler story than being introduced by your porn writing buddy.” He tells you, enjoying this. Now he knows Kate’s secret and he’s just got to find out if her meathead of a husband knows.

“I dunno, I could stand not to be targeted by assassins or secret agents or whatever.” And the fact that that is a real sentence is both ludicrous and terrifying, but you just roll your eyes as you light the pilot light on the stove.

“Are you sure?” He asks playfully. “You are in a romantic cabin surrounded by snow. Tucked away. Perfect for losing your virginity when you’re ready.”

“And it would have been just as perfect in your apartment.” Leaning over, you press a kiss over his heart and reach for the cooking spray to get some pancakes underway. “Although, I have to admit…the fireplace is a nice touch. The apartment doesn’t have a fireplace.”

“House with a fireplace.” He hums. “Noted. You want one in the bedroom or just in the living room?” He asks seriously.

“As long as there is one, I don’t care.” But this line of conversation is a kind of warm that goes right to your heart instead of your core, and you smile at him. “What’s the one thing you absolutely must have when we buy a house?”

“Are you going to look at me strange when I say a basement?” He asks, smirking at you slightly.

“Depends on what you want the basement for.” You tell him honestly, and wish you had your mug of tea to wrap your hands around and sip. “Man Cave? Game Room? Absolutely. Murder Lab? No way.”

He snorts. “Murder lab.” He shakes his head and gives you a disappointed look as he props his hands on his hips. “There has been one thing that I have brought back to my residence that would tie me to the things that I do.” He tells you. “You. You are the only thing from a job I have ever brought home.”

“I was teasing, love.” Even saying the word, using it like a little pet name, gives you a thrill and a sense of belonging that makes you feel like you’re glowing. “Of course you should have a basement if you want one. No questions asked.”

“Oh you should ask some questions.” He huffs, reaching out and pinching you. “It might be a sex dungeon for all you know.”

“If it’s a sex dungeon then maybe I want to be surprised.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and smirk. “That sounds like a really fun surprise.”

“Fuck.” He hisses, biting his lip and imagining how you are going to torment him throughout his life with that damn surprising sense of humor. “I will not get over how you are still a virgin but so damn filthy.”

“Well, you can blame part of that on Katie.” Your friend is a constant source of encouragement and tends to gleefully needle at some of your dirtier qualities, bringing them to the surface. Especially when you write together. “But mostly it’s just all that pent-up sexual energy that I haven’t gotten out over my entire life, minus the last four days.”

“So I’m going to be fucked out when we have sex?” He teases.

Rolling your eyes at him, you flip the pancakes in the pan and nudge his side. “Baby, I’ve got like fifteen years of being horny and single to make up for. We’ll be fine.”

“I might have to get some Viagra to keep up with your demands.” He moans woefully, completely kidding of course.

“Easier to get than a lot of a lot of life-saving treatments.” You shrug merrily, loving his teasing mood. “I’m sure you’ll get a high-five from the doc when you go in complaining that your soulmate is too horny for you to keep up with.”

He snorts and bobbles his head in agreement. “Probably.” He admits, unable to resist sliding up behind you back and squeezing your ass. “But I don’t think I’ll need that for a while.”

“I seriously doubt it.” A tiny roll of your hips makes him almost choke on a breath and you grin victoriously as you reach across the counter to grab the bacon he had found and throw it in a second pan. “This morning was perfect, by the way. The perfect way to wake up and the perfect kind of half-step to feel more ready for actual sex.”

“Just let me know if I push too fast.” He demands softly, leaning in and pressing his lips to the juncture of your neck. “I never want you feeling rushed.”

“I don’t.” You hum softly at the way his lips on your skin light up every nerve ending in your body. “I’m ready. Now it’s just about finding the perfect moment.”

“Should have asked them to bring a bottle of wine.” He murmurs between kisses to your neck. “Or a bottle of whiskey.”

“You’re telling me this place doesn’t have any booze stored away?” A little whimper escapes your lips when he nips at your skin. “I don’t believe that.”

“Okay there might be a bottle in the top cabinet.” He hums. “But the cheap shit. You don’t care when your numbing an injury.”

“We don’t need it anyway,” you tell him, easily tipping your head to one side to give him more skin to kiss as his hands start wandering. “All I need is you.”

The perimeter alarm starts to sound. A small beeping and a flashing light near the front door. Dave looks up, already expecting the guys but he pulls away, patting yours ass in reassurance. “Keep cooking baby.” He murmurs. “It’s the guys.”

“They have terrible timing.” You pout, hating that you have to lose the heat of Dave’s body against yours even if it’s for a good reason.

“The fucking worst.” He agrees, walking into the living room and checking the window to make sure it was in fact the guys. Even if he was expecting them, he wouldn’t make another mistake with your safety.

Resnick’s truck crests the top of the hill easily, it’s nondescript appearance and utter lack of anything remarkable making it the perfect vehicle for this trip. Just another truck with a covered cab rolling down the highway on a regular day. Ari jumps out of the cab as soon as he parks, wasting no time in checking the perimeter while Kovac climbs out to knock on the cabin door.

Dave unlocks the door and opens it. “Any issues getting here?” He demands, watching Resnick walk over to the car Dave had stolen yesterday.

“We thought we might have a tail at first but the van took an exit halfway here. Coincidence.” Kovac looks around the cabin, waving awkwardly when he glances in your direction. “You guys manage okay last night?”

“Yeah, we were good.” Dave doesn’t mention your newfound connection to the group, leaving that up to you. “Of course it was upsetting for her, but she’s tougher than she knows.”

"Good." Kovac's head bobs a little as he looks around the cabin. "We're gonna figure this out, Dave," he murmurs, not wanting you to hear him. "We're not gonna let them get to her again."

“No we’re not.” Of that he’s completely certain. “I think they believe she has another copy of the specs.” He reveals. “Since they didn’t get it from the lab.”

"That's a fair guess." The corresponding nod Kovac gives is slightly off kilter, but he rubs his chin thoughtfully. "The haul we brought with us should have you guys set up for three weeks. If we need more than that for any reason, we can do another drop, but we'll be in touch far before then."

“Good.” Dave nods. “I’m going to send Resnick to her dad.” He tells Kovac. “She’s not going to be home for Christmas and I don’t want the old man to worry. And I don’t want those fucks to use him to draw her out.”

"Is there anyone else we need to check on?" The other man has no idea what family or friends you might have, but if Dave is thinking this far ahead then he already has an answer.

Dave grins and gives a small chuckle. “I’ll let her tell you about the other one. Her friend apparently has been worried about her.”

After starting up a second pan of pancakes, you can actually step away from the stove long enough to stick your head around the corner. “Everything okay?” You ask, eyes flicking between Dave and his friend Kovac curiously. “I mean…as okay as it can be? All things considered?”

“Yeah babe.” Dave motions you over. “Talk to this knucklehead and I’ll watch the pancakes.” He offers, smirking at you.

You manage to steal a kiss as Dave passes you and are grinning like an idiot by the time you make it out into the living room. “He wants me to talk to you about Kate,” you explain, knowing Kovac won’t have a single fucking clue as to what’s going on.

The larger man immediately frowns and shuffles on his feet, hand coming up to swipe at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.” He huffs, feeling guilty for potentially causing problems between you and Dave for his previous dalliances. “I shouldn’t have made it seem like Dave would cheat or still had something for Kate. He doesn’t. He was one thousand percent faithful to Carol - beyond watching a beautiful woman walk by. But that’s—” he gestures helpless and tries not to stick his foot in his mouth. “That’s not any different than drooling over some actor.”

“Which she does with her friend online.” You prompt, making sure you don’t sound the least bit judgmental and trying to go all the way for up-beat. “This isn’t about Dave and Kate having slept together. I honestly don’t care who he was with before I met him. Just…has she mentioned anything about an online friend being MIA the last few days? A friend she writes stories with sometimes?” Sure you’ve talked every day for the last two years, but fuck if you know if she has ever mentioned you to her husband in any way, shape, or form.

He frowns, running his hand over his face and scraping the prickly hair of his stubble. “She mentioned it last night before bed. She hadn’t said much - just that it’s been a fucking week and she’s trying to figure out what she did to piss her off and if ‘Gremlin’ hasn’t responded by today, she wanted me to track her down and make sure she’s okay using every contact I have.” He frowns. “Why?”

That makes you smile in a grateful way you hadn’t anticipated - that Kate would be so worried that she would ask for something like that. It’s relieving to know that the sisterhood you’ve developed isn’t at all one-sided. “Because… I’m ‘3gremlinsinalabcoat’. Dave and I just figured it out. I asked him to tell me a little about your wife and it all just clicked.”

“Oh shit.” His mouth drops open and his eyes widen for a moment in shock. “Really?” He processes it and grins. “Dave! Dave!” He shouts, making the other man look around the corner. “Our soulmates are going to be trouble together!” He cackles.

“Will you just let her know I’m okay? Tell her I’m sorry I disappeared?” You shake your head, smiling. “It’s kind of your fault I disappeared without a word, anyway. So I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Shit.” He hisses, realizing how screwed he is when his wife finds out that piece of information. He digs in his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Selfie for proof of life?” He begs. “Otherwise, I’m the doghouse forever.”

Katie has always described her husband as being like one of those strawberry candies everybody’s grandma used to carry - hard and seemingly impenetrable outside with a sweet, gushy inside once you put in the work to get there. You can see it now, as he pulls out his phone and leans in close to put both of your faces in the frame. “Please tell her that I’m sorry I made her worry,” you ask, knowing that if it was you and she had just stopped talking - you would have assumed that she hated you.

Kovac snaps the photo and takes another, turning and kissing your cheek. “I’ll let her know. It’s our fault, so she can yell at me about it.” He promises before he winks at you. “After I tell her that you’re busy getting to know Dave - your soulmate.” He chuckles and rubs your back. “She talks about you a lot. Conversations you have, stories you’re writing. You are her best friend.”

“She’s mine, too.” And the relief you feel that you won’t have to hide any of this from her is enough to bowl you over right where you stand. “She’s kept me afloat so many times when I felt like I was drowning that we used to joke that I was her second soulmate.”

He chuckles and nods. “Do you know how many times she threaten to trade me for ‘Gremlins’ when I annoyed her?” She had been joking and he had never taken offense but it was ironic how things were working out.

“Sounds like it will just be a girls’ day from now on,” you joke. “Although now I totally get why we went so long without really talking about family so much. She told me that you were in law enforcement…which is putting it very mildly.”

He has the decency to blush, rubbing at the back of his neck again and shuffling awkwardly. “Yeah.” He gives a slight shrug. “It’s easier than trying to explain what we really do.”

“Dave’s serious about the security firm,” You remind him gently. “It’ll be different soon. I know she worries about you - she’s said so and I couldn’t really understand it before. But I definitely do now.”

He blows out a breath, rolling his shoulders back and releasing the tension in them. “I know she will be thrilled.” He admits. “She’s never loved what we do, but it’s never affected our home life beyond out of town trips.”

“I’m sorry you and I got off on a bad start.” This is your best friend’s soulmate, and one of your soulmate’s best friends. If nothing else, you don’t want bad air between you. “You were just doing your job and I was, well I was fucking scared, but I’m glad Dave has you guys to watch his back.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He huffs. “We need to apologize. We totally upended your life. But—” He sighs and shoots you a grin. “I am happy for Dave that he saw that tattoo. He’s a good man and he deserves to be happy.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure he stays happy.” It’s not an easy promise to make even if the words are easy to say, but you mean it worth every fiber of your being. “I love him. So much.”

“I know he loves you too.” Of that he’s completely certain. “He never even considered quitting for Carol. And she hated it when she found out.”

“For better or worse, he didn’t have any choice in telling me.” The smile on your face when Dave appears again from around the corner is broad and honest. “I’m glad there aren’t any lies between us. Even if the truth isn’t always easy to swallow.”

“That’s true.” Kovac chuckles. “We had decided that our soulmates would know the truth. Too hard to try to keep it a secret.”

Ari and Resnick come through the front door together, shopping bags and cardboard boxes in hand. “Boss!” Ari calls for Dave while Kovac retrieves the bags of your clothing from his hand. “Where do you want us to put this stuff?”

“Leave it on the table.” He calls back. “We’ll organize it and go through it.”

“I’m going to change my clothes.” The announcement is mostly meant for Dave, but this way all the guys know they can discuss whatever business they need to without talking in code around you. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Dave watches you close the door and looks at Resnick. “I’m going to send you to watch over her dad.” He tells him. “They could use him to draw her out.” Ari nods, agreeing with him. “Ari, I need you go to my apartment and watch to see if the fucker comes to snoop.”

“Surveillance on both of your places is streaming straight to my phone.” Ari holds up his iPhone and waggles it in the air. “I know she’s not going back to her old place, but they don’t, so I kept the surveillance in tact. Now I’m fucking glad I did.”

“Good man.” Dave nods in approval, knowing his team rarely makes mistakes and always thinks ahead. “We can’t fuck this up. It’s too important. I almost fucking lost her last night. A kiss saved her goddamn life.”

“Hell of a kiss.” Ari shakes his head with a rueful chuckle. “You guys sit tight and try not to go crazy. Do we have an address for her dad?”

Dave pulls out his phone and sends the address to Resnick. “I told her that she could write a letter for you to give him. It’s almost Christmas and they are all each other had for a long time.”

“I’ll take care of it.” They have all spent enough holidays away from family, he knows how hard the first one can be. “Hopefully we can get everything squared away and the threat neutralized, and you can meet your father-in-law at New Years.”

Dave huffs and nods, not happy to change your plans. “Can you call them - let them know I won’t be able to deliver meals?”

“I’ll take your place,” Ari promises readily. He and his wife had deliberately planned to do nothing at all this year, but leaving fellow vets without a hot meal just isn’t an option to him. He knows she’ll understand, and will probably be a driver herself when he explains. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Tell Deirdre that I appreciate it.” Dave hums, looking back towards the bedroom door. “You didn’t happen to include anything that could be considered Christmasy, did you?”

“We put a nice bottle of scotch and some chocolates in.” Kovac admits, looking more than a little sheepish as he runs the back of his neck. “Once I tell Kate who she is, I guarantee she’s going to want to drop something off on Christmas Eve.”

“Who she is?” Ari looks confused, trading glances with Resnick. “You mean Dave’s soulmate?”

“She’s Katie’s best friend.” Kovac shakes his head, still baffled by the coincidence. “You know how she’s always on her phone writing stories? Dave’s girl is the one she’s been writing with, apparently.”

“No shit?” Ari chuckles and shakes his head. “Deirdre has read some of those. They’re fucking hot.”

“Everything okay out here?” When you emerge a minute later, the guys are standing around the stove with their heads bowed but smiling. “I don’t know who did the shopping, but thank you. Everything fits.”

“I --uh, did.” Kovac confesses, although shopping wasn’t quite the word he would use for breaking into the Torrid store and stealing the clothes. You didn’t need to know that though. “Katie drags me shopping with her all the time. So…yeah.”

“Thank you.” Reaching out to touch his shoulder on your way to Dave’s side is easy now that you have an extra connection to him through your best friend, and once more the reminder that these men are not their jobs rings loud and clear in your heart.

“You’re welcome.” He gives you a grin and winks. “I threw in some stuff Katie loves and I love taking off of her.” He adds, making the other three men chuckle.

“And somehow she and I are the ones who are trouble?” You shake your head at the group of men doubtfully. “I don’t think so.”

“We never claimed we weren’t trouble.” Ari clarifies with a grin. “Just that you two together was going to be trouble.”

“Even more than we already are.” To that you can agree, but you turn and press a kiss to Dave’s cheek. “We should eat before it gets cold. Unless you have stuff you need to take care of?”

Dave shakes his head. “No. They’ve got to get back.” Resnick rolls his eyes and tosses Dave the keys to his truck. “Do not scratch it.” He warns the team leader.

“Do you want to write a note for your dad?” Resnick prompts, not wanting you to forget. From what Dave said, it’s important.

“I’m going to write him that Dave surprised me with a trip after we met through work.” You tell all of them, so that Resnick won’t be surprised by questions if her dad has any and Dave will know your cover as you dig in your purse in the living room for paper and a pen. “He’s been waiting so long for me to meet my soulmate that I don’t think he’ll be too upset. He’ll tease me about it for sure, but I don’t think he’ll be mad.”

“Tell him that I will bring you for a visit and schedule some golf for us to bond over.” He’s rolling his eyes as he says it, but he would do it for you.

“Thank you, honey.” You know it’s not his ideal way to spend a day, but the fact that he’s willing means the world. Before long, a handwritten note is tucked into an envelope and handed over to Resnick to be delivered. “And thank you guys, too. For everything.”

Resnick is the one that answers. “Of course.” He gives you a smile. “Dave would do the same for us. We might not be in the service anymore, but we are still brothers. Which means you are important to us.”

The door shuts behind them, leaving you and Dave alone in the cabin again with a feeling of finality but less foreboding than you expected. Do you fully trust that they will root out whoever is after you? Yes. But are you now locked into another indefinite period of hiding - this time to a much larger extreme? Definitely yes. “Let’s have breakfast,” you suggest, knowing it’s probably cold by now but that you’ll both need the fuel.

“Okay.” Dave senses that you are uneasy but decides to let you talk to him about it. He doesn’t want you to have to express yourself before you are ready.

Dave being quiet is relatively normal, but not you - and it only lasts about halfway through breakfast before you’re putting down your fork with a frown. “What happens if they can’t get the guy?” You ask quietly, eyes trained on your plate. It’s not that you don’t have faith in his team, it’s that none of you know who is trying to kill you and that’s terrifying in a way you’ve never experienced before.

“Then we set a trap.” He sets down his fork and decides the best thing to do is to be honest. “Draw him out so we can get him.” His face hardens. “And mail him back in tiny pieces so they get the fucking message.”

“Set a trap like…be out in public again and wait to be shot at?” He May have praised You for being calm and collected just a few hours ago but you are not feeling it now. It started building inside you as soon as the door closed, and the tide is rising faster than you can talk it down.

“No.” Dave shakes his head. “Too many variables. Too many potential witnesses and casualties. We would draw him here.” He announces. “It’s isolated and I have the advantage here. I know this place, have cameras and alarms.”

“From safe haven to battleground.” The sigh you let out is shaky and you bury your face in your hands to buy yourself a second of fighting for composure. A panic attack isn’t going to help anything, and it definitely will ruin any good mood either of you had going this morning. “Sounds…terrible, honestly. I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“I hope it doesn’t either.” Dave can see that you are not handling this well. “If it comes down to it, you will be tucked away in the basement. As safe as you can be.”

