#beretta does fics

[loadedberetta]

Apartment 10

Ghost x fReader // callsign Misfit; fem no body desc // MDNI

cw bullet removal, taking a painkiller, slight blood and gore

summary: a new member of KorTac, you get caught out cold, and the only place to hole up in is a SpecGru safehouse... it's quiet. that is until Ghost arrives.

3.6k words // rating: E/18+ // MDNI // Part 2: Barracks 4

warnings: porn with plot (MDNI!!); unprotected sex (only fools don't wrap their tools); implied König x Reader; degradation whoops; possessive Ghost; slight pain play; size difference (reader isn't itty bitty, but she's smaller than Ghost that's realistic imo); hurt/mild comfort; nicknames used: callsign Misfit, girly, princess, sweetness, good girl, lovey, slut (1x)

a/n: this came to me because I've been apartment hunting for the last month or so, enjoy this trainwreck I put together in one afternoon. not betad. feedback appreciated.

How do you explain a bullet wound and other highly suspicious scars and bruises to a nurse in a language you don't speak, in a country you're illegally in?

You don't.

You keep your head down and get your arse to a safehouse.

That's what you do.

Good thing there was one in the city. It wasn't even your safe house, it was a SpecGru one. Still better than nothing.

Maybe.

You heard about it once, when you were stationed in the nearby capital, and met up with some operators for a beer.

You had to pick the lock and pray that you were the only one inside. Silence. You stepped forward. Flicking your handgun into the kitchen on the left, you saw nothing but an empty plate on the waxed tablecloth covering the small dining table.

Dead silent. Turning out from the kitchen, you moved forward. Two rooms, one large enough to house a bed, and the other presumably a bathroom.

Not bad, you nodded.

A droplet ran down your leg, where the baggy pair of pants allowed it to.

Sweat? Blood?

You had to check. Shedding your jacket, and the tac vest underneath, you sat down on the bed.

A bullet was lodged in your left hip for hours by then. Great.

Your face felt hot, lighting up with both regret and the sweet kiss of concrete you had to familiarize yourself with a few hours prior while fleeing a compromised position.

Palms scabbed, knees bruised, and that terrible throb of a bullet nestling in the thick bone.

You sighed and pulled the pants down just enough to assess the wound better. Peeling off the hastily applied gauze, you hissed in discomfort.

A small 9mil round of a handgun. If you strained yourself, you could get it out, it sat in a very advantageous position. You'd been through worse.

You started counting up the hours if it was worth torturing yourself with trying to remove the bullet. Earliest, you could head down to the nearest base, which happened to be an airfield via train the next day.

The total trip would have made up about 24 hours before being back on home soil in these conditions.

With a sigh, you stood up. Opening a drawer of the large closet nearby, relief washed over you as a small, half-empty bottle of disinfectant spray rolled to the wooden wall with a knock.

Pocketing it, you headed to the kitchen. Laying beneath the lip of the plate on the table, something reflected the light from outside. A key.

Swiftly, you locked the front door and disappeared they key deep in your pocket. Palming through the drawers, a small stake-knife was the closest thing to a scalpel, with its pointy end.

"Fucking SpecGru…" You grunted, shoving the drawer closed.

Back in the small bedroom, you sat on the edge of the bed to catch as much light as you could from the white streetlights outside to aid your surgery. Groaning, you pulled your pants down again a little and assessed the damage.

Fifty agonizing minutes later, you threw yourself back on the bed and spat the rag from your mouth, just as the stubborn round clinked on the ground below. Panting for a few minutes, you smeared away a little tear with the back of your hand, still holding the knife in a tight grip.

After carefully applying the last of your sterile patches, you silently washed up in the bathroom, and laid down on the cold mattress again, this time falling into a comatose sleep.

***

Something rustled.

Your eyes flashed awake. The moon was no longer shining through the window.

Movement of a door handle. Your ears perked, and your hands moved beneath the pillow to grab hold of your silenced pistol.

Footsteps.

You turned around, toward the door, and extended your hand ending in the barrel of the pistol toward the opening.

And a mirror image stared back at you. Another silenced pistol, but a man at the other end of it.

His eyes narrowed, the only feature on him you could make out in the dim light, apart from how large his frame seemed to be, still you recognized him from the times you'd seen him on tape... Impressive and commanding... Ghost.

"Lower the gun." He rasped quietly. It was a multi-storey apartment building after all.

A fellow operator. 'Fellow'. The only thing you'd seen of him yet was on bodycam, yet it still made you drool. He was an even more impressive sight in the flesh.

"You're…"

"SpecGru. And you're KorTac." He kept the gun trained on you, flicking his gaze to the discarded tac vest lying by the foot of the bed with the insignia patch on it.

You had to lower yours; having the short end of the stick. Freshly roused, wounded, and on enemy land. Well, enemy.

"I can explain." You offered and lowered the pistol.

He didn't.

Carefully, you laid it down on the bed and raised your hands. "Gromsko and Fender showed me this place once. I don't know how they knew. I was wounded. I picked the lock."

He sighed and lowered his gun, finally.

"You're Ghost." You tried. Had someone told you that morning you were going to meet him that day, you would have laughed in their face. But just then, you were the farthest away from laughing.

"Aye." He rasped and stepped into the room. "Won't ask what brings you here."

"No." You sat up in the bed.

He walked to the window and looked around. Without looking back at you, he addressed you by your callsign, "Misfit".

"Word travels…" You mumbled.

"Were you followed?" He finally looked back at you.

You shook your head, grabbing your pistol and stashing it back under the pillow under his watchful eye.

"Where you hit?" He took a step closer, searching eyes flicking up and down your body.

Pulling the undone waistband of your pants down, you showed him the patch.

"There's the bullet." You nodded towards the shiny cartridge on the ground.

He grunted and picked it up, black windstopper struggling to hold his frame.

"We're after the same target." He rumbled and pulled out a shell from one of his pockets. The bullet you dug out of yourself slotted right into it.

You shook your head in surprise and stood up, groaning at the sharp pain jolting through your damaged hip.

"'ve got a few more pain pills left. Willing to give you one if that means you'll sleep through the night and let me catch some shuteye too." He commented as he dropped the bullet into your palm.

It almost disappeared between his thick fingers, you noticed.