“And let you be up here all alone fighting or shooting or whatever it is that will end up happening?” Somehow that is an even worse option, and you can feel the anxiety in your stomach somehow boil at the thought. “No. Fuck that. If you’re going to fight for me, then I’m going to fight for you.” Considering how viscerally you hate guns and violence in general, it’s more of a surprise to you than him to have this come out of your mouth so suddenly. But then - is this the measure of your love for him, in a very odd way? The willingness to put everything aside if it means keeping him by your side? “I want you to teach me.”

He can’t deny that determine face and bold words makes his cock twitch and his heart pound. “We don’t have to do it today, love.” He reminds you. “We can take a moment to breathe.”

“I can’t lose you.” It’s a simple fact, but you’re proud of yourself for not getting teary and ruining the way he looks so proud of you for being brave. “I won’t.”

“You aren’t going to lose me, baby.” He reaches over and takes your hand. “We will start with the basics tonight, okay? And then work on target practice tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You’ll have to get over the tingly anxiety of actually being within three feet of a gun, but you were going to have to do that anyway. Life with another person means adjustments, and that’s okay. Squeezing his hand back, you lean over and press a kiss to the back of it. “We’ll start tonight.”

Dave watches you, making sure you eat enough and don’t let the problems of later affect right now. Once you both are done, he picks up the plates and takes them over to the sink. “If you want to go through the bags and start putting things away, I’ll clean up.” He offers, knowing that you might be a little embarrassed by your feminine products despite him being well acquainted with them.

“I’ll grab the things for the bathroom and put them away.” Those things are most for you since the cabin was stocked with the guys in mind, but while you’re poking through the bags you give a slight chuckle. An economy pack of condoms and a bottle of lube made their way into the supply shopping, and you show it to Dave with amusement. “These are going to come in handy after my prescription is up.” It’s not like you are going to be able to go to the pharmacy for your refill.

"Oh." Dave practically short circuits for a moment as he thinks about that reality. He hadn't dealt with a prescription birth control in a long time, Carol had an IUD placed. "Yeah, um..." He blows out a breath and tries to calm his immediate reaction. "We can see about getting your refill."

“You okay?” That reaction wasn’t slightly more visceral than you expected - honestly just figuring it would either earn you a dirty chuckle or something along those lines.

"Yeah." He croaks out weakly, very happy that he is turned towards the sink and away from you. You've never had sex and you damn sure aren't ready for your soulmate's surprising breeding kink that just roared to life and took him by surprise. Kids have never been something he's been opposed to, but with that one innocent comment you make - he finds himself feeling very cavemanish.

“Honey?” He doesn’t sound okay, and you drop the prophylactics back in the bag and pad into the kitchen. “I didn’t think condoms would be such a conversation point. Talk to me.”

"Just...surprised." He's honest in that point, hoping you just think that he's kicking himself for forgetting a detail.

“Okay.” You’re not totally convinced and don’t like the idea that he would keep something from you, but on momentary reflection you decide you’re probably just reading too much into the situation. “I’ll just put them in the nightstand and my stuff in the bedroom.”

Damnit....He hates the self-doubt in your tone and can see the walls start to slowly raise up at his refusal to talk. He's been blunt and shocking you at every turn and he's going to be shy about this? He shakes his head. "Just surprised myself by my gut reaction to that information." He tells you honestly. "I never really considered having a breeding kink before."

“You—?” Spinning on your heel, you had barely made it out of the kitchen and you’re facing him in the open archway in a flash. “That’s an interesting development.” Trying to keep your own surprise in check so he doesn’t feel self-conscious is a little bit of a task, but you do let yourself smile. “The thought of my birth control running out sounding good to you?”

“More than I ever thought possible.” He confesses, happy that you aren’t weirded out. “Doesn’t mean - I mean, I’m not insisting on discarding your prescription or whatever…but.” He gives a slightly self-conscious shrug, “Yeah.”

“I’m going to run out at the end of the month.” You step closer, feeling like this conversation is a little too intimate to be vaguely chatted about across a room. “If we’re here longer than two weeks…maybe we should talk about whether or not the condoms will even get used?” There’s nothing conventional or normal about the way your relationship has come together, so why should discussing the future be any different? You’ve both already said you want kids. This would just be an…unexpected way to get there.

Dave bites his lip, need and want warring inside him. “I-- I don’t want to start trying when you are still in danger. It will make me even more pissed off at this fucker.” He admits.

“That’s fair.” Placing a soft kiss on his lips, you nudge his nose with yours before pulling away. “Please don’t even feel like you can’t tell me things.”

“You are still a virgin. I can’t sit there and just expect you to be okay with the idea that I want to drag you to the bedroom, throw your legs up on my hips and plant my baby inside you.” He huffs.

“Yeah, I’m still a virgin.” But that sounds like a fucking amazing plan, to be totally honest. “But I’ve been waiting my whole life for you, honey. I’m not afraid of it or putting it off because I wasn’t ready. I’ve just been waiting for my soulmate to share my life with.”

He nods, the rational portion of his brain understand that. “Okay.” He says finally after a moment. “I just didn’t want to overwhelm you.” He murmurs, grinning slightly. “I tend to be a little much, but even I thought it might be too much.”

“If I’m overwhelmed, I’ll tell you.” You promise him. “But the fact that my soulmate wants to give me babies? Kind of a favorite fantasy, honestly.” It might not qualify as a breeding kink in so many words, but you’ve definitely dreamed about it more times than you can count.

“Good.” Dave is relieved but still shoots you a dirty look. “Then I won’t hide it.”

“Good.” You agree, pressing in to leave a kiss on his lips. “It’ll be much more fun.”

“Go dig out your tea to make and the backpack should have you a new computer.” He smirks. “Start plotting while I go outside to make sure you stay cozy.”

“Yes, daddy.” The grin and wink you throw him this time have an entirely new context with this surprising development of his, and you slip back out to the living room to start putting things away with a decided spring in your step.

Dave makes his way out to the wood pile and picks up the axe. He’s already got a good pile, but it’s supposed to be cold, and he’s already seen how much you like the fireplace crackling away. Knowing it will be soothing to you.

The clacking of keyboard keys lasts hours before you dig yourself out of your own brain long enough to check the clock on the wall. You’ve been through two mugs of tea and stoked the fire a few times, but Dave is still outside - and the ticking clock says he’s been out there two hours already. Setting the slim laptop down on the coffee table, you shuffle to the cabin’s backdoor and look out, only to be greeted with the delicious sight of Dave still chopping wood shirtless in the backyard. He’s all broad planes of strong muscle like this, itching every one of those caveman-like urges you get in seeing your soulmate provide for you. Quickly grabbing a bottle of cold water from the fridge, you slip outside and make sure to wait until he’s put the axe down to get his attention, just to be safe. “You look like I’m thirsty as hell,” you tease, offering him the water bottle as you get closer.

Dave huffs out a laugh, wiping his brow on his forehead and hefting the axe into the stump and reaching out to take the water bottle. “Thanks.” He pants, twisting the cap off and eagerly gulping down the water.

“You’ve been at it for hours.” You take the empty bottle back from him when he’s drained it and make a mental note to always bring two out whenever he does this from now on. “You wanna come inside and shower off and I’ll make us some sandwiches for lunch?”

Dave looks at the pile and gives a nod. “Yeah, I just want to stack this up and then I’ll come in. Have it inside the lean to in case the front they were talking about decides to come through.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad to get snowed in.” You muse, humming slightly at the idea. It’s incredibly romantic, in theory. “Nothing to do but snuggle up in front of the fire? Sounds nice.”

“I wouldn’t hate it.” Dave admits, smiling at the way your eyes go soft and dreamy. “Drag the mattress into the room in front of it. All the pillows and blankets.”

His smile makes yours grow wider, it is as infectious as a yawn. “It’s not like we’d be worried about losing cable or internet, either. I can read to you or keep you entertained whenever you want.”

“I think we can find plenty to keep us entertained. Don’t you?” He leers slightly.

“I can think of a few things.” More than a few, and his imagination is a damn good one, too, if this morning is any indication.

Dave works quickly, stacking up the wood inside the small shelter leaning against the back door of the cabin. Making the woodpile easily accessible in the event of a winter storm. Knowing that the two of you are isolated and if the weather gets bad, he's not going to want to leave you for too long. Bringing enough in to restock the basket next to the fireplace before he quits. "Now I'll go get that shower." He tells you, winking as he shuts and locks the door off the shelter.

“I’ll make lunch.” Tempted though you are to want to just sit on the bed and wait for him to be clean again to drag him between the sheets, you remind yourself that he just spent two hours chopping wood - and as much as that sounds like the perfect romance novel set up for fooling around - he’s probably very sore. The fresh groceries dropped off today included packs upon packs of lunch meat and several different bags of chips were piled up in a basket in the kitchen cupboards so you set to work making an easy but tasty meal for when Dave is all cleaned up. There was so lemonade powder somewhere…that would be perfect.

Dave runs a towel through his hair and settles on sweats and a shirt, knowing that he’s not going to do much today other than start teaching you weapon safety. Coming out and smiling at the simple lunch, thick sandwiches and chips with lemonade. “God that looks good.” He compliments.

“I’m glad you think so.” Bopping up from the table to give him a kiss, you settle down again with him beside you and pour your drinks. “The cabin life isn’t half bad so far.”

“At Dave’s Assassin’s Inc, you will find we strive to give our clients the most relaxing survival situations possible.” He jokes, reaching out and squeezing your hip as you huff.

“Probably not the best name for your security firm,” you mumble, taking a bite of your sandwich.

He rolls his eyes at you and picks up his own sandwich. “I know. I was just teasing.”

“So was I.” Your hand reaches out, stroking his arm lightly. “Have you thought about what your going to call it?”

“No clue.” He admits, taking a bite of his sandwich hungrily. “I’ve never been good with that kind of thing.” He tells you after he swallows the bite.

“Could be anything.” You’re hungrier than you realized, and you’re both going after your sandwiches like ravenous kids. “Something normal like York Securities or something a little more out there like…” you hum, thinking for a second. “Like Safety First.”

“Which one would you want?” He asks, curious to see what your answer would be. “Safety First sounds like those baby proofing products they have.”

“Did you guys have any jokes or any designations in the service?” You ask, completely willing to put some thought into this with him. “If it were me hiring you guys, I would really like the fact that it’s a Vet-run business. I’d probably pick you over someone else just for that.”

“Double tap for the win?” Dave asks. “A lot of service jokes aren’t exactly civilian friendly. We have a lot of dark humor.”

“Well, it’s something to think about.” In his line of work, you suppose he would have to have some darker humor in order to get through. “But I think you can’t go wrong with something like York Securities. It’s simple and shows that you have enough pride in what you’re doing to put your own name on it.”

“Yeah, but then there’s my name on something.” Dave shies away from that and hums. “Before we went black ops, we were Alpha team in our unit. Maybe Alpha Securities?”

“And your logo can be a stylized alpha symbol?” It’s easy to remember, won’t make him stare at his own name all the time, and definitely implies a dominance that can only work to their advantage. “I like it.”

“Plus they won’t get butthurt with my name on the door.” Dave scoffs, rolling his eyes about Kovac.

“I’ll still be proud to be the boss’s soulmate. Even without your name everywhere.” That is undeniable, and you can bet already that everything you walk into the building you’ll be beaming with pride.

“Office nooners.” Dave grins wolfishly. He could see you come in with lunch and leaving positively fucked out before he goes back to work.

“Whenever you want.” The thought makes you grin and squeeze your thighs together a little under the table. “Your lunch break can be a very well-rounded meal if you want.”

“Undoubtedly.” Dave hums, picking up his lemonade and taking a sip. “How was your writing between licking the windows?” He teases playfully, fully aware you had been engrossed on your laptop.

“The visual of you chopping wood shirtless will live in my brain rent-free for a very long time.” You promise him after another bite of your sandwich. “I have a very loose outline and I named the main characters, and that’s a lot for just a few hours. I normally take ages to name characters.”

“That’s good.” Dave nods in approval, wanting to take an interest in your interests. While there is no way he could be creative enough to write stories or books, but he wants to support you. “A good outline is the basis for any plan.”

“The love scenes are always a little…freelance.” You admit, flustering behind your lemonade glass. “I don’t really know what they’re going to like until I get to know them.” The slight embarrassment in your expression morphs into a grin. “Like he might have a surprise breeding kink. You never know until you get there.”

He huffs, pursing his lips and glowering at you, but it’s all bluster. “Sorry.” He sarcastically tosses out, just to rile you up. “I’ll keep my thoughts and my sperm to myself then.” He winks just to make sure you know that he is playing.

“Hey, my whole ‘daddy’ thing was as much a surprise to be as it was to you.” One hand reaches for his, squeezing a few of his fingers gently. “Sometimes you don’t know until it’s right there in front of you.”

“I know. I’m just teasing. It’s just with you. So you should feel pretty fucking smug about it.” He squeezes your fingers back and takes the last bite of his sandwich.

You can’t help but smile a little more, tucking it up in the corner of your mouth like a smirk. “I might be less smug when the heartburn is keeping me up at night and I can’t see my feet anymore, but I’m still taking it as a compliment.”

Dave gulps down the rest of the lemonade and smiles at you. “I am going to start bringing out a couple of the weapons I want you to learn.” He tells you, knowing you aren’t going to like it, but he doesn’t want you to assume the worst when he does.

“Okay. I’ll clean up here.” It’s nerve-wracking, to say the least, but you did ask him to teach you. And you meant it when you asked him to teach you. “Bring out whatever I should learn first.”

Dave heads down to the basement and goes over to the gun rack you had either ignored or didn’t notice last night and picks up a handgun that would be easy for you to handle and a rifle.

“Just the basics, right?” You’re nervous when he comes back upstairs, but justifiably so. Having cleaned up all the remnants of your meal and your writing spree, the main room of the cabin is empty except for furniture because you have no idea how much space any of this will even require.

“The first thing is weapons safety.” Dave tells you serious. “Rule one - treat every weapon you come across as if it is loaded. Not doing that, even as an experienced firearms handler, accounts for the majority of accidental deaths.” He explains. “Doesn’t matter if I tell you the gun is clear. Until you clear it yourself, it’s loaded. Got it?”

“Got it.” You can’t imagine ever being blasé about a gun, but familiarity does tend to breed complacency, you suppose.

Dave sets the rifle down on the table, muzzle pointed towards the door and holds up the handgun. “This is your basic pistol.” He teaches you. Putting his thumb on a button on the handle he pushes it, making the magazine spring out about an inch from bottom. “This button ejects the magazine, pull that out and then you pull back the slide to make sure there isn’t a round in the chamber.” He shows you that there was one and pops it out into his hand and locks the slide back so it is open and you can see into the weapon. “This is now cleared, you can see there is no bullet in it.”

“Okay.” The way your heart is hammering isn’t pleasant, but this is possibly the most important thing to learn if you’re going to have guns in the house in the future so you remind yourself to focus. “Okay. Got it.”

Dave knows you are uneasy but he also knows that it could be life or death. “Rule two - never point a weapon at something, anything, you are not willing to kill.”

“Makes sense.” Which basically means you’ll be pointing it at nothing but inanimate targets, but again, that’s okay.

Dave smiles at you patiently. “Rule three - keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to fire. That shit in movies where they are leaning on the trigger all the time? Horseshit amateur bullshit.” He releases the slide and cups the bottom of the grip and shows you how he rests his finger along the weapon. “Like this, baby.”

“Every weapon is loaded until you clear it yourself. Never point at something you’re not willing to k-kill.” You hate yourself for the momentary stammer but it’s not a word you’ll ever get used to saying with seriousness. “And keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”

“Good girl.” He praises you, knowing you are so far out of your comfort zone you might as well be on the moon. “Rule four - be aware of your target and what is behind them.” He murmurs softly. “You don’t want to shoot someone and take out someone innocent because they are in the wrong spot.”

“Right.” Collateral damage is a plot line in so many stories and it’s almost what you were - albeit in a different way. You can’t even imagine being responsible for that kind of loss in real life. “Keep going, I know there’s more.”

“There are but those are the main four.” He tells you. “That’s what I had drilled into my head before I was allowed to touch a weapon.”

It’s all a tiny bit overwhelming, but you know that actually putting your hands on one of these pieces is going to give you anxiety for days, so you swallow it and nod again. “The very basic of the basics. Got it.”

“Most of the weight comes from the bullets. Here, feel how light the gun is empty.” He slides an empty magazine into the gun and turns it around to hand it to you by the muzzle, pointed at the floor.

It’s okay. It’s empty. It’s totally safe. You tell yourself on repeat as you carefully wrap your fingers around the cold metal. It’s extremely light, compared to how heavy it looks before you touch it, but you hand it back quickly. “It’s definitely light,” you agree, knowing he can see how anxious even that made you. You’re going to have to get over it, you know that.

“Do you want to stop?” He doesn’t want you having a panic attack over a weapons safety class. Not when you’ve already been through enough for most people in the past week.

“Am I the weakest person in the world if I say yes?” The last thing you want is for him to think less of you, but having an actual real-life handgun in your hand with a rifle out in front of you is giving you flashbacks to last night. “It’s just…it’s a lot…”

“No.” He’s adamant that things happen at your pace, you are not a soldier and shouldn’t be treated like one. “We can be done for now.” He reaches over and carefully takes the weapon from you.

“I’m sorry.” Though you genuinely feel like you could curl into yourself and evaporate, all you do is wipe your hands thoroughly on your new jeans and stifle a sniffle. “I’ll get over feeling weird about it, I promise.”

“Don’t apologize.” Dave sets the gun down on the table and steps over to you, wrapping you up in his arms. “Never apologize to me about something like this. In a perfect world, you would never have to hold one, baby.”

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed,” you admit, face buried in his chest for comfort. The fact that this is even on your radar is still unbelievable to you and right now it’s just too much.

“You aren’t going to disappoint me.” Dave tuts, rubbing your back soothingly. “You don’t have to worry about that. Baby, I don’t want you to ever have to actually use one beyond target practice.”

“I don’t either.” That’s probably abundantly obvious and you sniffle when you mean to huff at yourself. “It’s just a lot all at once, I think…making me think about last night and…” This time the sniffle is very real, and you can’t stifle it. “And all I can think about is if you had leaned in to me for that kiss instead of pulling me to you, they would have gotten both of us.”

He sighs softly, tightening his hold on you. “That didn’t happen baby.” He reminds you. “We are right here. Together. And we are going to stay that way.” He murmurs, wishing he knew how to make you relax. “Let me out them away and we can pretend they don’t exist for a bit, okay?”