"That'd… That'd be appreciated, yes." You busied yourself with inspecting the disfigured bullet between your much smaller fingers.

He left for the bathroom and you took the time to sit back on the bed, one leg pulled below you. After some shuffling and strange clinks, he returned with a prescription bottle of painkillers. Name rubbed off, you noticed as he lobbed the container at you.

"Thank you." You screwed the cap off and took one. "Napro?" You glanced at the blue tablet.

You narrowed your eye at Ghost leaning against the doorframe as you took one and swallowed it. He barely fit in the doorway, you took notice.

"The American banker, right?" He asked nonchalantly and caught the bottle you threw back at him with a curve.

You remained silent. It was, your target.

"I'm here to observe him… He's part of a bigger plot…" He threw the bone at you.

"I have execute authority on him." You stared back at Ghost. "If you and your friends are about to ruin my mission…"

"Looks like there's competition, Misfit." An audible smirk lurked beneath his mask.

A sigh parted your lips.

"You blew the fuse already anyway." You massaged your temple as he spoke. "They're alerted that someone's here by now."

Silence descended on the room. A car passed outside.

"Security will be tight now. Working in our favour." He chuckled dryly, and it made you look up at him.

"So you did know I was here." You narrowed your eyes at him, searching.

"Might have." He shrugged short.

He stepped closer and closed the door to the room behind himself.

"You're in deep shit, Misfit." His voice neared a growl, and he leaned in more as he talked. "Wading in so deep onto enemy territory, trying to kill someone we want to keep alive… And I'm here feeding you my napro, and you're taking up my space on that bed. How's that right girlie, huh?"

His gloved hand cupped your cheek as he reached over the bed that separated the two of you.

Words evaded you as a finger brushed against your lightly parted lips, ghosting wisps of the cotton above your skin.

"I…"

"Been keepin' an eye on you, sweetness… Since you got off that train…" He explained, and rounded the bed, letting go of your jaw in the process that left you a few seconds to catch your breath; unsuccessfully.

"Didn't know KorTac needed eyes this badly, that they'd tolerate you in their ranks…" He continued, cooing when you frowned at his foul tone.

"Did I strike a nerve, princess? Hm?" He placed his hand under your jaw yet again, and gripped it tighter. "Answer me, princess. Did you get in over your head here? Don't tell me you want to prove yourself to someone…"

He rasped a chuckle from above you. His frame intimidated you in a way that sparked something previously unknown in your brain.

It was a secret, tightly drawn to your chest that you were attracted to him. You've seen photos of him, tapes, and other recordings; fighting, interrogating, or just simply being a menace on the field. His impressive (public) record also struck a chord in you. You often found yourself imagining him in your room, touching you when you were left alone for longer missions by the sly Colonel of your faction; König.

This time it was not the Colonel standing over you; Ghost was slightly smaller, but not a hair less impressive.

Legs lightly spread, hulking frame dwarfing you despite the fact you yourself weren't the smallest either, bulking up to pass KorTac's deathly entrance exams.

"Well, are you? Who's the lucky one, don't be tongue-tied now…"

Him. It was him, you slowly came to realize. König dwarfed in the back of your mind.

"Nobody…" You exalted, against the tight grip on your face. Even if it wasn't the entire truth, you weren't new to keeping secrets.

His eyes flashed with a strange light when an ambulance passed silently in the night on the street below.

"Now, now…"

"No. It's no one." Your gut twisted with a sinful delight when you came to, and the first thought connecting in your head was of his jealousy, and how painfully arousing it was to you.

There wasn't enough defiance in you at that moment to play cocky. You wanted it as much as one could have, and it was not the time to play around…

"Nobody?" His eyes narrowed behind the black paint.

You tried shaking your head, but his hand stopped you and held your head in place.

"Words, princess, use your words…" He leaned in closer only with his head.

"No." You repeated yourself in a voice breaking over the single syllable, only to elicit a chuckle from him.

Condescendingly, he shook his head.

"Too damn bad. I don't like liars." He shoved your face backward, making you fall back on the bed with a painful yelp.

"Will you make me fuck the truth out of you, princess?" He asked with a furrow of his brows.

No reply. Breath caught in your throat, as you focused on a much more dangerous sensation of wetness pooling in your half-undone trousers, soaking your knickers painfully quickly.

"Lying is one thing." He straightened up and zipped down his windbreaker as you found grip and propped yourself up on one elbow. "And silence… is another."

His jacket hit the floor mid-sentence, revealing a sweater underneath, the black hood of it already on his head.

"So…" He chuckled as he undid his belt, seeing your worried expression trail his hand. "I don't want to fill your pretty mouth in case you have sum'n to tell me…" He chuckled darkly and stepped closer to the bed, parting your legs hanging off it with his.

He grabbed your hips with both hands firmly, and dragged you closer to him, separating your legs even more. It was painfully obvious that the bedframe left you way lower than it'd have been comfortable for either of you.

And he saw it too. So without a word, he turned you over to your stomach, as if you were a rather large pillow. Your legs tangled, and the fresh wound on your hip spurted blood onto the dressing. Your closer hand flew to the area to shield it, and a pained whimper broke past your lips.

"Gotta wait for the pill to kick in, do ya?" He chuckled darkly and bent your knees expertly to prop your arse up into the air, undone pants already riding hallway down it.

"Good girl…" He drew out the words as he palmed the exposed flesh hungrily. The praise went straight to your cunt.

"You're making it hard to resist, lovey, to just fuck you without a thought of concern."

For once, he paid attention to the material riding against the wound but pulled the pants down recklessly over every other inch of your legs, the hems scraping along your sensitive thighs, discarding the cargos on the floor.

Your head buried into the thick mattress, scrunching the material of the covers against your skin.

"I still haven't got a name from you, princess… Who is it, that you so- desperately- want- to- prove yourself to, huh?" He punctuated his words with quick, small smacks against your now bare arse.

"Ugh…" You groaned into the covers, not wanting to admit yet, that this was a game you highly enjoyed as well.

The name of your Colonel escaped your mind, the empty space filled with hazy thoughts instead.

Had Ghost not shown up that night, realization might have settled in you way later; or maybe never. Affiliation be damned, it was him, there in that moment.

The gloves were gone, you noticed by the stinging sensation and the noise. The thought barely settled in you, when two fingers pushed the hem of your knickers aside, and dragged on top of your swollen lips, eliciting a breathy inhale of a moan from you. It embarrassed you, more after he chuckled in reaction.