“Okay.” Nodding meekly against his chest is the best You can manage right now, and you swear to yourself that you’ll figure out a way to make it up to him even though he says you don’t have to. Even if it’s just an extra nice dinner and head, he still deserves it.

Dave presses his lips to the top of your head and pulls away after another few seconds. “How does a nap sound?” He suggests. “We don’t have anything else that needs doing right now.”

“That sounds good.” Just being next to him - with him, in the safety of his arms - sounds like the only actual place where you’ll find any peace right now. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom?”

“That sounds good, baby.” He nods and turns you around and pats you on the butt before he picks up the weapons again.

There is a suspicious lack of pajamas in the clothes that his teammates brought for you, with the only things coming close being a few t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants, and you swap out the sweater you put on earlier for a t-shirt and shuck your jeans in favor of the sweats before crawling under the covers.

Dave checks the doors and locks again, habit even though he knows everything is good. Coming back into the bedroom and smiling when he sees you already tucked in. “Comfortable?” He asks, starting to pull of the sweats and t-shirt. He hates sleeping in clothes when he doesn’t have to.

“Your boys intentionally didn’t pack any pajamas for me,” you tell him with amusement. “I think they’re trying to give you an edge.”

Dave smirks and slides under the covers. “They are good men.”

“They want you to be happy.” If there’s one thing you know about them, especially after talking to them today, it’s how much they care about Dave.

“Just like we will all help Resnick, when his ugly ass finds his soulmate.” Dave chuckles, moving closer to you and giving you an amused look when he feels your sweats.

“It’s the closest thing to pjs that was on the bag,” you defend, doing him your best doe eyes. “I didn’t want you to think I just expected you to be intimate somehow every time we got into a bed together…”

“Baby, just being in bed with you is intimate.” He huffs. “If I was sharing a bed with Ari I damn sure wouldn’t be eager to cuddle unless the temperature was a hell of a lot colder in here.”

“Not your type?” A teasing grin tucks itself into the corner of your mouth.

“Definitely not.” Dave’s grin is accompanied by a slight wrinkle of his nose. “Man hogs the covers.”

“I’d rather hog your body heat than the covers.” You vow, snuggling up to his side immediately. It may only be two nights that you’ve slept beside him but it already feels like the exact place you’re meant to be. “Much more fun for keeping warm.”

“Much more fun.” He agrees, hand under you immediately moving up under your shirt to caress your back. “Bra?” He frowns, feeling the band. “Why the hell are you still wearing it?”

“New ones need breaking in. Like shoes.” It’s an annoying truth and you shrug slightly. “But you can undo it, it’s fine.”

He quickly hooks his finger under the four hook and eye clasps and undoes them. “Let the titties breathe during nap time.” He teases.

“Next thing you’re going to be telling me is that the pussy should breath during nap time, too,” you joke, wiggling a little to get your arms out of the loose bra straps so you can toss it aside.

“I - you know…I’m sure that has to be backed by science.” He chuckles and sighs contentedly when you lean against him again.

“You’re sure, huh?” A dramatic little sigh and a playful roll of your eyes have him laughing again as you shimmy out of your sweatpants and panties. “Well, I wouldn’t want to go against science.”

“I love science.” He breathes out, reaching for a handful of your ass the second you have it available. “Best fucking thing ever.”

“Oh yeah?” It actually is a little chilly in only a t-shirt, and you cozy up to Dave’s side as tightly as you can under the blanket. “I’m glad you think so.”

He just hums, feeling you shiver and he tangles his legs with yours. Leaning back against the pillows and relaxing. “You’re welcome to throw a leg over me.”

“I thought we were gonna nap?” You tease, slipping just your calf over his so you don’t put too much weight on him but still get a little more warmth.

“We are going to nap.” Dave huffs, reaching down and pulling your leg up more. “But I want my girl to be warm and comfortable.”

Huffing at him slightly, you wind your arm around his waist and let your head lie comfortably on his shoulder. With him in absolutely nothing and you in just a t-shirt, warm skin connected with chilled skin easily and quickly enough that you’re always significantly warmer than you were a few minutes ago. “I love you, too,” you mumble sheepishly, a little too embarrassed to admit that yes - this is much better.

“I know you do.” Dave’s eyes are closed and there is a smile on his face. Fingers stroking up and down your leg, just needing to touch you and his hand on your back just splays across your skin like a warm anchor to keep you against him.

“Get some sleep, baby.” Like clockwork, the sentence ends in a yawn and you hug him tight. “Neither one of us slept well last night.”

“Sleep well, beautiful.” Dave murmurs softly, relaxing and dozing off quickly for the lack of sleep and hours of hard labor.

 ______

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[delimeful]

(don’t) take this the wrong way (7) (END)

final chapter of dtttww :) i had a lot of fun with this verse so i may take requests set in it in the future, and this might receive some more copy editing later, but for now this is the epilogue!

warnings: mild injury, mild hypnosis, for once no miscommunication :)

-

[Several months later…]

Sunlight trickled down through the water in wavy bands, illuminating the shallows and growing fainter and fainter as the distance from the surface increased.

Virgil didn’t spend much time in the shallows, too wary of being without escape, being made vulnerable to human vessels or poachers. Despite his dark and gloomy aesthetic, he couldn’t go too far into the depths either, simply because his fragile fish bones weren't built for it. His eyes weren’t built for it either, and down there where anything could be lurking, he would need more than speed to avoid danger.

So, on an average, sunny day like this, he could be found miles offshore, in waters that were easily too deep for unsuited humans to reach, but still well-illuminated by the light above.

There were a few old wrecks scattered about the ocean floor here, and though they’d probably been stripped by a pod in the past, he figured he’d go through them and check for anything that was left behind. Things that weren’t useful to a pod could certainly be things that were useful to him, after all.

He’d been poking through the undercarriage of one of the larger ships for an hour or two, relaxed as he ever got. He could take his time. The only creatures around to judge him were the shoals of fish and layers of barnacles built up amidst the metal, wood, and rust.

Actually… Virgil paused in his inspection of an old cutlery set to glance around.

What had happened to the fish?

Through a hole in the ship’s hull, he watched as a broad shadow passed over the ground and ships alike, large enough to belong to a whale.

There hadn’t been a single shred of whalesong above.

Virgil edged further back from the hole, eyeing the outside warily as the shadow receded, leaving behind only wavering sunlight on sand as though it had never been there at all.

There was nothing here that was worth sticking around.

He carefully made his way back to one of the other exits, in the opposite direction of where he’d seen the shadow head, the strokes of his fin cutting through the water with barely a whisper. The porthole was easily wide enough for him, and the ocean stretched out blue and vast before him, a promise of safety if he just moved fast enough.

A moment’s pause, to make sure he didn’t hear or see anything out of place, and then he was out, flitting from rock outcropping to bone reef and scanning the seas above. Not for the first time, he wished his scales were a little less distinctive in the day.

Behind him, an ominous creak.

He froze, and watched with mounting apprehension as a shadow spilled over him, looming closer and darker than before. The silhouette of an arm stretched out, heading towards him…

“Virgil, you must help,” a huge voice pleaded, “I’ve been had.”

He twisted around just in time to see a huge arm flop down onto the floor next to him, kicking up a cloud of sand and panicked burrower fish in the process.

It was wrapped in heavy wire netting from fingertips to forearm, and behind it, a giant mer was pouting at him with the best seal pup eyes he could manage, which, considering who his best friend was, were fairly potent.

Roman was huge, and he was a shark, with teeth and claws designed to shred and tear, and hands that could enclose him entirely-- but his elbows were braced against the ground with delicate balance so he wouldn’t crush anything, and he’d never grabbed for Virgil past that first disastrous encounter, and even now, his brow was furrowing with worry.

“Pufferfish status?” he asked, voice lowered from the dramatic plea of before.

Virgil’s mouth pulled up at the corners without his permission.

Roman was huge, yes, but he was also theatrical and eager and witty, full of sharp return quips for every barb Virgil had to offer.

He could hurt him, but he wouldn’t. Virgil believed that much.

“Prickly for a second, but I’m smooth now,” he answered, shrugging away the last of the tension. “Try not to sneak up on me without a warning click?”

“You have my word,” Roman replied, and if someone had told him months ago that he’d dare to ask anything of a giant mer, he’d have laughed in their faces. Now, Virgil knew that just like all the other requests, Roman would do his best to heed it.

“But really, my fingers are starting to feel numb. Help?” he entreated with a tilt of his head, shifting his net-wrapped hand a little closer.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t go away, though it tilted more towards amused now. He darted forward, twisting in a spiral around Roman’s hand to try and see the extent of the damage.

“How’d you even manage this? At least I had the excuse of being caught up in a storm,” he snarked, picking at a loose section with his claws. Roman’s fingers twitched a little, and he shot him an apologetic glance.

“I was… perhaps… trying to get a glimpse of those sailors that Logan mentioned patrolled the coast?” Roman offered, more than a little sheepish.

Virgil’s gaze turned sharp in a heartbeat. “Did they spot you?”

Logan had warned both Patton and Roman several times that not many humans would take as kindly to their long-term existence near human settlements as Logan himself had.

“No!” Roman assured, “I was very stealthy, truly, I was just… so focused on being stealthy that I missed the other vessel and the nets it had dragging along behind it. It could have happened to anyone!”

“I seriously doubt that,” Virgil replied dryly. He’d snapped a few of the looser wires with his teeth, but already his jaw was beginning to ache with the strain. “Well, you get to explain this to Specs, ‘cause we’re going to need his expertise in detangling for this one.”

Roman groaned in answer, dropping his head to plonk against the ground.

---

Logan carefully set one foot in front of the other, all of his focus on the thin strip of rock below him.

If he switched his gaze to even a few inches to either side, he’d be faced with the sight of a vertigo-inducing drop to the waves below, one that would have all but the most experienced tightrope walkers dizzy with panic.

His gaze didn’t move, though, unerringly focused on the ground beneath him, and on his own body. There was no need to look at anything but the ledge, a soft presence confirmed in the back of his mind, because he wasn’t going to fall.

Another part of him was skeptical, seeing as he wasn’t known for a lack of clumsiness by most. There was just so much to get distracted by, and it was so easy to look away and miss a curb or accidentally trip over his own feet--

But not now. Now, he was focused on just this one task, a gentle voice dragging his attention back whenever it began to stray. He was hyper aware of where each of his limbs were and where he needed to put them to continue forward, step by careful step.

Only a little farther…

“Logan!”

The harsh call snapped him right out of the trance, and he was abruptly made very aware of both the distance he could fall and the effects that sudden instinctual terror had on his sense of balance.

“Newton’s fucking Cradle,” he swore, and then wobbled again, precariously close to falling over.

There was the sound of water crashing against rock, and in the next moment, two giant hands had curled up on either side of him like the shells of an oyster. They provided him some much needed stability to lean his weight against, and he struggled to steady his breathing as relief swept through him.

“It’s okay, Virgil, I won’t let him fall! No cliffs, ands, or buts about it,” Patton’s voice was muffled, but not enough to miss the pun.

Logan sighed loudly, but he also shifted to let his full weight rest against the curl of Patton’s left palm, tapping twice to let him know it was alright for him to move.

His stomach still swooped slightly as Patton slowly shifted his hands away from the thin rock ledge, but there were some things that one had to adapt to when living with two very affectionate, grabby sea giants, and being toted around was one of those things.

Before long, he was level with the flattest segment of rock that made up their meeting place, which could be called an island if one was feeling gracious, but was really more of a collection of rocky spires and bridges that stuck out of the ocean.

Logan was barely able to sit up before Virgil pulled himself up at the edge of Patton’s palm, expression thunderous but his hands gentle as he carefully checked him over for scrapes or injuries.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack,” he grumbled, a phrase that he used much more frequently around Logan for some reason. Logan had already been reassured that it was an exaggeration and Virgil had no heart problems he knew of, so instead of worrying, he bore his friend’s fussing with good grace. “Did we or did we not agree that you need a spotter if you want to play around with bullshit sirensong magic?”

The mer paused. “No offense, Pat.”

“None taken!” Patton replied from where he had sunk further into the water to put himself closer to eye-level.

“I figured you would be along shortly,” Logan defended, and then perked up at the reminder of his most recent experiment. “Besides, one of the things tested in this trial was if the siren song could overshadow significant fear or even terror, and I wouldn’t have been nearly as afraid if you’d been there with me.”

“Aw,” Roman cooed, curling his tail up and leaning against one of the larger rock outcroppings, his posture slightly off.

Virgil dragged a hand over his face with a sigh, and then flapped a ‘go on’ gesture at Logan, distracting him. “So, what’d you figure out this time?”

Logan needed no further encouragement.

“Even the lightest application of a siren’s song can overwhelm other emotions,” he started, recalling the utter honed focus he had experienced. “While in the past I’ve felt distant or removed from my body while under its effects, this time I had Patton focus on requesting a very specific task, and due to the intense concentration it took, I was very present in the moment while fulfilling that task.”

“You didn’t snap out of it until I called for you,” Virgil interjected, more curious than wary. “Was it harder than normal to use the grounding tactics?”

One of the first things Logan had investigated was what it took for him to resist and even break free from Patton’s song, a task that Virgil had demanded in order to let him run any experiments with the siren’s magic. Back then, Virgil hadn’t expected Patton to agree, and he’d outright sulked for weeks to cover up the nerves he felt whenever the siren thralled Logan.

“It was,” Logan said, his excitement growing as he considered the new information. “Without significant outside stimulus, all of my attention was focused on the task, and so I couldn’t pull away mentally to do my normal grounding techniques!”

“I’ve never heard someone so excited about being hypnotized better,” Roman commented wryly.

“He should get a hypnoprize,” Patton added, and Virgil grinned, because he was a traitor who enabled Patton’s wordplay habits.

“Is there an award for smart people doing dumb things?” Virgil mused teasingly. “Logan could be voted ‘most likely to throw himself into danger in the pursuit of knowledge.’”

“That’s why he has us, Finding Emo,” Roman countered, gesturing extravagantly with one hand. “We would never abandon him to the cruel clutches of his own nerdiness.”

Logan couldn’t help but feel a thrill of pride at the casual way that Virgil ducked beneath one of Roman’s sweeping gestures, no trace of the blatant fear or suspicion that had been present as recently as a month ago.

They’d really come a long way from the misunderstandings of that first encounter, all of them.

A glint of light at the edge of the shark mer’s submerged forearm caught Logan’s eye, and he frowned. “Roman, what’s happened to your arm?”

Roman’s prideful grin dropped into sheepishness immediately. “Well, about that…”

“Princey here was abandoned to the cruel clutches of his own reckless dumbassery,” Virgil informed him, ignoring Roman’s trill of offense to drift back and shove at the hand in question until Roman finally lifted it, displaying the impressive collection of netting that he’d managed to get tangled in.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Patton clucked sympathetically, and Roman soaked in the attention like a very dramatic sponge. Virgil rolled his eyes even as he sawed at a few of the looser wires, and Logan sighed in fond exasperation as he reached for his pocket knife.

Perhaps some things would never change.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

@a-reader-and-a-writer asked: For a Rick x Dee request, how about a role reversal? Something went wrong while Rick was in the army, he disobeyed orders and was dishonorably discharged. He becomes a Bloodsport/ Deadshot type villain/anti-hero and gets put into Belle Reve where Dee is in charge of Task Force X.

Criminal!Rick AU: Make You See Red (AU!Rick Flag x AU!OC)

Summary: Rick Flag didn't mean to become this. A criminal. But there he was none the less: arrested and incarcerated in Belle Reve. A place only reserved for the truly diabolical. And when he’s offered a place on Task Force X, a chance to shave a few years off his sentence, he takes it. Only problem is: he can’t stand commanding officer Colonel Delphia Holman.

Pairing: Criminal!Rick Flag x Colonel!OC (Delphia Holman)

Word Count: 12395

Warnings: language, canon typical violence, blood/gun mention, injury, a few kisses, enemies to lovers slow burn, minor character death, pregnancy mention, if i missed anything let me know

if i go masterlist

A/N: listen, i basically have an entire fic series laid out for these two that i ain't mad about so if you would like to see more of them please let me know

Also thank you to @a-reader-and-a-writer and @reysorigins for beta reading!

How the fuck did this happen? Rick asked himself as the transport truck shook and creaked. He twisted his wrists in the metal cuffs locked around them, linked with a chain to the matching ones on his ankles. They were certainly tight enough. He wasn’t getting out of them anytime soon. He looked up from the cuffs and his lips pulled down in disgust. He kept forgetting about the thing covered in hair that was sitting across from him. Weasel the officers said it was. Though that was a conversation he had eavesdropped on.

One second he was about to make the kill shot on some politician in Gotham and the next he was being tackled to the ground by a man in a bat costume. One second he was a sergeant in the Army and the next he was taking dirty money from the worst criminals in the country in exchange for killings and beatings. One second he just wanted to do the right thing and the next thing he knew he didn’t even know what the right thing was anymore — all he knew was the next job and getting paid.

Shit. How did this happen?

And now he was arrested and being carted off to…wherever they were going. Well, he had a good guess as to where — just not an exact location. Anytime he asked all he got was a glare and the brandishing of a riot stick. It was far away from Gotham, that much he was sure of. They had been driving for hours and he felt like he was going to piss himself.

“Hey man, I gotta take a leak,” Rick said.

The officer glared at him again and Rick cocked a brow, unimpressed.

“We’re almost there. Just hold it.”

“Alright, fine.” He readjusted the way he was sitting to relieve some of the pressure on his bladder. “Just know s’not my fault when the inside of your truck gets all wet.”

After a few minutes, the truck rumbled to a halt, Rick rocking back and forth as the heavily armored vehicle was thrown into park. They weren’t kidding about being nearly at their location then. The double doors to the truck were thrown open and Rick squinted against the sudden light. It had been nearly eight hours of near darkness. The sun nearly burned as he was dragged to his feet and pushed out of the open doors.

Rick gasped. The air was thick and hot, like a shocking sludge to the lungs. Immediately he felt the humid air cling to his skin, making his already heavy tactical suit feel like it weighed 100 pounds. Somewhere south then, the wetlands maybe. He continued to squint against the harsh rays of the sun, allowing whoever was tugging on him to move him however they wanted. In the background, he heard that Weasel thing screaming in protest.

Once his eyes finally adjusted to the light, he blinked up at a massive concrete building surrounded by a double layer fence of barbed wire. There were watch towers every few yards across the top, guards with automatic weapons in constant rotation. Behind the structure was swamplands for miles, so he was right about the general location. On instinct he tugged at the firm grip around his bicep and he got hit in the gut with a riot baton. He grunted as he doubled up in pain, but he kept moving forward — kept getting pulled towards the giant metal gates before him.