"Those are not words, lovey…" He mumbled from above you. "Really? Do I really gotta finger you open to talk? I reckon…" You gasped feverishly as he pushed the two thick digits inside of you without any warning. "I reckon you have got to start talking soon enough… Will ya, pretty girl?"

Uncaring towards the painful throb in your hipbone, you sought some sort of anchorage in the sheets, nodding into them when you did.

Sprawled out on the bed like a cat stretching, you started making small but audible gasps to the rhythm of Ghost's two fingers pumping into you, easing you open.

"Good Lord, princess, you really- fuck, you really enjoying this now, are ya?" His rhythm sped up, and he bottomed out in you, ring finger hitting your clit with every stroke now, making you see stars.

His other hand supported your good hip, helping you fuck back into his hand.

You were eager by then, uncaring toward the pain, that quickly eased with the building pleasure in you.

"Next time… Next time you're not getting a painkiller, I'll just- God, I'll just make you take it, shit…"

His words, how raw and dismissive they were, sent shivers down your already buzzing spine, and let pleasure build in your further.

Then, his pace slowed, leaving you breathy and aching for more.

"I'm not going to let you come from my fingers alone, no…" You felt him lean closer, onto you. "You ought to talk first, lovey." His words barely settled in your ears when he removed his fingers from your sloppy cunt, pulling down your panties, and leaving you cold and dripping.

"Ah, no, no, please… No… I'll…" You breathed hastily through the words.

"You'll what, hm?" He punctuated the sentence with a light groan, and something clinked in the background. A concealed holster dropped on the ground with a light thud. "I'm listening."

You screwed your eyes shut just in time his leaking, angry head nudged against your entrance. A surprised moan rolled out onto the mattress from your lungs, only to be met with the harsher, more guttural sound of his groan.

"Sweet Jesus, Misfit…" He rasped between clenching teeth.

He didn't prod much, coating himself barely in your slick before pushing into you slowly. Velvety, ridged walls enveloped his raging length, and the sensation left you both gasping for air.

"So tight…"

"So big…"

The sounds overlapped.

His one hand continued holding your hip, the other settling on your back, pushing you into the mattress roughly.

He didn't move for a moment, but only a moment, before he drew a few languid strokes into you, settling finally deep within your walls, forcing you to arch your back even sharper.

"Got a bit sidetracked, eh, princess?" He teased.

The lack of your response prompted him to speed up his pace, jerking you forward with each thrust.

"You're,- ah fuck- you wanted this, didn'tcha?" He chuckled at the little gasps you were taking how the pace allowed it, the lack of oxygen making you slightly lightheaded. Your head tilted to the side, and he saw your eyes roll back into your head, which sparked him to ramble on.

"Can't take it, can you now, huh? Should have talked when you had the chance, slut." The longer he talked, the more muddled his words became, building a sensation in you with each thrust into you, that soon became irresistibly delicious.

Your dominant hand moved, seeking that one component that could send you over the edge.

"Yeah, touch yourself, that's it, princess." He mumbled, his pace earth-shattering and unwavering, launching you into another dimension.

Not only was the stretch immense from his thickness, but the curve and the length of his cock moved something primally deep in you.

"Can you talk? Can you, hm? I will fuck it out of you soon enough…"

Clearing your throat shakily, with the heavy frame of him rocking into you unyielding, you tried talking. The teasing few rubs on your clit turned intense in a moment, and words dared to spill out of your mouth.

"Yeah- ye-yes…" You cried out with more force than you expected.

"There you are, ungh-- good girl, now… Talk to me…" His pace did not falter, not for a syllable, keeping a murderous rhythm that soon had you teetering on the edge of a devastating orgasm.

"Do you want to prove yourself to me now, pretty girl? Hm?" His hand snaked forward, onto your nape, pressing your head down, increasing sensation to almost unbearable levels, and depriving you of your already dwindling oxygen supply.

"I do!" You agreed furiously, as wave after wave crashed onto you, making your legs shake beneath Ghost's intimidating form.

"Yes, that's it, good girl…" He growled, fingers digging into your good hip, the other hand grabbing your side to anchor you through your climax.

It arrived moments later, with incoherent words babbling out of your mouth, feeding the already swelling ego of Ghost.

"Tell me.." He panted, swallowing. "Talk, talk, princess, fuck-"

"It's you… yes. Yes, yes, you Ghost… Fuck, ah, fuck…" You rode out the last waves, and your hand fell back on the bed.

"So fucking cockdrunk, pretty girl, yeah…" He ignored your small shrieks the oversensitivity of your throbbing pussy pressed out of you, and continued pounding into you, thrusts growing shallow and erratic.

"Only for me, yeah? Answer me." He demanded sternly, as you barely recognized the world around you.

"Only… yes." That was all you managed, all care for your well-being or future consequences having been fucked out of your head.

"God, fuck, you're making me, mhh…" You felt him throw his head back, groaning as he did so.

"Prove your--self, only- to me. Nobody fucking else. Me." He stuttered for a moment, then sent home the building tension in his body with one last slam against your shaky hips, as you felt him empty his load deep inside your receptive walls. "Take it. Take it, fuck… Only from me."

"Yes, yes…" You mumbled, delirious and fucked out, twitching in cramped overstimulation.

You felt empty as he pulled out of our spent pussy, leaking and draining his spend messily over your folds.

"That taught you a lesson, didn't it?" He asked as you lowered your arse, and laid you down on your good side. Straining your tired body, you looked up at him.

Ghost was clasping his belt shut again, and adjusted his jumper when the two of you locked eyes.

"That pussy is mine now." He disclosed simply, gaze unwavering. "Nobody else touches you like me, do they?"

Unable to think of anything smart to say, you shook your head.

"None of those KorTac boys…" He cooed. "Not one of them can make you fall apart like this, no…" He chuckled and left for the washroom. Thoughts slowly came to you, but you slotted them away for another day. A minute later, he lobbed a wet towel at you and disappeared for a moment more until you cleaned yourself up and threw the rag to the foot of the bed.

"Move." He simply commanded, when he came back, much calmer than he was just but a minute ago. "Bed's big enough for the two of us, and we're well acquainted now. Now move." He sat down on the edge of it as you shifted to leave him some space.

You were still bare from the waist down, and just as you looked around the room for your knickers and pants he handed you both. Without a word, you put them on again, the cold, wet material slightly uncomfortable against your hot, still pulsing cunt.

Slightly groaning, you settled on the bed, facing away from him, on your good hip.

"You mad, princess?" You heard him ask as the mattress dipped beside you. It really was a tight fit, for the both of you to comfortably settle on the creaky bed.

You didn't have an answer to that.

"I'll take that as a no." He mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Well, that was an answer.

One you desperately wanted to fight, before sleep dragged you under violently fast.

Part 2 - Barracks 4

a/n: we're not going to leave it here, I already thought of a new chapter, suit yourselves. rb and share and stuff, thanks for reading!!

#I think y'all can already tell what part 2's going to be about #beretta does fics #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #cod fanfic #cod mw fanfiction #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #call of duty #König cod #könig x reader #könig call of duty #konig x reader #konig mw2

[ur-fav-alien]

Partners

Trent Beretta/Tony Nese A little bit of angst? Emotions being rekindled stuff like that lol Tony Nese is now all elite, and Trent feels the need to congratulate his old partner. (+ a scene after their match on Dark)

Trent was still a little surprised. He didn’t doubt Nese, no, not at all. Trent was just shocked that the guy was now ‘all elite’. He was now going to be a part of Trent’s long list of coworkers, and that was… well, that was a lot to handle. 

They had a history, you could say that. A very long and complicated history. But he was still proud of Tony. That’s why he was currently weaving his way backstage, trying the asshole. 

Trent had been there for Orange because there were some rumors circulating that he was going to get his ass kicked by the Bucks and Cole. Nese had then come out and rebooted Trent’s entire nervous system. That was his excuse why he was trying to find the guy he used to call his friend, and not protecting the guy who he’s currently calling a friend. 

And after a million years of turning corners and asking for directions, Tony Nese was finally in his line of sight… once again.  

“Nese!” Trent called out. The two of them were alone at the back of the event center. Storage equipment and metal chairs lined the blank walls. They were right outside some office. 

Tony’s face turned into that of confusion when he turned around and saw Trent. “Beretta? The fuck are you doing here?”

Trent couldn’t help but stare. He looked good, like fantastic. Trent had almost spit out his drink when he saw his entrance earlier. “I’m supposed to be with Orange, but I uh… I wanted to…” Staring down at Tony’s boo- pecs made Trent realize how stupid this was. Going to a guy he hadn’t seen in what? A little less than a decade? God, Trent had some unresolved feelings to figure out. “I wanted to congratulate you on joining AEW.” 

“Oh…” Tony tensed up. “This isn’t a ploy to beat my ass, right?” 

“No! No.” Trent laughed. “I mean… Sammy already did that for me.” 

Tony’s face dropped. 

“I’m sorry, I had to.” Trent apologized with a smile. 

The ‘Premier Athlete’ rolled his eyes. “Once an ass, always an ass, right?” 

Trent made a noise of shock. “What?! You’re one to talk!” 

“I’m one to talk? I was always nice to you!” Trent was appalled. “You’re the one that left me at the last second.” 

The two of them had unconsciously taken a step forward. A gravitational pull of temptation and history pulling them together. 

“Holy shit!” Trent couldn’t believe it. This drove them apart all those years ago. Of course, it would drive them away again. You would think it would be all the ‘friends with benefits’ moments they had with each other, but nope! “How many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry?” 

“As many times as I need you to before I think it’s a genuine apology.”  

All of Trent’s apologies were genuine, because he felt genuinely bad! He didn’t know what he was doing when he signed with NJPW. He was just excited! Some big ass company wanted him to beat bitches up, and you thought he wouldn’t take that opportunity? The only reason Nese didn’t think Trent’s apologies were genuine was because he went by the philosophy ‘oh if you were sorry you wouldn’t have done it in the first place’, which is a stupid ass philosophy. People are stupid and make mistakes, and Trent had made a mistake. 

He made a serious mistake not telling Nese, like he wouldn’t want his best friend to join him on this big ass trip. Best Friend… boyfriend, same thing really when you didn’t know what to call yourselves. But either way, Trent wanted to bring Nese along. He had just… forgotten. 

“You never think my apologies are genuine!” 

“Because they aren’t!” 

And Trent didn’t know how this flurry of emotions erupted inside of him, but he suddenly felt more overwhelmed than he ever had before. He just needed to prove a point - prove that he did care about Tony. Before he could think, he grabbed Tony’s face and slammed their lips together. It was like waves crashing against each other, or fireworks going off. While both of them had changed in the past several years since they stopped talking, Trent had never felt anything more familiar. 

He pushed away angrily. “Is that a genuine apology, huh?” He asked, ignoring Nese’s shocked face. “Does that show you I cared about you?” 

There was a pause between them, a silence of heavy breathing. Trent wasn’t even regretting the kiss, he was just worrying more about whether Tony would kill him or not. It’s not like he would though… unless he was with someone now, then that would be a very uncomfortable conversation to have. 

Tony hesitantly brought his hand to his lips and gingerly touched his bottom lip, which was slightly wet from Trent’s spit. He usually wasn’t just a messy kisser, but Trent’s emotions were running high. He got pissed way too easily. 

Tony lunged towards him before Trent could process what was happening, and their lips connected once again. Trent’s heart ran wild as Tony’s hands held his face. They stumbled back from the force. His back hit a stack of metal chairs and the noise of pain that escaped his lips was muffled by Tony’s lips. 

His arms wrapped around Tony’s waist, pulling them closer together. The clanking of the metal chairs had echoed through the building, a loud noise that both of them had ignored in favor of the taste of their lips. Someone would probably appear around a corner to check out what caused that deafening noise. In the meantime, Trent savored this moment. He savored Tony, kissed him like had never kissed him before. 

It was a kiss that made up for lost time. 

A door opened, and the two pushed away, breathing heavily as Mark Sterling stepped out of his office… Was Tony going to see Mark Sterling? That asshole? Ugh. 

“Is everything okay?” Mark asked.

Trent was trying to hide his face while simultaneously wiping Tony’s spit off his lips. 

“Yeah.” Tony answered. “We’re good.” 