He was shoved through the gates and then the front door where he was greeted by a man behind a desk with a wide, satisfied grin on his face. It was like a nightmare. One of those ones that just seemed too real, one of those ones he desperately wanted to wake up from. But it was all too real as he was dragged in front of the desk and his fingerprints were taken.

“Welcome to Belle Reve Penitentiary,” the man said, voice whispery and course, “Deadknight.”

Fuck. How the fuck did he get here?

They stripped him of his suit and took it to God knows where. They documented his tattoos for his file, just in case they found his body in a hole somewhere in here and those were the only thing left to identify him. Then he was given the orange shirt and pants, optional white undershirt for when it got cold and a pair of Crocs. Jesus, did it have to be Crocs? After his mugshot, a bedroll was slapped into his arms and he was escorted into the actual prison.

It was a fast process, a well oiled machine. One that Rick felt like a spec inside of as he was moved along through each of the steps of his processing. And to think, it only took a few minutes of paperwork and procedure in order to spend the rest of his life there. He didn’t even know how long his sentence was. He was sure it was life, maybe even a few life sentences stacked on top of one another. He had killed a lot of people, had hurt more than that, he was sure. It was what he deserved — but just because he deserved it didn’t mean he exactly wanted this kind of punishment.

“You get meals twice a day — both at six,” the guard explained coldly as they walked through the halls, passing by locked up prisoners that stared and yelled at them as they went, “Depending on behavior and danger level the time restricted to your cell is only at night. Rec time depends on behavior also, but we have activity options. Weights. Time outside. Crafts. One phone call a month. Visitors are through glass only. If you pick a fight, if you make a mess, if you even breathe funny we will not hesitate to send you to solitary. Understood?”

“Yeah, clear as pie,” Rick said absently as he looked inside a few of the cells.

The two of them came to a stop in front of a metal door with an armed guard on either side. The guard, several inches shorter than Rick, put his hands on his hips as he smiled maliciously up at him.

“Oh, so you’re a funny guy, huh?” he asked.

“Eh, sometimes,” Rick answered with a slight shrug.

“Well, I don’t like funny guys.” The guard put a finger to Rick’s chest and he watched, brow raised, as the guard gulped nervously. “So you better watch your tone with me, Deadknight — or I’ll make your life here a living hell.”

“Duly noted.”

The guard glared up at him one last time before turning to the door and unlocking it with a buzz. “Get in there.”

“Thanks for the tour,” Rick mumbled as he passed through the threshold.

He heard the guard growl in frustration before the metal door was slammed shut behind him and he chuckled. Classic. He always enjoyed pressing people’s buttons, pushing them until he saw how they ticked. Some people said that made him an asshole. He always disagreed, saying that it made him good at his job.

The room he was in now was clearly the main block of the prison. Maybe the cafeteria. There were massive concrete pillars keeping up the vaulted ceilings and hallways branched off in all directions leading to open and empty cells. A metal walkway lined the walls several feet in the air, guards roaming with rifles held tight in their grasps. There were tables spread out across the floor, each one of them nearly filled to the brim with orange clad inmates. And it seemed like every single one of them was staring right at him.

And then the jeering started. The other prisoner’s mocked and pointed and some of them even got up to get a better look at him, wicked smiles painted on their faces at the thought of what they could do to him. He was fresh meat, a new toy for them to play with. Shit. This place really was filled with some of the world’s worst. Was that fucking Calendar Man? God, that guy was an asshole.

The noise in the room seemed to get louder as the news of his presence spread across the inmates. Rick thought it would probably be best to find an empty cell and stay in it for a few days. At least until his being there was no longer the hottest piece of gossip and he could just fade into the background. Live out the rest of his sentence or die in there.

God, he really didn’t want to die in Belle Reve. Then again, he had only done this to himself. He even said so: it was what he deserved.

He put his head down and started walking towards one of the hallways, hoping there was an empty cell for him to occupy. Some of the other inmates did shows of intimidation as he passed. Banging on their chests and tell him that he was “fucking dead”. He wanted to tell them good luck. Killing was his job, and he was damn good at it. Which was why he was there in the first place.

Shit. Someone was walking towards him. Rick’s brow furrowed as he studied the man. Bloodsport. Robert DuBois. Right, shot Superman with a Kryptonite bullet — a job Rick had turned down for the risk. They worked a job together once back in the day. Rick stopped and planted his feet, ready to drop his bedroll and start swinging. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of this day?

But all DuBois did was put his hands on Rick’s broad shoulders, give them a good shake, and then he nodded at him before turning to the rest of the room.

“If anyone goes near this one or his shit — I will fucking kill you myself. Understood?”

The tension and noise in the room immediately dissipated. And so did Rick’s nerves. Groups grumbled amongst themselves. Those that were standing sat back down with dejected looks on their faces, like their fun had been ruined. DuBois smacked Rick on the shoulder one more time with a smile. At least one good thing happened today. At least he didn’t have to go hide in a cell. At least he had an acquaintance he could count on.

“Come sit with us,” DuBois said before leading the way towards a table in the back of the room, “How ya doin’ mate? You doin’ alrigh’?”

Rick kept a straight face as he said, “I’ve had better days.”

“Yeah, the day you end up n’ere is always shit,” DuBois replied as they finally reached the table in question. Only one other man was sitting there. “Flag, this is Lawson. Lawson, Flag.”

A man with a shaved head and short beard stood up and extended his hand. He looked tired and thin. Rick wondered if he would look like that one day, after spending so long in Belle Reve. He remembered Lawson, heard about him on the streets. He had been locked up only a few years after Rick started in the business.

“Deadshot, right?” Rick asked as the two of them shook hands.

“Yeah, and you’re Deadknight. Heard about you right before I got thrown in here.”

The three men settled down at the table, Rick stowing his bedroll in his lap.

“Been locked up before, Flag?” DuBois asked.

“Yeah, yeah.” Rick nodded. “Done some time.”

“Doesn’t matter much. Belle Reve is the worst of the worst,” Lawson said, “This is like bein’ thrown in a hole….and then they throw away the hole. Ain’t no gettin’ out of here, unless — “

The crowd started up again. And for a moment, Rick thought it was because they threw that Weasel thing in here with the rest of them. Nearly every inmate was looking up at the catwalk above their heads, and Rick immediately noticed what they were all focused on. A woman, surrounded by what looked like office jockeys, wearing a purple power suit and a severe look on her face. She was looking right at him, and Rick stared straight back.

“Oh shit, here we go,” Lawson said with a fist over his mouth to hide his grin when he caught what everyone was looking at.

“What? What does it mean?” Rick asked.

Lawson put his hand on the table towards him and smiled in a fake sweet way. “You’ve been chosen, my friend.”

“For what?”

“Uh-uh.” DuBois shook his head, eyes locked on the woman on the catwalk. “Not official till we see the Colonel.”

Rick was desperate for someone to answer his questions at this point. “Who’s the Colonel?”

A set of heavy footsteps rattled against the metal of the walkway above. Rick’s attention was drawn away from the office jockeys eyeing him and his eyebrows raised in surprise. It was another woman. The noise of the other prisoner’s only grew in volume once they all noticed her, some of them even catcalled and whistled at her. But she wasn’t fazed in the slightest. She was wearing a long sleeve compression shirt and army issue pants all in black. Her bright, fire-red hair was tied up in a severe military bun at the base of her skull. Her arms, muscled and relaxed, were held loosely behind her back. She was walking towards the group of administrative types.

DuBois leaned in close with a finger pointed at the red-haired woman. “That’s the Colonel.”

Rick had thousands of questions that he wasn’t sure were going to be answered by these two. Why was she called the Colonel? Who was she? What had he been chosen for? His eyes followed the path of the Colonel as she walked along the catwalk. She stopped at the side of the woman with the severe look and pantsuit, who seemed to point right at Rick in a not so subtle way. The redhead’s eyes focused on him immediately, singled him out with a cold, calculated stare. It was the first time he got a good look at her face and he wanted to smack himself for thinking she was hot — beautiful even. With rounded cheekbones and a little chin that complimented each other perfectly.

The woman in the pantsuit whispered something in the redhead’s ear that made her smirk and Rick glared.

Whatever this was, he didn’t like it.

Delphia marched down the hallway with a file under her arm and the last of her sandwich crumbling in her hand. She had barely had time to shove the majority of it in her mouth before Waller was basically commanding her to hurry up and interview Deadknight already. And Delphia had worked with Waller long enough to know that she shouldn’t make the woman wait.

Economos waved jovially as he passed her in the hall and she nodded back as she pushed the remains of her sandwich between her lips.

“Working through lunch again, I see?” he asked with a knowing grin.

Delphia swallowed and threw over her shoulder, “Devil never sleeps and neither do I!”

Economos’s guffaw could be heard even from around the corner and Delphia chuckled. That man was so easy to make laugh, it was ridiculous. Rounding one last corner, she saw the armed guards standing on either side of the interrogation room and her smile instantly disappeared. She had a reputation to keep up after all.

“Hurley, Taylor,” Delphia greeted them as she came up to the door, “How was he on the way up?”

“Asked a lotta questions,” Hurley stated plainly.

She flicked open the file she had been carrying around and skimmed through it one more time. Richard Flag, went by Deadknight. Assassin and gun for hire in the criminal underground. US Special Forces before that. A real piece of work.

“You answer any of them?”

She flipped the manila folder shut and looked at the two guards expectantly. They glanced sideways at one another.

Then Taylor said, “Uh — no. Were we supposed to?”

“Just curious.”

Putting her thumb down on the fingerprint scanner, the door buzzed as it clicked open.

“Come get us if you need anything, Colonel,” Hurley said.

Delphia looked at him one last time. “Oh, I surely will.”

Deadknight was sitting with his back to the door in one of the plastic chairs. It appeared he nearly didn’t fit in the thing. His hands were cuffed and he seemed tense. Leg bouncing up and down as he stared across the table at the empty chair. His shoulders were broad, barely contained by the prison standard orange shirt. His light brown hair was long on top and short on the sides, slicked back by what was left of the hair product he had put in the morning before.

Delphia shut the door behind her gently and he didn’t even flinch, didn’t even move. Not that she expected him to. She moved across the room slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. But they had been trained by the same system. He wasn’t going to show her anything that he didn’t want her to see. Deadknight did glance up at her, however, when she finally came into his line of sight. He was handsome, she had to admit. Defined cheekbones and a little bit of stubble, hazel eyes that seemed to change colors depending on what angle she was looking at him. A few pieces of hair had fallen onto his forehead.

“Name’s Colonel Delphia Holman,” she said as she lowered herself into the chair across from him, laying the file flat between them, “Do you prefer to be called Deadknight or Flag?”

He stared at her, long and hard for a moment. Lips pursing and unpursing and the muscle by his temple bulging as he clenched his jaw. Irritated.

“I’d prefer not t’be called anything by you.”

The slight southern accent was surprising. His file said he was raised in Washington DC.

Delphia leaned back in her seat with her arms crossed. “Oh, really, why’s that?”

“Heard about your little Suicide Squad,” he said, “I ain’t doin’ it.”

“According to your file — “ She leaned forward towards him and flipped open the folder for emphasis, even though she didn’t need to read it at all. “ — You’re ex-military. Dishonorably discharged for killing your fellow — “

“That was an accident.”

Looking into his face, through the hard, stoney exterior, she could see the regret and pain swimming in his eyes. She believed him.

“Right. So there can’t be all badness in you. Something good’s gotta be left.”

Deadknight looked away from her for the first time. “I’Don’t think so, lady.”

How would he respond to authority?

“It’s either Colonel Holman or ma’am, to you,” she said, voice cold as ice.

“I’m not joinin’ your fuckin’ suicide squad.” He leaned forward, hazel eyes burning. “Ma’am.”

Her brow twitched as she studied him. So he was still capable of taking orders, albeit sarcastically. She betted that he was actually perfectly fine with authority and being told what to do. It had just been so long and he had built up such a hard exterior, one that she would like to drill right through if given the chance. So she sighed as she swiftly got up from her chair, flipping the folder closed as she went.

“Pity. Every mission you complete gets you ten years off your sentence. And wouldn’t it be nice to not be locked up in here forever?”

She took one last moment to watch him as she walked away. One last moment to see how he would react. Delphia knew Belle Reve’s reputation. Knew as soon as she signed onto this job two years ago. She knew that this place was maddening, a dark hole that swallowed people up and never spit them back out again. It was in people’s nature, even the worst of people’s nature, to not want to rot in here. So they joined the squad with the hope after a few missions they’ll get to go free. But after two years of being commanding officer, Delphia had never seen a team member escape this place. Had never seen those ten years off amount to much. They always either died or their sentences were too long. A shining, glimmering beacon of hope that only really led people to a rocky shore meant to doom them.

But it was her job to convince people to join the squad and lead them to the best of her ability. And Delphia Holman had never half-assed anything in her entire life.

She only got part way to the door before he was sighing, “Wait. Fine. Whatever. I’ll do it.”

“Nice to have you on the team.”

Turning with a smile, she stuck out her hand for him to shake, ignoring the way he rolled his eyes at the gesture. He lifted his cuffed hands and wrapped one around her own, large and calloused from years of fighting and killing. And it was fucking crippling. Delphia felt her knees go weak, her mind go completely blank at the feeling of his hand in hers. And then suddenly, her vision was blurring at the edges, she could see Deadknight’s confused face through the haze. Then everything was a stark, pristine white.

No, no, no, no. Not now. She usually had such good control over her Sight, why the hell was it acting up now?

The milky whiteness morphed and changed, and suddenly she was standing in a dark and dirty alley. There was a couple leaned against the wall, wrapped up in each other’s arms, and one of them was clearly her. The uniform and bright red hair told her as much. Delphia grimaced as she inched closer to the two of them, unsure what she was going to find when she did.

“Colonel,” she heard a male voice whisper.

Deadknight’s voice.

“Just shut up, Flag,” she heard herself whisper back.

And then the two of them were kissing. Teeth clashing and hands clawing wherever they could reach. Delphia watched as it unfolded before her. A solid and real vision that at this point in time was destined to happen. They were destined to kiss in this dark alley. She heard herself moan as Deadknight hooked her leg around his hip and she had to look away.

Then the scene changed. Her surroundings rippled and morphed until she was standing in what appeared to be an army issue medical tent. She was right next to her future self this time. Sitting on a medical cot with bandages all over and a familiar, tired look in her eyes. The cot was surrounded by privacy curtains that were soon pulled aside by none other than Deadknight. Delphia turned sharply to look at him. He too looked worse for wear, but mostly he just looked relieved.

She watched, a frown pulling at her mouth and her hands clenched at her sides, as Deadknight put the curtain back in place and turned to her future self slowly. As he put his hand to her cheek and she leaned into his touch.

The scene changed again and Delphia had to wonder how long these visions were going to go on. She felt nothing of her present self in that interrogation room with present Deadknight. But she could practically see the look of pure confusion on his face as he peered up at her white eyed stare, as he was incapable of pulling his hand from her solid grasp.

Suddenly she was somewhere familiar. Her apartment with the wood floors and the meticulously painted walls she had slaved for hours over. And there was her couch, her future self and Deadknight sitting on it. The windows were open, the mid-evening summer sun streamed through the white curtains. She was reading a book and he was looking over her shoulder, distracting her with fingertips running up and down her arm. He wasn’t in his suit or in orange prisonwear. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and they both looked so happy.

She had always wanted to be that happy. But she didn’t want that happiness to be found with a criminal of all people. With a lowlife, good for nothing, gun for hire that only lived for himself. She couldn’t fathom him changing her ways and she couldn’t fathom these visions of the future coming true. No. This wasn’t going to happen. She was going to make it so.

Delphia was dumped back into the present just as quickly as she had been ripped from it. She gasped quietly as the interrogation room came back into focus and the vice-like grip she had on Deadknight’s hand lessened. She stared directly into Deadknight’s face. His brow was furrowed, eyes lost and slightly angry. She couldn’t look at him anymore. Not without seeing that expression of…love that he was destined to show her in the future.

Without another word she pulled away from him entirely and marched out the door.

A month went by before Deadknight was called up to go on a mission with Task Force X. He was pulled from his cell and taken to what he could only assume was the prison’s infirmary, where a doctor with a malicious smile injected a nanite bomb into the base of his skull. Then he was shoved into a changing room and his suit was hanging from a hook on the wall, boots on the floor beneath it.

Rick didn’t go for the suit first, no matter how much he wanted to be out of those itchy orange pants. He immediately dove for the bag of his personal effects that had been dumped by his shoes. God, he hoped that one of those piece-of-shit guards hadn’t stolen it. This seemed like the kind of place where the guards got away with a lot as long as none of the prisoners escaped. Rick sighed when he finally got his hands on it.

His father’s pocket knife. Hand-carved wooden handle, hot iron stamped with his father’s company number and an eagle in flight. They couldn’t even send back a body when his father died. There was nothing left to send. All him and his mother got were this knife, a purple heart, and the last remaining fragments of his dogtags. It was a lot for a kid of twelve to go through, losing a father like that. Having to see his mother grieve with such strength she could barely take care of herself. It was more responsibility and emotion than he was ever meant to handle. He bet his father wouldn’t be too proud of him now, to see what his son had become. It made his guts twist up as he pressed the handle of the knife to his forehead. No. He wouldn’t be proud at all.

The metal door behind him opened with a clank and another prisoner was shoved inside the changing room. An older man with long, almost white blond hair and a permanent grimace on his face. He only looked at Rick for a moment before walking over to his own suit that hung up on the other side of the room.

Rick put the knife away in the bag and lifted his orange shirt over his head.

He would never admit that every piece of his suit was meticulously picked out and modified to his own specifications. He would never say that he wore the leather fingerless gloves in just right so they felt more like a second skin. He would simply say the suit was nothing special, a piece of equipment to get the job done and keep him alive. And it performed its sole purpose admirably. Grey tactical pants and boots, bullet proof vest with about a thousand pockets overtop a tough army issue shirt that he rolled the sleeves up on. And to top it all off he always wore a heavy scarf around his neck, further protection for one of his most vulnerable areas, and a metal fitted mask that covered the bottom half of his face.

As he wrapped the scarf around his neck, another prisoner was pushed into the room.

“Hey, easy, mate!” he called as the door was slammed shut behind him, each word dripping with a thick Australian accent. He grinned when he turned and saw the two other men in the room, flashing a golden tooth at them. “Eh-eh-eh, fresh meat. Name’s Cap’n Boomerang, lads.”

He stuck out his hand to Rick first, who shook it with a bit of apprehension. “You’ve done this before?”

“Oh, yeah, loads of times.” He shook the blond man’s hand as well.