Mark gave his best award winning smile. “That’s good! Now do you uh…” Trent and him made eye contact.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Tony answered his silent question. He gave Trent one last look before going off to sign his life away. At least Trent got to see him one last time before he sold his soul to the world’s worst manager. 

It had been an hour since his match with Tony, and he was currently getting himself some food. Trent didn’t know why he had picked the match in the beginning. He could’ve just kept his mouth shut and continued to tie up his shoes, but really? His favorite tag-team partner was Josh Woods? That weirdo? Not only had that comment hurt Trent’s ego, but also his heart. Yeah, they had a pretty rough ending, but Trent didn’t think it was that rough. 

And besides, they had made up. 

“Y’know,” Trent whipped around from his seat at some empty table. Tony was standing right behind him. “I didn’t mean it.” 

Trent stared at him. “Huh?” 

“Woods isn’t my favorite tag-team partner.” 

“I- What?” Trent couldn’t believe that Tony was actually saying this. “You tell me this after our match?” 

“Yeah?” Tony replied, as if it was the most obvious answer. “What did you think I was going to do? Tell you before?” 

“Yes! Maybe tell me so we don’t have to fight each other at all?” 

“Why would I do that?” Trent was appalled. “I like fighting you.” There was a smirk on Tony’s lips that Trent wanted to wipe off.

“You son of-” 

Before Trent could finish, Trent flashed him a smile and turned around, walking away. 

Oh… Trent was going to kill him one of these days.

#Tony Nese #Trent Beretta #AEW fic #we have fun here!!! #See I told you guys I was gonna make them gay jsd;lkfjs;dj #also I don't think there's like... any content of them two together which is appaling you guys need to get on this like now #anyway #I think this is my longest drabble? Honestly this was turning into a little bit of a fic but in the end I deemed it too small #size does matter sadly lol #idk if I'll make anymore content of them two maybe in the future #LOVE YOU GUYS MWAH MWAH MWAH

[kiwisbell]

The Hitman's Guide to Getting the Girl: Chapter 6 [dave york x f!reader]

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 | chapter 7 | chapter 8

series masterlist

status: complete

chapter 6 summary: Encouraging bad habits.

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

tags and warnings for this chapter: possessive behaviour, sex while on the phone, dave york is still a munch, protective dave, dirty talk, soft dave, a lot of sex and then a lot of sappiness, light anal play, unprotected piv (seriously do not follow my lead), creampie, biting, sex on a desk, very slight free use kink

word count: ~ 4.7k

chapter 6: fuel the pyre of your enemies

AUGUST

On the top left corner of his desk, scrawled on a pink Post-it note, Dave keeps a list of the men who have kidnapped you. He crosses off their names when they are dead.

He also crosses off their names when they are financially destitute, their families turn on them, and/or they are paranoid for their lives. This is because he does not want anything to be traced back to you. If suspicion turns to him, which it will not, he counts on the cops in his pocket. 

Whether they die or live has little strategic value. It merely depends on Dave’s mood that day. Or, in many cases, how severely they appear to regret their choices. 

Robert Shipman. 

Hansen McCarthy. 

Norman Beretta. 

George Reilly. 

Lawrence Dare. 

Bernard Flint. 

John Fisher. 

Hammond Fisher (no relation). 

Ali Riggs. 

Michael Fredericks. 

Patrick Ulrich. 

Oliver Goodman (irony not lost).

Kendrick Vears. 

Michael Juarez. 

Gregory Cochran. 

Vincent Gallo. 

He's getting close now. By tonight, Cochran will be caught on sixty-eight counts of child pornography. The bastard won’t survive prison. Dave will let the other prisoners take out their frustrations on him. 

He hasn't been able to track down Gallo quite yet. Chances are, he’s fled back to Florence to conduct business from the relative safety of his home. Not that an ocean will be enough to save his life. Dave has Kovac and Ari looking into it. 

As for the final name on the list—

Dave York. 

—he hasn't figured that one out yet. 

For now, it's business as usual. But his fingers flex and his eyes flicker repeatedly toward the door. He’s missing his girl. 

A soft knock on the door heralds your entry, and of course you can read his mind. You’ve been away all day, taking calls from your publicist and your agent and even your stylist, who is already brainstorming for your Met Gala appearance next year. You've been assuaging concerns regarding your need for a security detail, conducting the typical damage control (no, you are not pregnant, and no, you are not on drugs), and talking far too much about your own appearance for one afternoon. 

You step inside Dave’s office and close the door gently behind you, miming bashing your head against the wall. Dave watches you and tries not to laugh while on the line with a client. 

You're a vision in your little skirt and your glimmering diamond ring. Your eyes are tired and heavy, but you smile when you see him and let your shoulders sink a little. He’s got an earpiece in and a pen at his lips, chewing up the end. At least he isn't smoking. 

You hold up a dry-erase board, on which you've scrawled the word: MEETING?

Dave nods, and you pout, padding into the office. He mocks your pout, holding out his hand to invite you into his arms. You settle on his lap, straddling his hips as he leans back and idly caresses your thighs. 

You aren't one to just sit and stay silent. You fondle the buttons of his dress shirt, popping them out from the top down. Dave watches you the whole time, brows lifted in idle warning while he continues to listen to his client drone on. Your eyes trace his hard chest, opening up the planes of his body for you to map. When the last button is undone, you push open the edges of his shirt and curve your body up against his, your lips finding a home beneath his jawline. 

You feel it flex against you as you nibble, rubbing your nose against his strong jaw as if you want to impart your scent to him. Dave’s hand slides to your back, his pinky slipping beneath the hem of your skirt and tracing the shape of your tattoo. 

“Think of it like an exercise in discretion, Sam,” he says, dropping his skull back against the chair’s headrest to give you better access. You take advantage, playfully biting his neck like his own personal vampire. He bares his teeth, slipping his hand down your skirt and pinching your ass in retribution. 

“You ensure everyone is out of the building, my team install the equipment, and you spend the rest of your career spying happily on your employees. Yes, I’ll need your signature and half the payment up-front. No, I won't take twenty-five per cent.” Dave scribbles a number on a piece of paper behind you as he traces your spine with his fingers, up and down and back again. “That's not my concern. I don't make a habit of building relationships with my clients.” Dave gives you a knowing look, and you suppress your laugh in his throat, grazing your teeth along his artery. 

He squeezes your hip hard. “No. We’re done for today. My assistant will send you a copy of the forms. Yes, discreetly.”

He hangs up, practically wrenching out his earpiece, and gives his full attention to you, his hands sliding up your back beneath your sweater. “Hey, baby,” he says, gently tugging your head back by your jaw so he can kiss you properly. “So pretty today.”

“Mmm. You don't have an assistant.” Grinning against his mouth, you find your way down to his belt, the softness of his stomach and the trail of hair leading down to your destination so enticing you can't wait. 

Dave grunts when you unbuckle his belt, breaking the kiss to nip your chin. “You're bad for business,” he grumbles. 

“I am business,” you point out, sliding the belt out of the loops and draping it around your neck. “And we need to discuss some things, Mr. York.”

“You aren't business,” he says, his mouth curving down in a grumpy pout as he brushes your hair away from your face. “You’re my fucking wife.”

“Not yet,” you tease. 

“Soon enough that it doesn't matter.” Slowly, his thumbs make circles over the place where your hips meet your thighs. He knows it can make you melt. “Tell me.”

You beam, biting down on your lower lip. “I’m your wife, Dave York. God help anyone who says otherwise.”

He hums, apparently satisfied, bringing himself toward you and kissing you deeply. His strong, muscled arm curves around your waist and his palm presses into your lower back. “This colour on you,” he murmurs, his mouth travelling from your mouth to your jaw. “So beautiful.”

“You say that when I wear pink, and green, and blue, and—”

“We both know it's just you.” Dave lifts the hem of your sweater up over your head and helps you out of it. He surges up against you and resumes the kiss, his erection bumping your clit through your underwear. “Too pretty for your own good.”

You gasp, grinding down into him, fumbling with the button on his pants as desire turns your vision hazy. “Dave,” you plead, looking down at him, nearly cross-eyed from how close your noses are to touching. “Please…”

“Want me to make you feel better, sweet girl?” he asks, whisper-soft, the brush of a velvet blanket over your bare skin. “I’ve been neglecting you all day. Like a bad man.”

“I like you bad,” you tell him, nudging your nose against his. “I even like you nice.”

Dave bucks his hips and your eyes flutter shut at the delicious pressure against your clit. “Like when I make you squirm?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I like it a lot.”

“Bend over my desk, baby. You know the drill.”

Business can wait. 

You slide off his lap and turn around, lowering your upper half to his desk and wiggling your ass at him. Dave shucks up the hem of your skirt and teases his thumb over your clothed pussy. “Wet already,” he muses. “You wear blue just for me?”

“Take them off and see for yourself,” you pant. 

“Don't make it easy on me,” he coos, his cool, rough palm scorching your ass even in its gentle path across your backside. “I think I’ll take you just like this.”

You feel his fingers slip under your panties and shift them away from your pussy, baring you to a cool gust of air. “Fuck,” you rasp, your back arching. “Like this?”

“Yeah, pretty girl. Like that.” He keeps your panties askew, two fingers sliding between your wet folds. “Spread your legs.”

You do, shifting your thighs apart. Dave hums in satisfaction. “That's it. She does know how to listen.”

“Oh, you’re so full of it,” you say breathlessly. Beside you, a cell phone begins to trill. 

Dave stops feeling you up to pick up your phone, lifting his brows at the screen. “Full of it, huh? Is that right?” He places the phone next to you, draping his body over yours to whisper in your ear. “Answer it,” he demands. 

You freeze, your body alive with electricity. “Dave?” you squeak, seeing the caller ID on the screen. “What—”

Apparently feeling impatient, Dave presses the Answer button and puts Victor Brock on speakerphone. You crane your head to glare at Dave when your betrothed-to-be says your name. 

“Victor, hi,” you chirp, feeling the weight of Dave’s body leave you. Still, you're pinned down by your hips. “How are you?”

So polite, he thinks. Such a sweet sound from that mouth. He feels pride swell inside him as he sinks to his knees behind you. You'd be such a good wife to Senator Brock, if you obeyed your father’s wishes. 

It's too fucking bad you’re already spoken for. 

You and Victor trade pleasantries, but because he's a complete asshole, Dave waits until the conversation truly begins to spread you wide and put his mouth on your pussy. 

“I was hoping we could discuss the wedding,” says Victor. His tone suggests otherwise. 

“Of course we can,” you say pointedly, a little loudly, as if you're giving Dave one last opportunity to behave. 

Fat chance. 

“My mother wants a fall wedding,” says Brock, “inside a church.”

You slap your hand over your mouth to stifle your helpless whimper when you feel his hot, wet tongue lick between your folds, slathering his saliva on your clit. “Mmmhmm,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, slamming your hand down on the desk and squeezing your eyes shut. “And what… what do you want, Victor?”

“Are you all right? You sound out of breath.”

“Oh, God,” you gasp as Dave sucks your clit between his lips. “God, no. Just got back from a run. I’m fine.”

Oh, you're fine, are you? Dave will have to rectify that. 

“Churches get a little warm,” says Brock. “Maybe we should take it outside.”

“That sounds—mm!” Dave’s tongue flicks over your clit repeatedly, his fingers digging mercilessly into your thighs. “Sorry. I… stubbed my toe.”

The man underneath you continues to eat you out like you're a drink of water and he's been stumbling through the desert for days. Oh, you're going to get him for this. 

“I can call you back,” offers Brock. 

Dave takes that moment to bring his palm down in a passing smack to your ass. “No!” you cry out. “No, it’s fine. We—we should keep going. Please keep going.”

Dave smirks, licking your clit and spreading you open with his rough fingers, his index tucked under the lace of your panties to keep them in place. Your thighs are trembling, your breathing going shallow, and you're trying ever harder to sound like nothing is amiss. 

You and Victor—well, mostly Victor—discuss the merits of an outdoor wedding, piano player or DJ, flowers or candles, while Dave’s face is buried in your pussy. Your wetness mixes with his saliva, his brain buzzing with the feel and taste and smell of you, your thighs slick with sweat and your hands grasping uselessly for a way to hold on. You're going to come apart under his tongue while on the phone with your impending fiancé. 

But not before you dip into your sleeve and find a trick of your own. 

“Victor, have you thought at all about the honeymoon?” you ask coyly. 