“Savant,” the other man introduced himself.

“Deadknight,” Rick said, “So — what happens after this?”

Boomerang began to change into his own suit. More like an overglorified pair of jeans and a blue trench coat. He slapped a blue cap on his head with a relief in his shoulders that Rick understood all too well. At least in their suits they could feel slightly normal and free.

“Waller’ll tell us what the mission is — then we’ll meet the Colonel out on the tarmac.”

Rick bristled. The Colonel. Made him call her ma’am and brought up the worst moment of his life. Not to mention that full minute where she had stared at him with all white eyes and nearly broke his fingers in her grip. He had wanted to ask her what the fuck that was, but she had practically sprinted from the room once her eyes were back to normal. He dreaded having to work with her. Having to take orders from her. He swore if he even heard her voice again he was going to punch a brick wall.

But he had to admit to himself it wasn’t just because of their first meeting that he hated her guts.

The three men were led from the room and taken to what appeared to be an old lecture hall. Including the podium, blackboard, and an old projector shoved into the corner. Waiting inside was Amanda Waller, wearing a green pantsuit today, and Harley Quinn. Rick blanched when himself and the Clown Queen of Gotham locked eyes. How many times had he done a job for the Joker in the past? How many times had he met up with them in that stupid club and Joker had made Harley give him a lap dance? Too many to count and everytime Rick hated it.

Harley’s lips stretched back in a wicked, Cheshire Cat grin at the sight of him. Boomerang took a spot next to Harley like they were old friends. Rick coughed awkwardly as he took a seat towards the front.

Waller’s debrief was short and sweet and to the point. Minor details because they didn’t need to know them all and barely any time for questions at the end. Some scientific facility in Germany had created a bioweapon that needed to be destroyed. It was dirty government work that they didn’t want anyone’s name attached to. Rick was used to that. The job was to destroy the facilities files, wreck the whole building if they had to, and get out of there with little to no casualties. It was meant to look like a freak accident.

After the debriefing they were shoved into a transport vehicle with no windows, presumably to take them to the tarmac where the Colonel was waiting.

Rick tried to talk to Savant, make small talk about why he got thrown in Belle Reve. But apparently Savant didn’t feel like talking. All he did was glower at Rick before staring back at his bloody boots. Rick glanced over at the chatting Boomerang and Harley. He really didn’t want to talk to them, especially Harley who had a long history of teasing and testing him. But he had questions that he wanted answered, especially before he jumped head first into this mission.

“Hey, so, uh,” he grabbed their attention and both of their heads snapped over from one end of the truck to look at him expectantly, “What’s up with Colonel Holman?”

Boomerang and Harley shared a look, then Boomerang said, “What about ‘er?”

“Does she have like…powers or whatever?”

“Oh, yeah, mate— she can see into the future or some shit.” Boomerang replied casually.

Rick blinked in surprise. Out of all the things he guessed at what those white eyes could have possibly meant, he supposed that was the least outlandish. So she had some type of vision when they touched. What had she seen? What had she seen that made her run from him?

Harley leaned forward with a grin. “So you’ve met the Colonel, huh, Knighty?”

“Yeah, I met’er.” He rolled his eyes at the nickname and crossed his arms roughly.

“Geez, what’s that tone for?” she asked.

“Are you serious?” Rick scoffed, “You guys tellin’ me you fuckin’ like her?”

“What’s not to like, sugar? She’s hot as fuck, a complete badass, and she’s the only woman to every graduate from special forces training.” Harley counted each point on her fingers. “She could kick me in the face and I’d say thank you.”

Somehow his brow furrowed deeper, his arms crossed tighter against his chest. Rick remembered hearing about a woman going through special forces training when he was already out of it. When he was labeled a sergeant and told that he had the world ahead of him. He remembered he had laughed when one of his buddies showed him the article about her, just now remembering the picture of the girl with bright red hair, saying that she was never going to make it through. Then again, he never thought he would end up a criminal either. He was wrong on both accounts. She had made it through training and did what he couldn’t. Rick’s leg bounced in an attempt to keep his anger contained.

“Eh, she’s alrigh’,” Boomering said.

Harley smacked him on the chest. “Oh, shut it Boomer, we all know you’ve got a crush on her!”

“Do not!”

Their incessant arguing faded into the background, a muffled beat for Rick to get lost in his thoughts to. Colonel Delphia Holman. Everything that Rick Flag was supposed to be if he hadn’t fucked everything up. She was everything that he ever wanted to be. A good soldier, someone who gave orders and took them well, highly skilled and highly adored for it, a good person. He wanted to be that. He wanted to serve his country and do some good. But his life….it just kept happening, and happening, and happening until suddenly he was arrested and incarcerated in a place only reserved for the worst of the worst. Was he the worst of the worst now? He supposed he was. He did terrible things all in the name of being paid. Killing was the only thing he had ever been good at and after he got dumped from the army, well….what else was he supposed to do?

While Colonel Holman got a good life and everything he had ever wanted handed to her on a silver platter. His lip curled in a snarl as he rolled his shoulders angrily.

She had seen his future. He knew she did. And he was going to find out what she saw.

Colonel Holman was waiting at the tarmac just like Boomerang said she would be. Standing there in her all black uniform, a quarterzip on underneath a tac vest and an automatic rifle held firmly in her grasp. Harley immediately jumped from the truck and planted a kiss on the Colonel’s cheek before going up the ramp of the airplane they were taking to Germany. Boomerang gave her a salute and Savant didn’t even glance her way before he followed everyone else onto the plane.

Rick got out of the vehicle last and the Colonel’s blue gaze immediately zeroed in on the ground. Then she turned on her heel and began walking towards the plane. Rick rolled his eyes but followed after her, making sure to keep pace so he could speak with her.

“Heard you can see into the future,” he said.

She seemed to take in a shaking breath before saying, “That’s right.”

“So what’d you see in that interrogation room?”

The Colonel stopped just before they got onto the ramp and she looked up into his face. He hated that the first thought that went through his mind was that she looked even more beautiful in the natural sunlight. Artificial light didn’t do her justice. The blazing, Louisiana sun made her hair practically glow like fire and her eyes sparkle like the Mediterranean sea. Her features were harsh and her stare cold but — God, Rick wanted to slap himself. Now was not the time and she was definitely not the person.

“Nothing.”

Rick didn’t believe her.

The mission almost immediately went to shit. What was supposed to be a tiny lab fire turned into the entire building up in flames in only a matter of seconds because Boomerang got too excited with the gasoline. Rick hated that Colonel Holman was keeping her cool throughout the entire thing. And he hated that part of him admired her for it.

He admired the fact that when the room exploded in a bright flash of light and flames licked down the hallway that she barely even reacted. That all she did was tell them to pick up the pace and get down to the lobby as soon as possible, someone was surely to have heard that.

When they finally made it down to that fancy marble and glass lobby, with the skyrise ceiling and second story balcony that looked over the comfy chairs and koi pond below, Colonel Holman brought the team to a halt.

“Alright, we got incoming from all sides according to Waller,” she said, slinging her rifle to rest against her back and checking her side arm, “Me, Boomer, and Harley’ll be the ground team. Durlan and Flag you go up top and cover us.”

“Is that really the best strategy — “ Rick tried to argue, but she cut him off with one cold look as she clicked off the safety on her Beretta.

“That’s an order, Flag.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It bothered him how easily he did an about face and jogged behind Savant to go up the stairs to the balcony. No one had given him orders in a long time and he liked it that way. A way of convincing himself that actually being kicked out of the army was a good thing. Because at least no one was telling him what to do anymore. Over the years, he had learned to justify a lot of things.

Savant took the west side of the room while Rick took the east. Pulling the Remington sniper rifle from his back, he set up the bipod and lined up his sight just before what seemed like an entire army of guards ran into the lobby.

He hadn’t asked what this company was or what the bioweapon could do. But both must have been very important to warrant this kind of protection.

He shot anyone who got close to the team at the center of the lobby, eyes trained down his sight and mind focused. But then the magnified lens caught a glimpse of Colonel Holman and he was no longer paying attention to anything else.

She fought like a demon from hell. With teeth bared and eyes glowing white in the darkness. She twisted and turned with her Beretta raised, and when it was empty she threw it at the next man with such force it cracked his skull. Moving with such fluidity without a single bullet or fist hitting her in the process, it was impossible. She even spun out of the way of flying boomerangs and ducked under Harley’s swinging mallet like she could sense them coming. It was almost like she knew what was going to happen beforehand. And maybe she did — maybe she fought with her eyes glowing white so she could see into the future, know where every attack was going to come from and have her own defense or attack ready and waiting. It was brilliant and deadly and it made Rick hate her all the more.

Eventually, the lobby was littered with suited bodies and Colonel Holman called out, “Come on, let’s move!”

Rick slung the rifle across his back and, with his Desert Eagle raised, he started making his way towards the stairs. But across the room, on the west balcony, Savant was being slowly approached by a fresh group of guards. Rick turned, attempting to make his way around the square and help his team mate out.

But Savant shouted over to him, “Go! I got this!”

And so Rick left. He made it down the stairs and out of the lobby without a scratch to where the rest of the team was waiting in the parking lot. Colonel Holman turned to him with her brow furrowed and blood splattered across her face.

“Where’s Durlan?” she asked, breathless.

“Still inside,” he replied.

“He’s still in there?”

It was immediate, her reaction. There was no second guessing or thinking over the best option. She only started running back towards the building, to go get Savant, and Rick wanted to shoot her. Not kill her, just like in the leg or something. Maybe the shoulder. It was stupid and so incredibly kind that he didn’t know what to do with the feeling boiling in his chest. He couldn’t really tell what the feeling was. It had to be anger. Had to be. Because that was what Colonel Holman did. Made him angry. Made him feel a white hot fury in his gut over how honorable and good she was while he had to be callous and cruel.

Then the entire building exploded in a flash of pink smoke and roaring green flames.

Rick held up a hand against the sudden bright light of the explosion, barely even comprehending that he could no longer see Colonel Holman on her feet. His eyes searched for a moment, and through the green tinted haze and the first falling ashes, he spotted her. Crumpled on the concrete a few meters away with her bright red hair yanked from its bun, now splayed out on the ground around her head like some kind of fiery halo.

Harley and Boomerang rushed over to her side. But Rick remained where he was, stuck to the spot like a statue carved from the very pavement of that parking lot. She probably knew that the building was going to explode. Yet she was going to run back inside anyway to save a member of her team. A good for nothing criminal. What gave her the right to be so goddamn righteous?

Harley looked over her shoulder, a scared expression on her face that Rick didn’t think she was capable of, and screamed, “Flag, help! Come on!”

“She’s hurt pretty bad, mate!” Boomerang called next, actually sounding concerned.

Rick groaned, head thrown back like a child. He didn’t want to help her. In fact, he hoped she bled out and died. But she was going to go back in and save Savant knowing that it could have killed her and damnit if he couldn’t commend that. Plus, he knew if he just let her die Waller would blow his head off. So he marched over, every nerve in his body telling him not to do it, and he knelt down beside Colonel Holman’s prone form.

There was rubble and tiny pieces of glass stuck in her skin. Both of her ears were bleeding. Multicolored ashes were starting to collect in her hair and on her uniform. He could guess that she probably hit the ground hard from the explosion blowback. Rick quickly pressed two fingers to her pulse, looking for that familiar beat, only to find a very slowed down version of what he was hoping for. Shit. He slid his hand around her neck and slipped it back behind her head. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood.

“Shit,” he said aloud.

“Oh, God,” Harley gasped, eyes gone wide at the red all over Rick’s fingers.

Without a second thought he ripped the scarf from around his neck and gently lifted her head. He pressed the fabric into her wound and set her skull back down slowly. He hoped that that would be enough pressure to get the bleeding to stop, and he really hoped that it was the skin that was broken and not her actual bone.

Sirens blared in the distance, coming closer and closer to put out the fire and look for survivors.

“Shit!” Rick cursed again.

What the hell were they supposed to do?

Then he spotted the black earpiece laying a few feet away. He immediately picked it up and pushed it into his own ear, hoping that it was still functioning after the explosion and that whoever was on the other side would know what to do.

“Waller?” he asked, holding the earpiece tight against his eardrum to hear over the blazing fire, “Waller, you read me?”

Her voice crackled to life, “Deadknight? The hell happened?”

“We lost Savant — Colonel Holman got injured in the explosion. What’re our next steps?”

“Shit.” Waller seemed to discuss something with someone else in the room before getting back to him. “There’s a van parked in an alley a block south, there is a GPS programmed with coordinates to a safehouse. We can’t pull you out until morning. Think you can take the lead on this?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned to Boomerang and Harley. “We got evac a block south — need you two to go ahead and make sure the way is clear.”

“What’re you gonna do, mate?” Boomerang asked.

Just as Harley stood up with a finger to her chin and muttered, “Which way is south again?”

“I’ve got the Colonel.” Rick pointed in the proper direction. “And south is that way.”

Harley gasped in understanding before picking up her mallet and heading out. Boomerang followed behind her tentatively, sparing one last glance back at his commanding officer. Rick really didn’t understand why they cared so much. They were criminals, degenerates, worthless. The Colonel didn’t really give a shit about them. She was just doing her job. Or at least, Rick thought that was what was going on.

Rick gently fitted his arms under Colonel Holman’s back and behind her knees. She was heavier than she looked, a lot of muscle on such a small frame, causing him to grunt quietly as he stood back to full height. The scarf was practically glued to the back of her head, so he didn’t have to worry about that. Then he started jogging south after Harley and Boomerang as the sirens blared in his ears.

Constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t followed, Rick made his way towards the van Waller had ready for them. The Colonel made no signs of stirring. She bounced limply in his arms, her head flopping this way and that. That wasn’t good for the concussion she most definitely had. He tried to hold his shoulder just right so her skull would stay in place but it really was no use. The alley was just ahead anyway, Boomerang and Harley waiting at the corner for them.

I don’t care what happens to her, I really don’t give a shit, Rick repeated to himself as Boomerang opened the back doors of the van.

He set her down in the back as gently as he could, making sure not to jostle her too much. She groaned when he finally took his hands from her, her dirtied and bloodied fingers reaching out to him weakly. The breath he took in was sharp, a knife to the back of his throat. He glanced away from her. Harley was already in the van, squatting behind the front seats where Boomerang was starting the engine. A lock of that bright red hair had fallen over her eyes. Rick moved it back into place and watched with a lump in his throat as a smile tugged at her paled lips.

Fuck. Do I want her to be okay?

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Reverberated through her skull. It would take too much effort to even groan in dismay. It felt like the rest of her body had gone numb, the only thing that remained was the sharp, stabbing pain in her head. It made tears prick at the backs of her eyes and each breath felt like a herculean effort.

What happened? She remembered running back for Durlan. A loud noise. And then a whole lot of darkness. What she was laying on felt softer than concrete. A hospital bed maybe? That was what logically made sense. But then how did the team get out of Germany?

She really needed to open her eyes. But goddamn if her eyelids didn’t feel as heavy as iron curtains. Through sheer force of will she pried them open, only to find a wooden ceiling cast in dancing shadows from flickering candlelight.

“Oh my God, you’re awake!” Harley’s voice slammed into her skull like a freight train. “Don’t ever do that to me again! I was so scared!”

It felt like her limbs were moving through frozen honey as she pulled her hand up to her face just so she could press a finger to her lips. Harley instantly quieted with a hushed sorry. Delphia’s vision went white and she pried herself from the couch. And for a moment she thought she was slipping into her Sight again. But then she realized it was just the lightheadedness and general injury that were making spots dance before her eyes at the sudden movement. Her head swam as she lazily swung her legs so she was in a seated position. And once the spots cleared, she finally understood where she was.

The Germany safehouse. A cozy little cabin in the middle of a forest with a big stone fireplace and enough seclusion that they didn’t have to worry about any Terracorp Labs people finding them. Delphia had had to spend several months in this safehouse with some witness protected hacker. He was a real prick but at least the views from the windows had been nice.

It was dark outside now and candles were lit on nearly every flat surface. They must not have been able to get the generator running, she thought, I’ll take a look at that later.

Pounding footsteps echoed from further in the small cabin, and then Boomer burst into the main room with a shout and a relieved look on his face, “Birdy! Thank fuckin’ Christ!”

“Boomer, be quiet! Her head hurts!” Harley reprimanded, equally as loud.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered back.

Her own voice sounded thick and weighed down in her head as she asked, “How’d we get here?”

“Flag!” Harley pointed over towards the kitchen. “He took over once you passed out. He’s pretty good at the whole leadin’ thing.”

Delphia’s head swiveled to one side like her head was too heavy for her, cheek angled towards her shoulder. And sure enough, Deadknight was standing at the kitchen island. Ankles crossed as he leaned back against the countertop. He waved slightly when her eyes landed on him. Did he have to look so fucking smug right now? His scarf was missing. He didn’t seem like the type to just take it off. Then out of the corner of her eye she noticed a familiar pattern caked in blood laying where her head once rested.

Oh.

The pain was less intense now. More like a dull, throbbing ache that probably wouldn’t go away for another few days. She pulled her head back to look at Harley and Boomer, now both perched on the coffee table before her.

“Durlan?” she asked quietly.

“He…he didn’t make it, birdy.”

Delphia could only grunt in response as her head lolled to stare at her lap. Her pants were filthy. Covered in blood and ashes and dirt. If she remembered right, there were some spare clothes in the bedroom from the last time she was here. And she really didn’t want to be in this disgusting uniform anymore.

Her nose scrunched up. Durlan was her responsibility. Part of her team — and she had let him down. She had gotten him killed. What was worse is that, when she interviewed him just days before, he had told her that he really didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want to join the team. But he wanted a chance to get out, maybe live a life. He had mentioned offhandedly maybe reconnecting with his daughter. Delphia felt her heart drop in her chest, trying to suffocate her with its weight. It was all her fault that he no longer had that chance.

“I need some air,” she finally managed to say.

Rising to her feet was easier than she expected it to be. She just planted her feet and suddenly she was standing. But when she took that first step towards the door, her vision swam with white spots, the room tilted on an axis, and her balance instantly wavered.

Hands clutched at her forearms tightly, kept her upright. In her mind’s eye, she got a flash of kisses stolen beneath white sheets. She tried to push the hands away.

“Easy, easy,” Deadknight spoke so softly it made her grit her teeth, “You’re bleedin’ again — gotta stitch that gash up.”

She tried to resist him, tried to push a protest past her lips. But she was too weak to do much of anything but be led back to the bathroom. She felt what little was left of her lunch churn in her stomach. Her head pounded against her eardrums to the beat of her heart. Her feet stumbled down the hall, tripped over themselves to the point that Deadknight slung his arm around her waist to keep her standing. White flashed before her eyes again and suddenly —

“You love me,” Deadknight chuckled.

“I fuckin’ hate you,” she replied with a smile.

Deadknight’s face sobered, but there was this hope, this affection in his eyes.

“You love me?”

She came back to the present when Deadknight pushed gently on her shoulders to get her to sit down. She sat heavily against the edge of the tub, feet inside so he could reach the back of her head better. She could hear him rustling around in the cabinet, trying to find the first aid kit. He made a small noise of triumph when he finally did find it. There was the click of a lighter, a groan of frustration, and then Deadknight’s heavy presence was at her back.

She flinched when a wet rag made contact with the back of her head.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “Sorry.”

He put one hand on her shoulder to steady her as he continued to clean her wound. Her mind spun and swam with the pain and the confusion, her eyes unfocused as she stared straight ahead at the bathroom tile. Then her vision flashed white again. No, no, no — her and Deadknight were in her kitchen, slow dancing with the light above the sink on.

“No,” she muttered aloud, “Stop it.”

“Look, if I don’t do this you’re gonna bleed out,” Deadknight sighed as he chucked the bloodied towel into the bathtub.

“Not talking…to you,” she said.

“Who’re you talkin’ to then?” he asked.

“Myself,” she huffed, “Now fuck off.”

“Jesus, okay. Good to know our commanding officer is fuckin’ insane.”

A laugh slipped past her lips. One that she didn’t intend to make and one that definitely made a heat creep up her neck.

She coughed in an attempt to cover it up. “Just shut up, Flag.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

His big hand came down on top of her shoulder again, kept her still as he pushed the needle into her flesh. Only a slight tug at the back of her skull in comparison to the dull ache that consumed her. When her vision flickered in shades of white, this time she had no protests. No will to fight it anymore.

She was straddling his lap in some fancy hotel, wearing a silk dress. His hands roamed up and down her back, over her hips, squeezed at her ass. He was wearing dress pants and a fine button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and a tie loose around his neck.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, “We’re on a mission.”

“What Waller doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Her forehead bumped lightly against his. “She’s gonna find out eventually.”

“We’re always careful.”

“Rick….fuck.” She leaned into him fully with her eyes screwed shut. “I’m pregnant.”

She was dumped back into that bathroom in Germany unceremoniously and with a newfound sense of clarity. Her vision was no longer blurred and her thoughts were completely clear.

It was everything that she ever wanted — and that made her hate it all the more. Someone who loved her. Who held her and brought a smile to her face and loved her back. A child, a family. Something that she had wanted since she was small but knew she could never have. But this man….this criminal….he was going to give all that to her? Did it have to be him? That arrogant asshole that drove her completely insane? Every rational thought in her screamed that it couldn’t be so. There were oceans between them, valleys and mountains too difficult to climb. No. She wouldn’t — couldn’t — let it happen. The future was not set in stone and there was no way that she was going to end up with Deadknight.

It was never going to happen.

“Done,” he muttered as he released her shoulder.

Delphia shot up from the tub and could barely even look at him. All she was able to see were those beautiful moments. Those warm glimpses of a future that couldn’t be. Her eyes zeroed in on the floor as she marched out of the bathroom. She heard him call out a you’re welcome from behind her but she couldn’t stop. She needed a moment to clear her head and focus back on the mission at hand — on literally anything else.

Harley and Boomer smiled at her when she came back out into the main room looking more like herself. But she just kept walking until she was yanking open the front door and slamming it shut behind her.

The cold night air smacked her in the face but it felt good. Sobering and clarifying. She walked around to the side of the cabin and leaned against the wall, just beneath the open kitchen window.

She had been through worse. She had seen warzones and her friends get blasted into a million pieces. But now...now her chest felt too tight and her legs were wobbly and she just couldn’t fucking think. Her Sight had always been a blessing and a curse. She excelled in school. Went through all the military training with ease. Was always a step ahead of all her peers. But it showed her things that she never wanted to see. Got her discharged from the army and stuck doing this job. This job that made her guts feel all twisted up in darkness and forced her to be around criminals like Deadknight.

Criminals like Savant.

A weight collapsed on her shoulders. It brought her down, down, till she was sliding down the cabin wall. She connected with the earth and still it felt like she could sink deeper. Right into the earth’s core.

“The hell did you do, Flag?” she heard Harley ask through the open window.

“I didn’t do anything,” Deadknight responded indignantly, “Stitched up her head and she was fuckin’ ungrateful for it.”

“Prolly Durlan,” Boomer muttered.

Delphia crossed her arms over her knees, pulled them in tight to her chest just like she used to do when she was a little kid.

“Why’s she so hung up on that?” Deadknight questioned.

“Oh, don’t you get it, Flag?” Harley sighed, “We don’t like her cause she’s cool — we like her cause she cares about us. She sees us as people.”

She shoved her face into her knees, making herself as small as possible — to hide away from all the guilt and shame. She only played at caring. She was going to go back for him but in her head she called him a criminal. Not a person, a criminal. Even though she knew better. Even though she knew Durlan was more than that. He was a father, an ex-Marine. She tried so hard to care, to treat them all as equals, to keep them safe — but it was never enough.

She was never enough.

“Okay, okay, I’m going! Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Rick whispered harshly as Boomerang and Harley practically shoved him out the front door.

Colonel Holman had been gone for nearly an hour and those two were starting to get worried about her. Rick didn’t really care either way. Sure, there was a nervous feeling balling up in his stomach but it wasn’t because of her or where she had gone to. No. He was just worried that the candles would burn down the cabin in the middle of the night while they all slept.

He rounded the north corner first, eyes straining in the darkness to see anything.

“The fuck you want, Flag?” a voice suddenly called out.

“Jesus!” He practically jumped.

She was sitting beneath the dimly lit kitchen window, knees bunched up to her chest. In the darkness she nearly blended into the shadows save for that head of red hair.

“There’s no need to bring him into this,” she deadpanned, chin propped on top of her knees.

“Funny,” Rick huffed, “Did you see me comin’? In your visions or whatever?”

She pointed up towards the window. “Window’s open. Heard you arguing about who was gonna come out here to check on me.”

“And you’re not dead. So my work here is done.”

He turned on his heel to walk away, go back inside where it was at least semiwarm. Maybe he could make an attempt at getting the blood out of his scarf. She could stay out here for the rest of the night for all he cared.

But she was able to stop him in his tracks with just a few words: “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

Rick knew what she was asking. But he really didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to know the truth of his own actions.

“Save me, take over the mission — you didn’t have to do that.”

She got her to her feet, came face to face with him, her arms crossed over her chest. There’s such an earnestness swimming in those blue eyes that it makes Rick grit his teeth.

“And leave it to those idiots in there?” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the cabin. “No chance. They would’ve gotten me killed.”

Boomerang called from inside, “Hey, that’s fuckin’ rude, mate!”

But Colonel Holman was just standing there shaking her head. Her tongue poking out from between her teeth as she nearly laughed, eyes tilted towards the frosted grass. And when she looked back up into his face, feet carrying her just one step closer, her expression was cold. Open and honest and it scared him in a way he didn’t fully understand.

“Oh, cut the horse shit, Flag. We both know that’s not true.” Another step closer. They were nearly chest to chest. “When’re you gonna stop lying to yourself? You’re no villain. Deep down in that blackened soul of yours there’s just a scared little boy begging for someone to tell him what to do.”

She was right. And he fucking hated that she was. His entire life had been begging for someone to tell him what he was supposed to do. What do I do now that my dad’s dead? What do I do now that I’m out of the army? What do I do now that I have Black Masks money and a gun in my hand? What do I do now that I’m in Belle Reve? He had fucked up his entire life and he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know if he could fix it — if he was worth….redeeming.

And it pissed him off that Colonel Holman could see right through to the heart of him. Just when he was thinking that maybe, just maybe, she was alright. His defenses were up anew. She had called him out and she knew that she had hit him to the core. He could tell from that little smirk that quirked her pink lips and the wicked look in her eyes.

So he asked: “What’d you see in that interrogation room — when you looked into the future?”

He could barely see in the light from the kitchen window, but it was enough for him to catch the red splotches growing on her neck — the muscle in her jaw bulging as she clenched her teeth. He flashed her a smirk of his own now.

“None of your damn business,” she muttered through a snarl.

“See, I think if I was in those sweet little visions of yours…” Rick pulled himself close to her, head tilted down as he looked at her smugly. “You should at least tell me.”

“You weren’t in them.”

“Oh, but from that pretty blush on your neck I definitely was,” he snickered.

Rick poked at her neck, watched as his fingerprint left a white spot in the red flesh, and felt the burning heat of her skin. Colonel Holman swatted his hand away with enough force to remind him that she could easily break his wrist.

“Don’t,” she hissed.

“So, what’d ya see, huh? Promise I won’t tell if you saw me — “

It was immediate and so fast he got the wind knocked out of him. One second he was staring down at her reddening face and the next he was slammed against the cabin wall. Colonel Holman fisted his tacvest in her hands, gripped it by the shoulder straps and had him practically lifted into the air. His toes barely touched the ground and he was now staring down at her furious face wide eyed. She looked savage — torn. Her lips peeled back in a snarl and her eyes glistened in the window light. Rick had never been simultaneously terrified and turned on in his entire life.

“I saw you — “ She shook him by the vest slightly. “Being an absolute fucking prick! Driving me fucking nuts! Is that what you wanted?”

She stared up at him for a few more moments, breathing hard and nostrils flaring. And for a moment, just a moment, Rick comprehended just how close they were. His chest was pressed flush against hers. When she pinned him to the wall, she had forced one of her strong thighs between his. Jesus Christ, if he just bent his head a little he could kiss her. Did he want to kiss her? Kiss away all the hate and leave only what was good between them. He wasn’t sure if there was anything good between them. Did he want to find it?

Without even realizing he was slipping closer. Falling into her center of gravity with parted lips and eyes caught in a haze.

Then suddenly his vest slipped out of her grip and he landed back flat on his feet. Her eyes dropped to his chest, lost somewhere else as her shoulders continued to heave. For a second, he panicked. Did she notice he was about to kiss her? Then her head tipped forward, like it weighed too much, and her forehead connected with his tacvest. Rick stared down, face bunched up in confusion, at her fiery red hair. At the crooked bandage he had slapped on begrudgingly just an hour ago.

Colonel Holman’s shoulders began to shake. And Rick went stiff as a board when the first sounds of her crying reached his ears. Shit. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. He didn’t even think she was capable of such human emotion.

“Shit, Colonel — “ he tried to say.

But then she muttered, voice thick with tears, “It’s my fault he’s fucking dead.”

Oh. This was about Savant. Rick’s head reeled. First he wanted to punch her in the face, then he almost kissed her, and now he had the strange urge to comfort her. He didn’t even know what he was doing until his fingertips made contact with her waist. Until he was squeezing the hard flesh in reassurance.

“S’not your fault,” he said.

“I’m commanding officer — whatever happens on these missions is always my fault, my responsibility.” It was as if she suddenly realized the position they were in. She jumped away from him like he was on fire, wiping at her eyes and looking at him like he had just slapped her. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”

Colonel Holman walked away from him then and Rick felt like he could suddenly breathe clearly. He leaned back against the wall, face tilted towards the starry sky and he took in a lungful of the chilled night air.

Fuck.

Delphia tried to just keep her head down as she walked through the halls of Belle Reve on Monday morning. But everyone was just so damn nice and she was too curtious to not say hi or wave back to people.

Her head still ached, a symptom the doctor said wouldn’t go away for at least a week, and all the lights in the administration wing seemed way too bright. The doctor also told her to avoid caffeine until the concussion symptoms had cleared. But he didn’t have a bunch of debriefing paperwork to turn into Amanda Waller by the end of the day. So she walked through the halls with a large paper cup full to the brim. She also hadn’t had the energy that morning to put on her full uniform, so instead she sported a pair of jeans, t-shirt, and canvas jacket. She even had a few fly aways in her bun that really aggravated her — but she didn’t have the patience to gel back.

Economos commented on the bags under her eyes when she was only a few yards away from her office and her polite demeanor finally cracked. Her lip twitched as she stared up at him, a smile edging on insane.

“Tough mission,” she said curtly before walking away from him.

It was a good thing to blame her lack of sleep on but it wasn’t the real reason. Ever since she got back from Germany her dreams had been plagued by Deadknight and his stupid, soft hazel eyes. The future and the present blending together in a way that made her head spin and her heart ache. As soon as she got in her office she was going to label Deadknight unfit for the Task Force and make sure that she never saw him again. Those visions….it was a future she was determined to change.

It was never going to happen.

Her office door opened with a loud creak that made her screw her eyes shut. Jesus, she needed to take some more pain killers. With a sigh, she flicked on the light and nearly jumped at what she saw sitting behind her desk.

Fucking Deadknight.

They locked eyes for just a moment — in her mind flashed those eyes looking at her with such love she wanted to launch herself into the wall — and Delphia lurched to slam her fist into the emergency lockdown button by the door. If she had to fight him and drag him back to his cell herself she would. She had no idea how he got out of prisoner containment and found her office, but she also didn’t much care. If this gave her the opportunity to punch him in the face she was going to take it no matter what.

“Before you do that.” Waller appeared from the back shadows of Delphia’s office and she froze, hand outstretched towards the emergency button and all. “I would like you to meet your new second in command.”

Waller gestured over to Deadknight lounging at her desk with a knowing quirk of her lips. And he had the audacity to sit there, swiveling back and forth in her desk chair, and wiggle his fingers at her with a smug little smile on his face. It felt like her entire blood stream was on fire.

“You can’t be serious. I don’t need a second,” Delphia pushed out through gritted teeth.

Waller stepped closer to her, heels clicking against the tile. “It’s too bad that I don’t care. He proved he had potential out in the field. He’ll be accompanying you on all your missions from now on.”

“Ma’am, I — “

“If I hear one more word from you, Colonel, I’ll see that metahuman record of yours going public.” Waller moved to stand right next to her and Delphia clenched her jaw tight in order to not protest any further. “You’ll pick him up from prisoner containment at the beginning of each day and bring him back when you’re ready to go home. You’ll formulate plans together and he’ll take half your paperwork. Should make your job...easier.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Waller left the office with a triumphant look on her face. Delphia felt like her entire body was vibrating with pent up rage. She felt she could punch a hole through the wall and it wouldn’t even hurt. Her knuckles would bleed and bruise later but she wouldn’t even care. Her eyes locked on Deadknight once more and he grinned at her.

“So, what now, partner?”

Fuck.

Taglist (if you would like to be tagged in future installment just let me know!): @bbygrgu @a-reader-and-a-writer @slayerx147 @xoxabs88xox @kasey-puff @witchygagirl @the-pink-petite-princess @blooo0ooop @woodlandmouth @csigeoblue @rexorangecouny @h-hxgirl @thisisthewayrose @blondiekook @darkestbeforethedawn16 @runic-belova @weallhaveadestiny @oopsiedoopsie23 @nerdgrrlramblings @ocfairygodmother @reysorigins @hawsx3

[itsevanffs]

Hihi!! I've been hyperfixating on tommary lately and I absolutely loved (In the dark!)! I wanted to see if u have any tommary/harrymort fics that u recommend.. preferably ones that feature a possessive Tom ^^ ty in advance

I guess this would be the right time to publicly declare my bookmarks as open? Everything on there is a hard rec, and I vigorously quality-check those... for my liking and my liking only. (Sorry, not sorry. They're there for me, after all.)

That being said, hmm. I've got a few you might like.

Below the cut: more (additionally to my bookmarks) Tomarrymort (Tomarry or Harrymort) recommendations with possessive/obsessive Tom in alphabetical order; NOT order of how much I enjoy them. I'd argue I enjoy them all equally, just in different ways.

Ps: thank you! I'm incredibly flattered you liked my work :D

and don't let the police know anything by littlecupkate https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920947

Ted Dirlod is dangerous, Harry Potter knows this for a fact, but the man was still his only hope at escaping a doomed fate. It is never wise to blackmail a crime lord. It is even more unwise(?) when said crime lord is obsessed with you. An expanded version of "praying to whatever's in heaven, please send me a felon"

Genuinely lovely? Ticks all my boxes, at least, and minimal angst, which is always a plus. That being said, you should probably read the work mentioned in the summary as well for context. But hey. Two cakes by one person ;) Can never go wrong, can it?

As Certain Dark Things Are to be Loved by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/6015619

Tom was Harry's best friend growing up and his first love. At eight, Harry gave Tom his first kiss before moving away. As a freshman in college, the name of the RA on the door across the hall is terribly familiar.

Also absolutely deliciously indulgent. Tom is a possessive terror and Harry loves him for it. Need I say more?

Harry Potter and the Search for Ancient Magic (series) by Snickerdoodlepop https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133141

Once Voldemort realizes that Harry Potter is his horcrux, his plans change drastically. So does Draco Malfoy's assignment for the school year. Harry's sixth year starts going very differently. Snape is on a mission. Harry needs to learn pureblood politics. Draco Malfoy is trying to convince Harry to forgive him. Voldemort finds himself visiting Harry Potter in his dreams. Everyone is realizing that no one is quite what they thought. And through it all, there's a mystery. What is Ancient Magic? Can Harry use it to save himself or will it pull him toward the dark side?

Honestly, genuinely, hands down the best fucking tomarrymort series I've ever read. Hard, hard rec from here. The first work is completed and the second is in progress, so it's a nice pile of words to chew through!

can't commit to anything but a crime by caelesti https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286483

Excitement is the word he does not dare utter, even in the privacy of his own mind. It’s wrong, he knows. These women are people, in their own right; people with fears and aspirations, with friends and families and dreams, and to have anything cut those lives short is nothing but tragic. To have anyone cut those lives short is nothing but condemnable. He doesn’t have James Potter’s laugh lines, but he does have his father’s innate flair for danger. He doesn’t have Lily Potter’s enthusiasm, but he does have her insatiable curiosity. (In every world, Harry will excel at finding the biggest spot of trouble available and sticking his nose in it.)

Hot serial killer serial killer hot. That's it, those are the thoughts. Please read.

Dripping Fingers by May_May_0_0 https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440826

When Harry finds Tom Riddle's diary he does not write 'Hello.' He does not write anything at all. He draws. Tom Riddle falls in love with the artwork. _________________ Sketch by sketch, drawing by drawing, the ink Harry pours into the diary manifests as creations in Tom's monochrome world.