Hands squeeze your thighs hard and a faint growling noise emits from the mouth suctioned to your clit. Dave pulls away and stands up, pressing End Call with such ferocity you’d think your cell phone called him a crude name. 

“You think you’re funny?” 

You giggle, pushing your ass against him. You're still needy, after all. “You think you're funny, pulling that stunt. Why shouldn't I have fun, too?” 

“You can have fun all you want, baby.” Dave smacks your ass. “As long as it's with me.”

He reaches into his pants and pulls out his cock, steel-hard and too heavy in his hand. It’ll feel better in your pussy, anyway. When he guides himself to your tight hole, you mewl, burying your face in your elbow. He's not even inside you and you're already weeping for him. 

Your hand snakes down your body to swipe your fingers over your clit, and Dave is surprised to see a spurt of precum bead on your pussy. Something about your desperation has him splitting you open on his dick, wasting no time as he pushes past the tight seal of your cunt and disappears inside you down to his balls. You sob with relief, your fingers leaving your clit to clutch onto Dave’s hip from behind, keeping him fixed to you, unmoving. 

It lights fireworks in his ears. The world crackles around him. You're so fucking warm and wet that his vision whites out. “Jesus. Fucking… fucking dirty girl,” he says through his teeth. “You belong here. Bent over my desk, taking what I give you.”

You squeeze his length tight enough to make him feel like he's choking on air. “Dave.”

He pulls out halfway only to thrust hard, jolting your hips against the edge of the desk. You sob his name again, and Dave wraps a hand around the back of your neck. “Such a pretty sight. I should just keep you here. My beautiful wife spread open for me whenever I need some relief.”

It's so filthy. It burns on your cheeks, tingles at the tips of your fingers. It's so… good. His hand on your neck, his cock buried in your pussy, treating you like a toy that's upset him. Your body flushes with arousal and a loud moan slips from your mouth as Dave begins to fuck you hard, punching his hips against your ass. 

The squelching noises of your coupling send your head spinning. Your chest is slick with sweat, slipping along the desk with every thrust and fleeing farther from him. He does not like that—he scoops his arm under your body and fixes you to him, bending over your body and humping you like an animal. 

You bite down on your own arm to muffle your scream. Your knees give out and your stomach tightens as the hand at the back of your neck slides down to your ass. Dave’s mouth imprints a wet kiss at the junction of your neck and shoulder, his voice like thunder, like blood pounding in your ears. “Tell me,” he says. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Your fingers curl uselessly against the desk as you try to hold on. “I… oh, God, it feels so good.” It’s whiny and pathetic, but he groans into your throat, nipping the skin as if he’s trying to break through—as if he’s trying to possess the whole of you. 

“What else?” he demands.

“You’re so—ngh! You’re so big!” His hips grind hard against your ass and stars burst behind your eyes. You’re so close to coming that your words slur into one another, gasping heaves from your smothered chest. 

Dave isn’t much better off. His back pinches with the pleasure of being inside you, his arousal building past a rolling boil and his teeth sinking into your throat to give himself somewhere to put it. It isn’t sweet. It’s sweaty, animalistic sex, and it’s the gnashing teeth of love that punctures you both.

He gets sloppier the more he fucks you, his mouth leaving wet kisses along your back. You keen underneath him, your back arching and your ass insistently pushing against his hips. To answer your implicit pleas, he presses the pad of his thumb to your puckered asshole. 

“Oh, fuck!” you squeak, trying to close your legs as the pleasure notches up high and threatens to overwhelm your body. He isn’t letting you, keeping them kicked apart with his strong thighs. Tears wet your cheeks and your mascara runs. Dave York will destroy you. And you’re going to let him.

“So tight,” says Dave, massaging your asshole with his thumb as tremors begin to buck your body against him. “Have you ever been taken here? Have you let some other man use what’s mine?”

You choke, swallowing down his words and feeling them clog your throat. “No,” you whimper, the sound sticky between your lips. “Never.”

“Would you let me?” he coos, bumping his nose into your throat. 

You nod your head so vigorously your chin knocks into the mahogany. “Yes,” you gasp, your voice surprisingly clear even as white-hot static envelops your brain. “Yes, I’d let you. I’d let you do anything. You’d be so good to me. I love you, baby. I’m in love with you.”

The gruff sound he makes at your babbling reverberates inside your rib cage, batters against the membrane of your heart. Cavitation. The final flap of wings before the fall begins.

At the very same time, your orgasms wreck your bodies. You hold onto his hip, keeping him inside you as your cunt sucks him deep, pulsing around his length with every wave you ride. Bucking helplessly into him, you cry out, a small spurt of juices splashing onto the wood underneath and the body behind you. 

Dave collapses on top of your body as he comes, his balls pulling up and pumping, pumping, pumping. He bites you again, this time on your shoulder, seizing from the pleasure while he dumps his hot cum inside of you. Instinctively, he tries to push deeper; your sweat and your perfume and your hormones blind him from any reason, any thought besides burying himself in the warmth of your body.

Faintly, he hears his name, and he realises he’s crushing you under his weight. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says, hauling himself upright and squeezing your ass as he readies to pull out. 

“No,” you croak, still grasping his hip. “Stay inside me. Just for a minute.”

He feels his bones settle. He can do that.

“Your back will hurt tomorrow,” you point out. 

He idly caresses your lower back. Muscle memory. Knowing your body better than he knows himself most days. “I promise I won’t blame you.”

You giggle, a pleasant fog descending from the ceiling of your brain. “We have an important date tomorrow, Dave. You gonna need a massage?”

“I wouldn't say no,” he teases, tracing the left wing of your tattoo. “But we have work to do.”

You groan, in the mood to complain now that you've been satiated. Why should you have to work at all when you're so sleepy and comfortable, your man’s cock buried inside you? Dave chuckles at your petulance and gives your ass a playful smack. “C’mon, sweet girl. We’ll sit out by the pool.”

Your ears perk up at that, beaming at him over your shoulder. Dave’s cock gives one last feeble pulse inside you at the sight before he pulls out of you. You immediately buckle, slowly lifting your upper half off the desk and bracing your hands on the edge. Dave kisses his way across your back, blowing cool air onto your neck and making you laugh, ticklish. 

“Is this a good time to tell you that I’d love a summer wedding?” 