Okay so if I'm the reincarnation of Shakespeare, May_May_0_0 is fucking... Ted Hughes. Which doesn't say much to your average viewer but that man wrote my favourite poem ever (the one I based my war fic off) and I hold him in very high regard. This story? It is poetry in its rawest form. Pure, condensed beauty. If you decide to read only one of the fics in this list, please choose this one.

Either must die at the hand of the other by Metalomagnetic https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356095

Voldemort survives the Battle of Hogwarts because Harry Potter had not been the one to kill him, as the prophecy demands.

When is Metalomagnetic not a master of words? When will I cease becoming breathless at every paragraph, at every cleverly twisted word that comes back and reveals itself so beautifully later?

Fine Line by galaxiesundone https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949952

Magic always leaves traces. The lingering darkness of Sectumsempra, combined with Harry’s nature as a horcrux, awakens the soul piece contained within Ravenclaw’s diadem. At twenty years old, Tom Riddle walks a fine line between man and monster, the devil and the light-bringer in one. His influence forces Harry to face an ancient enemy unlike anything he has faced before: temptation.

Long story short: Tom Riddle is Hot and Good At Being Hot and Harry truly doesn't stand a chance and I am here for it. Lord help me I love this fic to pieces.

Good Intentions by Strange_Soulmates https://archiveofourown.org/works/7035334

Five year old Harry Potter meets and befriends a seventeen year old Tom Riddle while hanging out at his dad’s station. James Potter decides to take Tom under his wing, using Tom’s connection with Harry to try and keep the teen grounded, even as he begins to investigate the Death Eaters, a dangerous organized crime group and their mysterious leader only known as Lord Voldemort.

The sheer potential of this fic. The horrible, terrible dread of future events that have yet to be revealed. I will cry.

Honey, Smoke, Shiver by machiavelli https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068062

Harry - Omega, only son of Lord Potter - is nothing more than a useful playing card in a political game of power and money, one that is bought by the famed Tom Riddle: powerful, dangerous, pureblood Alpha. Unsurprisingly, Harry loves being underestimated.

Machiavelli is always a rec from me. Sorry lads but that's the way it is. Never a moment where I won't recommend their stuff.

Sickly-Sweet Obsession by maquira https://archiveofourown.org/works/18259103

Quiet, studious Tom Riddle spends his first year thirsting after an older student—Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain, Harry Potter. His crush is common knowledge, and even Harry finds it cute… at first. Possessiveness spawns monstrosities. Tom does all within his power to mess with Harry’s dating life. And one seemingly harmless crush spirals into something darker, begetting deadly consequences.

Again; the potential. Delicious. This will bloom into something beautifully twisted, I'm sure of it.

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Audair https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745546

Riddle’s undivided attention snapped to him with the swiftness of shattering glass. His turbulent magic receded from where it had besieged the shop. "You,” he breathed. Coiling in leisurely motions, the eager tendrils of his magic reached for Harry, swathing about his limbs and neck and chest with a liquid, flowing fascination. "I’ve been looking for you,” Riddle continued, tilting his head to the side and sweeping his gaze over Harry. It was an appraisal that felt simultaneously like the raking of iron nails and the tender drapery of silk. It was so familiar, and yet… so foreign. In the winding streets of Knockturn Alley, an intricate dance of mutual obsession unravels between twenty-three-year-old Tom Riddle and a time-travelling Harry Potter.

This work has recently been undergoing a rewrite, and I can tell you with certainty it's only gotten better for it. It's beautiful; the setting, the atmosphere, the vibes... Perfection. Captures Knockturn Alley's mood impeccably and does not disappoint a single moment.

the pleasure, the privilege by asterisms https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227528

It begins with Vernon Dursley's body, dead across the table. In which Voldemort is dosed with amortentia, and nothing is better for it.

Completed, terrifying... and gorgeous.

The Shrike (to your sharp and glorious thorn) by PaperWorlds https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380079

Shrike: A songbird with a sharply hooked bill, known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling their bodies on thorns, the spikes on barbed-wire fences, or any available sharp point. A young Harry Potter survives an attack by notorious serial killer Voldemort. Over a decade later, they meet again.

Lads I'm so desperate for an update from this fic that I might cry if I think about it for too long. I keep saying it and I'll say it again; this is one of those fics with amazing potential that are sure to never disappoint no matter what path they take. An incredibly hard rec.

To Raise a Servant by bluegrass https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780816

Tom had found the boy amidst pouring rain. He figured he'd always wanted a pet snake.

Surprisingly not quite as dark as the summary makes it seem? I certainly enjoyed it, though, and that's why it's on this list.

What He Grows To Be by Severus_divides_into_H https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042240

Tom Riddle is a frightening coil of darkness, cruelty, and greatness, and changing him is Harry’s only hope for saving people he loves. Going back in time, he takes Tom from the orphanage, but his optimism shatters with every year they spend together. Tom still longs for darkness. Tom stifles him in his possessiveness. Tom is fixated on him to the point of destroying the world just to keep him. But Harry loves him. And the future changes.

Beautiful. And absolutely terrifying. I've started crying mid-scene at least three times for this fic, and it honestly seems unfathomable if you haven't read it if you're on my profile, since I think this is one of the fics that have shaped my style and ambitions. It is what I aspire to be.

[raineydays411]

Steve Harrington sucks.

Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader

A/N: Yay! My first request done!🎉✨ Please don’t hesitate to request anything, and I hope you enjoy. Sorry it tooks so long, I just started school.

Summary: (Y/n) Henderson has been through some shit in her 17 years. Her father leaving, an overprotective mother, bullies, interdimensional monsters, government conspiracies, etc. Needless to say her life was constantly changing.  There was one thing that will always remain the same though. And that was the hatred she has for the one and only Steve Harrington. 

Request from anon.

Masterlist

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

 You and Steve have never seen eye to eye. You haven’t for a very long time. You two used to be best friends, but that was a long time ago. Before high school and cliques mattered, and before Steve was known as “King Steve.” But once you two entered freshman year, Steves popularity rose and you were left behind. 

Even though you and Steve no longer associated with each other, that didn’t stop you two from fighting any chance you got.

You two argued about everything. If you said the sky is blue, Steve would argue that its actually purple. No kidding, he actually made the argument that the sky was purple. Needless to say, you two hated each other.

“Steve, I swear if you don’t move your feet I’ll--”

“You’ll what Y/n, please tell me what you’ll do?

“ I’ll take your feet and shove it up you---”

“Can you guys not...”

It was always like this. Ever since Steve started dating Nancy it was like he was always there. And because Nancy was your best friend, you got reacquainted with the King of Hawkins High.

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

After everything Will with through with the Upside down and El, you were relieved that it was over. You could go back to your normal life of being a big sister and being top of the class. But then your brother started acting weird. 

It started on Halloween, he came home and was holding his ghost trap thing from Ghostbusters weirdly. You thought it was a rat or something at first but something seemed off.

Then Mews went missing. Mews was given to you on your thirteenth birthday, so loosing her was devastating to you. You still had faith that she just ran out and was lost somewhere in the woods. You spent hours looking for her but no dice so far. You were in your room when your mom called you from the kitchen.

“Yeah?!” you shouted, finishing up some missing flyers for Mews. 

“Can you go find Dusty for me? It’s getting dark outside.” After the incident with Will and Barb, the parents became a lot more wary when it came to being out after dark.

Rolling your eyes, you get up from your small desk and walk out to the kitchen where your mom is. As you get closer, you smell the weird concoction your mother is making on the stove. Your mom wasn’t the best cook.

“Did he mention where he was going?” you ask, scrunching up your face at the sight of the...stew??  

“He mentioned something about Lucas and a code red?? Whatever that means.”

“Code red?” you ask, you weren’t too nervous because code red could mean anything. and Dustin tends to be over dramatic. But still, a small voice in the back of your head is warning you. 

“I’m not too sure dear. Would you like to have a taste before you leave?” aaand that was your cue to leave. You start rushing to the door

“Sorry mom! I better go find Dustin before it gets to late.” 

You start to make your way down the road when a flash of red catches your eye, you walk towards it . You realize its just some pieces of meat. Then you see what looks like a trail. Leading from your basement to the woods. A bad feeling settles in your stomach, and before you go in the woods, you get a hockey stick that you wrapped with barb wire a few months ago just incase. 

Then you follow the trail of meat into the woods.

You follow the trail till it leads you to the junkyard. By the time you got there it was already dark and surprisingly foggy.

“Dustin?!!” You shout, seeing the pile of meat stopping. You step over it as you walk around shouting for your brother.

“Hello!!? Dustin this isn’t funny, moms worried about you.” 

And that's when you heard it. A low growling sound. Right behind you. 

“Y/N!! WATCH OUT”  

You spin around to see what looked like a demogorgon, but on all fours like a dog. And it was slowly walking towards you. Growling as it stepped closer and closer. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you tighten your grip on the hockey stick. Adrenaline rushing through your body. Your senses heightened as you focused on the creature in front of you. You lowered your body into a crouch to prepare for an attack. You slowly backed away slowly as it stalked toward you. You heard what sounded like Lucas or Dustin tell you to run but you knew if you turned around, that thing would pounce on you and you’d be dead. And if you died, what would happen to your brother? To Lucas?  

Then the demodog lunged at you. The muscles in its leg tightened as it jumped toward you. You held your breath as you swung the stick with all your might, hitting the monster in mid air. It yelped as its body was flung sideways. It layed there for a moment them leaped up on all fours again, You backed away but never took your eyes off it. 

“Holy shit what is she doing” a girl?? 

“YEAH THATS MY SISTER!” Dustin

“Y/N THREE O’CLOCK! THREE O’CLOCK!” shit.

You can see another figure moving in your peripheral vison. Another one. You position your body so your able to see both dogs at the same time, but then you hear chirping and growling from all ends. You were being surrounded. 

“STEVE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” 

Then, Steve Harrington runs out of a broke down bus, bat in hand as he settles up behind you. 

“What the hell are you doing here Harrington?”

“Saving your ass Henderson, what does it look like?”

“I had this under control”

“Oh yeah, being surrounded definitely screams under control.” 

You aren’t given a chance to respond as another demodog leaps at you and Steve, forcing you to swing out and hit it again straight in the head. Another dog leaps at Steve, and he manages to hit it with the bat. 

“We’re going to die if we stay here” you say assessing the situation. 

“ No shit sherlock.” 

“Shut up and listen” You shout. “you run back to the bus. You need to protect the kids. I’m going to distract these fuckers. When I say the word, you open the bus door and let me in. These things hunt in packs, so they won’t chase both of us if I run first.”

“Henderson thats--” You don’t hear the rest as you dash from the spot. As predicted the dogs chase you and don’t pay no mind to Steve. You can see Steve reluctantly run back to the bus as you take a lap around the junkyard. You have to hit some more dogs but you manage to get back where you were. 

Then you were tackled. Dropping your stick you scream in pain as the demodog digs it claws in your shoulder. You struggled to get your stick as the other dogs get closer and the one on top of you is lowering its flower mouth to your throat. 

“Y/N” you hear your brother scream desperately. You find the strength to kick the dog off of you and launch yourself off the ground. You scoop up the hockey stick and swat the other dog that was in your way as you sprint towards the bus. 

“NOW STEVE LET ME IN” You screech as you near the bus. The doors slide open as hands wrap around your arms and pull you in. 

You lay there for a few seconds breathless. Muscles burning and ears ringing. You ignore the kids talking over each other and Dutsin fretting over you. You just breath, feeling a bit safer than you did outside. Then something rams into the side of the bus. The kids start screaming and Steve shouts something. You gather your strength once more and stand up, your body screaming at you. You see those demon dogs are trying to get in through the roof. You watch Steve start fighting them as you push the kids behind you. You step forward to help when suddenly they stop. Then they all run away and its quiet. After a few moments you feel weak and slump to the floor.

“Woah woah, Henderson” Steve surges forward and grabs you by the shoulders, you hiss in pain as he grabs the wound, “Shit, this is bad”

“Bad? What do you mean bad? How bad??” Dustin questions, his eyes watering at the thought of loosing his sister.

“I’m fine Dusty.” You say standing up. “ It probably just needs a cleaning and some stitches that all.” 

‘You look like you should be an extra in a WW2 documentary.” Steve deadpans. “You should go home.”

You roll your eyes “ Oh like YOU would know what that would look like, you don’t even show up to history class.” 

“ That's not the point Henderson, your arm is about to fall off.”

“I am not leaving these kids here defenseless.” you say crossing your arms, but wince as you do.

“First of all they have me, and second of all, you can’t even move your arm! You’d be in the way.” 

“ I’m sorry but who was the one that distracted those things? Who came up with that plan to get you back in the bus??” you say, annoyed at the accusation of being useless. 

“she has a point” muttered Lucas, earning him a smack in the arm by Max and a glare from Steve. 

“Listen Harrington” You say poking him in the chest. “ I’m fine, im not going anywhere, and I can kick your ass even with my arm fucked up. Now we’re going to get out of this FUCKING bus and figure out what the fuck is going on. AM I CLEAR?” 

A shocked silence settles in the bus. Lucas and Dustin chuckled and Max smirked in admiration. Steve glared at you, simply saying “Crystal” and turned around marching off the bus. You roll your eyes as Lucas and Max get off as well, leaving only you and your brother.

“That was really badass. The way you fought those demodogs back there.” Dustin said looking up at you. 

You smile and ruffle his hair. 

“ I wasn’t going to let them get my Dusty Bun” You say in a baby tone pulling him in for a hug. He groans at the name but hugs you back. 

“HENDERSONS MOVE YOUR ASSES” Steve shouts. You roll your eyes and nudge Dustin towards the door. 

“Come on, before King Steve blows a gasket” 

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

You find out that Dart killed Mews and are absolutely devastated. Dustin felt guilty as he was basically the reason why your beloved cat died. 

“It’s fine Dustin, now I have even more of a reason to kick their doggy ass.” 

You walk ahead of the group seething in anger and fear. Your arm was still sluggishly bleeding and throbbing in pain. 

“You really should do something about that shoulder” Steve said as he walks up next to you. 

“Sure, let me just stop at the hospital while my brother and his friends chase flesh eating dogs from another dimension.” you reply in an sarcastic tone.

“I’m just trying to help.” Steve says in a soft tione

You roll your eyes and mutter a fine. You then rip a strip of fabric from the bottom of your shirt and wrap it around your shoulder. 

‘There are you happy now?”you ask

Steve is stunned, he never realized how...tough you are.In fact this whole experience has made him realize how smart and resilient you’ve become. Far different from the shy quiet girl you used to be when the two of you were friends. He never wanted to stop being your friend, in fact he even harbored a little crush on you but he just got caught up in the popularity and attention. Then he got with Nancy and started seeing you constantly again, only now you hated him. It hurt him in ways he didn’t understand. And while he’ll always love Nancy, he’s starting to realize that maybe he’s starting to fall in love with you too.

You look at him weird, as he just stared at you with this weird look on his face. You walked past him as the entrance to the lab becomes clear. 

“Hey guys” You shout. “We’re here.”

Then you hear it. Bone chilling roars fill the air. The lights are out inside the lab and you can hear the screams of the people inside. and then rustling comes from the woods. You push the kids behind you and Steve as you tighten the grip on your weapons. 

“Steve?” “Y/n?’

“Nancy?’” “Jonathan?”

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

After finding out El was actually alive and Will’s interrogation, you officially have seen it all. You, Steve, and the rest of the kids stayed in the Byers house while the “A team” went back to the lab. You finally were cleaning your shoulder when you heard the rumble of an engine. 

Great Billy Hargrove.

“It’s my brother! If he catches me here he’ll kill me” Max says, he tone laced in fear. You and Steve look at each other, and then Steve walks out to deal with Billy. 

“Quick hide and don’t let him see you” you say moving toward the door. You open it in time to see Billy knock Steve down and kick him. You flinch and are just glad that it wasn’t you. 

“Oh” Billy coos, “ Are you gonna let me in Princess or am I gonna have to move you?” 

“Moving me sounds fun, how about we try that” you flirt back, hey anything to get him to calm down. 

He chuckles. “Nice try toots but I got a bone to pick with my step sister.” And with that she shoves you out of the way. You realize that you can’t fight Billy off alone, so you run to help Steve. 

“Come on Harrington, up you go” You try and help him up. You hear the kids shouting and some stuff smashing. “Come on Steve, he’s on there with the kids.” You say urgently.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Steve says, finally getting up. You and Steve rush into the house to see Billy holding Lucas up against a shelf. Steve then rushes to the two, as you go to the kids making sure they’re behind you. 

“YOU’RE DEAD SINCLAIR, SO DEAD” 

“No, you are” and with that Steve punches Billy in the face. You pull Lucas away, checking him over to make sure he’s alright. The kids are cheering Steve on as he beats Billy. 

“KICK HIS ASS STEVE” 

Then the tables turn. Billy smashes a plate over Steves head, knocking him down and punching him in the face. They get into the living room and Billy isn’t stopping. He’s punching Steve in the face continuously. 

“STOP YOU’RE GONNA KILL HIM” Dustin screams 

“BILLY NO” 

You rush forward and try to pull him off. “Billy thats enough, he’s already down!” he just pushes you to the ground and resumes his beating. You get up, desperate to help Steve. 

“Y/n!” You hear Max yell.  You look at her and she hands you something. 

Will’s morphine. 

Without a second thought you ripped the cap off the needle and injected the drug in Billy’s neck. He flinched and stood up, giving poor Steve a break from his brutal beating. 

“youbitchwhatdidyoudo” He slurred as he pulled the needle from his neck. He then fell on his back, half unconscious. Max, surprising you all, took Steves bat and yelled.

“From now on you leave me and my friends alone, you understand?!” 

“Screw you.”

She brought down the bat between his legs. Your eyes widened as she slammed the nail covered bat on the floor between them. 

“SAY YOU UNDERSTAND. SAY IT! SAY IT!”

“I understand” Billy finally whispered as the drugs took over. After watching that you ran over to Steve. You checked his pulse just to make sure he was alright.

“Alright Harrington, get up” You said. “Come on Steve.” 

“Y/n, we don’t have time.” Mike said. “We have to help El.” 

“How are you even going to the tunnels Mike? It’s too far to walk.” You say as you put Steve's head on your lap. 

Max then walks up to Billy and pulls his keys out of his jacket. “Y/n can drive us.” she says. Then the whole party laughs. “What? What's so funny?”

“Y/n can’t drive us” Dustin said laughing. You glare at him from your spot.

“Why not?” Max asks.

“Because” Mike replies, “ She failed like three of her drivings tests”

“Yeah, unless you want to hit every mail box on the way and get whiplash, y/n is out” Lucas chimed in. 

“Hey! I was not that bad” you yelled incredulously. “ Besides what would we do with Steve?” 

“Leave him here?” Mike said

“With Billy?” You asked

“Yeah we could just tie Billy up or something” 

“We are not leaving Steve” Dustin said. “He’ll be chill when he wakes up, I promise.” 

“We still can’t go” you say. The group groans

“Why not” Mike says

“Because, I can’t drive you.” You reply. Then Max ‘s face brightens 

“I can drive.” She says 

Suddenly, you’re in the backseat of Billy's stolen car, Steve sprawled across yours, Mikes, and Dustin's lap as Max drives erratically to the field. 

And then Steve wakes up. 

“y/n??” He mutters looking at Mike, Mike gives him the side eye as Dustin starts talking.

“Hey buddy” Dustin says “ He kicked your ass but you put up a good fight”

“Dustin!” you shout

“What?” 

‘Oh god” Steve says realizing what was happening “ Oh my god stop the car!!”

“Steve I promised them you’d be cool if we brought you” 

“oh god 

“Make a left here” “you’re okay” 

“Steve relax she’s driven before”

“yeah in a parking lot””That counts!”

“Stop yelling!”

“Stop the car, stop the car” Max takes a sharp turn 

“WOAHH” “STOPTHE CAR”

“Steve calm down” “I told you we should have left him!’“

“AHH SLOW DOWN” “CALM DOWN”

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP! I’M TRYING TO FOCUS” 

Max hits the breaks as she makes to to the field. You all stumble out of the car and head to the trunk, getting ready to head into the tunnels. As you’re putting on your mask and goggles Steve stumbles to the back of the car yelling, 

“HELLO! Do you guys hear me, we are not going down there!” 

“Y/n how could you let them talk you into his” “ARE YOU DEAF? HELLO?

“WE ARE NOT---” 

“STEVE!” Dustin shouted, “The fact of the matter is that a party member needs our assistance. We can’t just abandon her.” 

“...fine” Steve says, and he puts on the bandana and goggles. You walk up to him and hand him his bat. “ Wow Harrington, you’ve never looked better” 

“Ha ha, get in the hole” 

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

After struggling to get into the hole, you finally made it into the tunnels. It was dark and damp in there. Cold as you and the party walked further and further into what could be your doom. Specks of...something floated in the air and the walls were covered in what looked like vines. Steve was at the from of the line while you were at the end.Making sure both ends were covered and there wasn’t any chance at a sneak attack. 

You stood at the back with Dustin as he kneeled down to tie his shoe and then a flurry of that white shit sprayed in his face. He started freaking out immediatly, screming and spitting

“SHIIT! ITS IN MY MOUTH!”  

Steve ran over to him and started asking whats wrong. Seeing Steve so worried about your brother warmed your heart, especially because it’s been so long that Dustin had a male figure who cared about him in his life. Now that you think about it, Steve has been really protective over Dustin these past few days, in fact he--

“Hey Y/n, are you okay” Steve says, interrupting your thought. 

You look at him and nod, “We should keep going”

He nods and take his place back in the front. The group only had to walk a few more steps till they reached the hub, 

“Let’s torch it” Steve said as he stepped forward. The kids spread out, pouring gasoline on every inch of the  cavern.  After you were done, Steve pulled out his lighter and flicked it on. 

“You ready?” He said. You all nodded and prepared to run for your life. Steve threw the lighter and the whole hub was lit. The everyone ran. Mike got caught as a vine wrapped around his leg. Steve struggled to it get off when you came around.

“Stand back!” you yelled and swung you hockey stick down on the vine a couple times. This cut it in half as you heard it..squeal?? You then helped Mike up and urged him to start running. You were almost back to the hole when you were stopped. 

A demodog stood in the way of your freedom. Hunched low and growling as it wait for you to make your move. Thats when Dustin spoke up.

“Dart” “Shh Dustin get behind me” You shushed him, trying to pull him away from the creature but with no luck. He slowly walked toward iy.

“Dustin what are you doing?””Get away from it” the rest of the group whispered as he pulled a candy bar from his pocket.

“yumm nougat” He said, breaking the candy bar into pieces and fed them to the demon dog. ‘There you go buddy, eat up” He then waved to you. 

“hurry up go” He said still crouched down. Carefully, each member of the party passed by. Creeping passed the demodog who paid no attention.

“Bye buddy” Dustin whispered as you and Steve pulled him away. 

You finally got to the hole. You and Steve helped each of the kids up the rope. Rushing as you heard the rest of the demodogs running to find you. You finally got Dustin up the rope when you saw them. The pack of demodogs running full speed toward you and Steve. There was no time for either of you to get up the rope. Steve pulled you into his chest as the pack drew nearer. You tensed up, waiting to get torn apart by these creatures.

“Y/N! STEVE” Dustin cried, being held back by Mike and Lucas. 

The closer they got the harder it was for you to breath. You closed your eyes and dug your face into Steves chest.

They ran past you. The demodogs run right passed you and Steve as if you weren’t there. You feel them run past your legs, bumping into you as they are called somewhere else. 

You sigh in relief . You look around the cavern, realizing you’re not dead. Steve laughs a breathless laugh as you smile, the threat of death gone. You realize that you’re still pressed up against him, and look up. Staring into the brown eyes of the one and only Steve Harrington. His goggles pulled up against his forehead and his bandana around his neck. 

You don’t know if the adrenaline or you not giving a fuck, but you fling off your safety glasses, pull down your bandana ans surge up.

Capturing Steve’s lips in a kiss.

He makes a little ‘oomph” sound in surprise as he realizes what's happening. But then he relaxes and kisses you back, wrapping his arms around your waist. Your hands go into his hair as you wrap your arms around his neck, prompting him to  lean closer. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip and you begin to let it in when--

“OH GOD, REALLY?” 

Dustin. “GUYS THEY'RE MAKING OUT’”

“Ewww, come on do you really gotta do that here” Lucas complains.

“Yeah! we don’t wanna see that” Mike says, frowning in disgust. 

“Come on’ Max says, pulling Dustin and Lucas by the collar of their shirts. Mike following behind them.

You pull away from Steve, giggling as you see the awe struck face he's making. 

“Come on King Steve” You say, starting to crawl up the rope. “Before Max starts joy riding and leaves us here. He shakes his head as he watches you get to the top and starts climbing. 

“Hold your horses Henderson, I’m coming.”

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Sam and Dee whumptober 1

This @whumptober2021 piece takes place fairly early in Dee’s and Sam’s training. Enjoy.

No. 1 - ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO

“You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

Taglist: @ashintheairlikesnow @what-a-whump @vickytokio @thefancydoughnut @malcolmisthebrightestboy

CW: heavy beating, injuries, blood, allusion to noncon, first aid given under extreme stress

A symphony of snapping bones and splitting skin filled the cell.

“Stupid dog.”

Dee’s pained grunts mingled with the rhythmic ‘thud thud thud’ of the handlers batons bashing into his body, curled up on the cold tile floor between three pairs of heavy combat boots that were stained red by splatters of blood.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay?!”

Twenty-two screamed, straining against the thick leather restraints that forced his hands behind him and fixed them to the ground. Their sharp, blood stained edges cut deep into his delicate wrists, while liquidised rage burned in his eyes and spilled over heated cheeks onto cold tiles. His bonded was nothing more than a blurred smudge against the new wave of tears blurring twenty-twos vision. His heart hammered violently in his throat, in his ears. He didn't care for the tears, or the blood, or the humiliating words he forced past his teeth. All he cared about was making the handlers stop. To somehow save Dee.

“I get it. I'll be good now. Okay? I promise. So stop hurting him! Or- You’ll kill him. Please, please you- He’s gonna die!”

Finally, the handlers' assault abated and they turned their attention towards twenty-two. A crooked smile cracked the face of his primary handler open. The man's ice blue eyes pierced right through the pet.

“Oh darling, don’t worry.” The handler drawled, cocking a thin eyebrow. “He won’t. You will make sure of that.”

The confusion plastered over twenty-twos' rage red face elicited a boisterous laugh from the man. He turned to his peers. “Can you believe it? I know pet’s aren’t kept for their brains but this one is almost adorably stupid.”

The other two joined his taunts with humorless chuckles. It made the pet nearly sick with fury. The only thing keeping him from rupturing at the seams was Dee, who lay bleeding and delirious less than four feet away. Red stained the pristine white tile under his big burly body.

“Your shamefully disrespectful demeanour during your wound-care class compelled us to hold a little-” The handler crouched down, snaking one long arm around twenty-two to reach for his cuffs. “-surprise test for you.”

The carabiner that connected twenty-twos cuffs to the metal circle embedded in the ground opened with a click and he fell forward right into his handler's arms.

A pleased hum vibrated through the man's throat. His mouth twisted into a lazy smile against the cheek of the shuddering trainee, while his gloved hand wound its way into blond wavy hair. “Not that kind of test, kitten.”

A pained hiss escaped twenty-two as the handler yanked him upright by his hair and shoved him towards Dee. One of the others tossed a first aid kit at his feet. The grey plastic boxes loud clatter against the tile floor had twenty-two nearly jump out of his skin. Even Dee’s bruised fingers twitched, bust open lips parted, sucked in a shuddering breath, but his eyes remained closed.

Or were they just swollen shut?

There was so much blood, so much mutilated skin that Dees face looked more like an overripe tomato rupturing under the oppressive heat of summer's high noon, than the kind courageous man twenty-two knew him to be.

All but crashing to his knees next to Dee, twenty-two pulled the first aid kit close with trembling hands. Fingers, tingling with the blood that flooded back into them after being bound for so long, fiddled desperately with the clasps. Fuck, c’mon open, fuck!

His heart and mind were trapped in a wild rabbit chase.

“Too slow.”, the handler tsked behind him and twenty-two bit back the scream of frustration pressing against his teeth. He wanted to tear that bastard's head off.

With a soft click, the clasps got, finally, undone. Twenty-two sucked in a whistling breath and yanked the plastic box open. He had to focus. Focus.

Focus on your training!

Sterilize. The teacher's voice filtered through the rushing in his ears. Before treating a wound make sure to sterilize it so as to not trap any bacteria under ointments or wound dressings.

“Right, right. I got this.” Twenty-two mumbled, tearing open a pack of sterile wipes. “Have you patched up in no time.”

He was just about to pull a wipe from the blue plastic package when his eyes fell on the gloves, nestled between the gauze dressings and antiseptic cream. Cursing he wrestled them over his sweat sticky fingers. How could he have forgotten them? He’s going to fuck this up. Like he always fucks everything up. He’s going to fuck up and Dee is gonna die of infection or some shit. All because he is such a worthless, pathetic little-

Stop! Focus!

Forcing a trembling breath in through his nose and out his mouth, twenty-two began to gently dab around the laceration tearing through Dee’s right brow.

One thing at a time.

“We’re gonna get you nice and clean and all bandaged up. Sounds good right?”

The low rumble of approval coming from Dee nearly threw twenty-two out of his loop. Somewhere behind them a handler whistled: “Tough guy ‘s still conscious eh?”

Just shut up. Shut the fuck up!

“...s’nd good.” The soft upward curve of Dee’s bloodied lips had twenty-two’s own trembling.

“Yeah. Think so too. Just relax.” His voice was thin with tears. “Let me handle this.”

For once let me take care of you.

It was a slow unnerving process, cleaning out Dee’s injuries under the constant jabbing comments of his handlers and Dee’s soft pained hisses whenever the disinfectant got into his wounds. Twenty-twos’ hands wouldn’t stop shaking, wouldn’t stop pressing too hard into bruises or wouldn’t press hard enough to make the butterfly closures properly stick and hold Dee’s lacerated skin together.

Everytime he apologized for removing the poorly applied adhesive and using a new one, Dee only smiled at him. Or rather, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, his head angled in twenty-two's general direction.

Red soaked cotton and torn open plastic wrappers were strewn all around them when the handlers' loud clap cracked through the room. Both trainees flinched.

“Congratulations, you passed kitten.”

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

It's officially whumptober, so here's another entry.

It's a loud bang and sudden pressure that awake Billy from an apparently uncomfortable sleep.  He cracks open his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar and dark room. 

Where the hell is he?  

The noise turns out to be a large metal door slamming shut and the pressure was apparently another person being tossed onto him. 

"What the fuck?" He tries to sit up but he finds that he can't move his arms. They've been bound behind him. And to make matters worse, he feels like he got hit with a mack truck. 

Twice .

Fucking great. 

The other body finally rolls to the side and he is surprised when he can clearly see that he knows this guy. 

It's Steve Harrington. 

Harrington lets out a slew of curses as he too, tries and struggles to sit up."-last fucking time I do Henderson a favor. If it's not getting a flat tire and stranded, it's something else, I swear to god-" The tirade stops when he finally manages to get upright and notices Billy staring. " Hargrove ? What the hell are you doing here?" 

"I could ask you the same question." 

He sort of shrugs."Some shady dude got the drop on me when I was picking up something for one of the kids." he sighs dramatically. "What about you?" 

Billy thinks about it, thinks about where he was before waking up in this room, but he's drawing a blank. The last thing he remembers is drinking a shot of whisky at the Long Branch. His dad is pals with the owner so he gets away with sneaking a drink every once in a while.

But after that…nothing. 

"I don't remember. I drank something and then…I don't know."  He definitely can't remember anything that would make him fucking ache like this, that's for damn sure.

"Well I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say we are in Hawkins Lab."

His interest is piqued at the statement. "I thought they got kicked out and the place was condemned?" 

"Yeeeeah, evil people don't really give a fuck about legalities. If they have money they'll do whatever the hell they want." 

Billy huffs out a tired laugh and attempts to get in a more comfortable position, which he unfortunately finds that he can't . "You do have a point." He knows money talks. 

After a moment of nothing but silence and awkward grunting from him still trying to sit the fuck up, he decides to ask the other boy. Because every time he breathes now he feels like his body is on fire and Harrington looks fine.  "Hey, do you feel OK? Like physically. You're not in any pain?"

Harrington meets his eyes and they look concerned. "No, I'm fine. Are you in pain?" 

"Yeah, but...I was fine..." 

"You must have been drugged. These guys...they're sick. I can't really say for certain what kind of shit they're up to this time, but if it's the same group as before…" he trails off.

Yeah, Billy doesn't like the sound of that. "What did they do before ?" 

His voice is quiet when he replies "Human experimentation." 

All the pain and memory loss make a lot more sense now, but he feels queasy with the thought of someone touching him...experimenting on him while he was unconscious. "You think they've already done something to me..." 

"Yeah. They probably have." 

Fuck. "We're going to die aren't we?"

"No. I didn't go through two years of bullshit just to get kidnapped and murdered. We are getting out of here." 

"And how do you propose we do that?"

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "OK, here's what we're gonna do. I'm going to scoot my back to yours. I can't move my arms, but I can still move my hands. If I can get you free, we can get the fuck out of here. I don't know the layout but I have a general idea of where the exit is. I wasn't knocked out when they brought me in."  

"Fuck it. I'm willing to try anything if it means getting the hell out of here." Billy agrees, even though he doesn't have much faith in the plan, but surprisingly Harrington manages to get the ropes around his wrists untied. 

Hands free, he returns the favor and Harrington quickly stands and makes a break for the door. It's just as loud opening as it was closing, and Billy cringes, waiting for someone to come storming in.

But no one ever does. 

So, they both stick their heads out and glance down the hallway. There isn't a soul in sight.

Either their captors are overly confident in their abilities to contain their prisoners, or they are really dropping the ball here. 

  Whichever it is, it doesn't matter. What matters is that they have a chance to get out of this place unscathed. Or in his case, relatively unscathed. 

He keeps stumbling after Harrington, like he's not used to his limbs, but it's not bad enough that he's lagging behind. It just hurts…. a lot.

And it's weird...He can usually ignore pain. He's played basketball with broken ribs and waited for broken limbs to mend without medication before, but he is quickly realizing that whatever they did to him... It's different, and he doesn't know how much longer he can keep up the pace. 

Thankfully, Steve hadn't been full of shit and led them out a side exit…

...just in time for sirens to blare throughout the whole damn building. 

"Looks like they finally noticed."  He says, trying to hide the sudden fear in his voice. 

"It's fine. There's the woods. We're almost there" Harrington points forward and Billy follows his finger. 

It's freedom, and the only thing standing between it and them is a barbed wire fence. 

It's probably ten feet tall but Harrington scales it like a pro. He's dropping onto the other side in no time flat. 

Billy would usually be right there with him, he's a pretty fit guy, but he stumbles again when he reaches the fence and puts his boots in the holes. His right leg is fine and he gets halfway up, but the moment he puts his weight on the other he falters. The only reason he's not on his ass is because of all the push ups and lifting he does. His upper body strength is nothing to scoff at.

Harrington notices his struggle and climbs up, reaching out to take his hand and pull him over the top.

But the pain is excruciating and after a few tries, he knows he can't get up and over the fence.

His leg is fractured or something. It has to be. Maybe the running just aggravated it. Or...whatever they fucking did is starting to overcome him.

His chest feels tight and his jaw is sore from gritting his teeth through the pain. 

It only takes a moment more for the severity of the situation to set in. 

He's not going to make it.

He stares up at the wounds on the other boy's face and arms from the wire cutting into him. The longer he tries to help Billy, the more injured he'll become….

So, there's really only one option here, but Steve hasn't realized it yet. There isn't a way for them both to escape this. The creeps that took them have already noticed their absence. He can still hear the sound of alarms and now barking dogs behind them. 

"Harrington," his voice shakes despite the bravado he's trying to project. "You have to let go, man."

There's confusion and then anger in those brown eyes as he glares at him. "I'm not leaving you here." He tries again to unsuccessfully pull Billy up, panting out, "You're an asshole, but I don't want you to fuckin die."  

The barks suddenly move closer, making them both shudder. "Look, there isn't another way, and you have a chance to get out of this freak fest. My leg is fucked. Something is wrong with me and I'm slowing you down. So let me go ."

There are so many emotions that cross his face before he finally relents."Fuck you, Hargrove," he hisses, and lets Billy's hand fall from his grasp. 

Something like relief fills his chest as he slumps down to the ground, but the other boy isn't moving. He has to hiss out, "Go!" 

"Fuck. I'm going …but when I find help, I'm coming back for you." 

Billy forces a smile and gives him a wave. "See you later then, pretty boy." 

He watches his back retreat into the darkness and shivers as heavy footsteps stop behind him.

"The control subject escaped," someone says into a radio before roughly grabbing him. He doesnt put up a fight as he's dragged back towards the lab, but he does throw up when the pain becomes too much. "I have subject A." The man speaks again. "But it doesn't look good." 

And Billy sighs sadly, because he had already known the outcome. The only thing Steve will be coming back for, is his body.