Dave hums, grinning against your skin. “I know you would. And pink roses. White daisies. A grand piano and taper candles.” 

You turn in his arms and pin him with a glare, though you're sure it's inoffensive. “You read my binder.”

“Baby, it's a beautiful binder,” says Dave, smoothing your skirt back down over your ass. “I have no notes.”

“Good. Because I’ve already started working with an organiser,” you chirp, threading your fingers through his. “I’m going swimming. You can come outside with me.”

“I’ll be right there,” he says, kissing your forehead. 

Wrong answer. You lead him toward the door and give him a look that makes him feel like following a siren to his demise. “I’m not going to bother with a swimsuit,” you add. 

It’s easy to make him forget about business. Dave follows you happily, the sailor to the song. 

~

By the night of the gala, two problems are becoming apparent. 

One: Dave’s back is killing him. 

Two: Vincent Gallo. 

In the early afternoon, Dave paced inside his office for an hour as he waited for Ari and Kovac to return. It did not help his back problem, but it helped him map fifteen or so backup plans in his head. A man like Gallo would not get one up on Dave York. After the things he has done, a man like Gallo could hardly call himself a man. 

A knock at the door, and Dave barked, “Inside,” not once slowing his pace across the room or removing his fingers from his mouth: a thinking pose you liked to tease him about. 

“Boss, we might have something,” says Kovac. “Tracked those bastards back to their hole. Got pictures.”

Dave would look at the images later. He was itching with anticipation. “Where's Gallo?”

Kovac and Ari were used to Dave’s snippy moods, so neither were particularly disappointed. “Not in Chicago,” said Kovac, which was to be expected. 

“Italy, then?” Dave guessed. He needed a lead. He needed something. 

He did not like a target he could not find. 

“You asked me to keep an eye on the Gallos’ books,” said Ari. 

“I did.”

“More frequent transfers have been going to Florence and fewer coming here. Not only is he in Italy—”

“—He may be getting desperate,” finished Dave. It was good. It was the something he needed. He had finished jobs on far less than a location. “What about the rest of his family?”

“If they know we're snooping, they haven't made it clear. It’s bad business as usual.”

“Which means, if he comes back to Chicago,” said Dave, “it's because he needs his family’s support. I don't want him to get that support. We need to predict their next moves.”

“Already on it,” said Ari. “Bugged a couple of the guards’ vans during a shift change.”

“By next week, we’ll know what times of day they pick their noses,” said Kovac. 

“Good. That’s good.” Dave finally stopped pacing and leaned over his desk. His security system pinged, indicating that another person was on the front doorstep. He looked down and lifted his brows. 

Carrying fifteen huge shopping bags in just two hands, you waved at the camera. “Can I please have some help?” you said sweetly. “Honey, are you home?”

Dave, along with an Ari and Kovac who knew better than to weasel out of helping you, relieved you of the bags. Now, you’re trying to choose between two dresses for tonight’s gala while Dave sits on the edge of the bed and watches you. 

He has a perfect view of your ass from here while you cock your hip and fold your arms over your chest. You're wearing only a pair of black lacy panties to make trying on your options easier. “Do you really think he’s coming back to Chicago?” you ask. 

You've been relatively quiet on the subject until now, but Dave catches the worrying of your bottom lip. “Sweetheart, I’m doubling security tonight, and he wouldn’t try anything even if I weren’t. He has a reputation to keep.”

That word again. Reputation. “That isn't what I’m worried about.”

Dave crosses the room to put his arms around you from behind. “The last thing you need to worry about is me.”

Your head falls back to rest on his shoulder. “I know you’re big and strong,” you begin, twisting his watch around his wrist, “but they’re a family. If one gets hurt, the others will swarm. I don’t want you being the product of someone’s revenge. Not for me.”

He doesn’t quite know how to breach this threshold—to tell you that he will do anything, kill anyone, trudge any path, to keep you. That he has never known selfishness like the press of your body to his. That your brilliant smile justifies each new crime he commits. That remorse cannot fill his heart the way you do. 

“Tell me the promise you want me to make,” he says, “and I’ll make it.”

“Promise me that you'll love me enough to stay alive.”

Dave splays his hand over your belly, his lips meeting your jaw in a soft kiss. “You're wrong if you think there’s anything in this world that will take me from you. If you're alive, I’m alive. And if I’m alive…” He nibbles your earlobe and you laugh breathlessly. 

“That wasn't a promise.”

Dave kisses your neck, his hand sliding up your sternum. “I…” He squeezes your breast. “… promise.”

“That's better,” you whisper, turning your head to the side to kiss him. “Now—sit down on the bed.”

“Mrs. York,” he teases, grabbing a handful of your ass. “Such a dirty girl.”

“Sit down,” you repeat, turning around and giving him a decent shove square in the chest. It turns him on so much that he obliges without any further teasing. 

“Tonight won't be easy on you.” Slipping your panties down your legs, achingly slowly, you peer at him coyly from your corner of the room. Dave instinctively licks his lips. “I think you need to remind yourself who you are.”

Dave eyes your body hungrily. “I know who I am.”

“Is that right?” You approach him slowly, a tiger to its prey.

“Come here.” Dave’s gaze is fixed to your pussy as you prowl closer. He wants to devour you. “Let me show you who I am.”

Your submissive instincts have you folding your hands behind your back, pushing out your chest to give him a good view of your tits, but you manage to stop in your tracks. “Then, I think you should remind yourself who I am.”

Dave lifts his brows, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. “Come. Here.”

You walk toward him as he bunches his sleeves up to his elbows, the lamp’s soft yellow glow rolling over your body with every shift in your movement. “Give me your hand,” he says when you're close enough. You know what he wants; lifting your left hand, you let him put his lips to your diamond ring. 

“Tell me what this means,” he demands. 

“It means I’m yours.” Clear and resounding. It rolls off your tongue. It's true and assured. “It means only you get to touch me.”

“That's right.” His hand splays over your stomach. “Now tell me who I am.”

“You’re Dave York,” you tell him, whisper-soft now, pressing closer into his space. He ghosts his lips over your belly, a silent encouragement to keep going. “You’re a bad man… and a good one. You’re going to be my husband.” Another hand finds your hip, squeezing, relishing. “You’re Dave. And you’re mine.” 

For a moment, when his hands wrap around your thighs and tug your body snug to his, you see blood on his fingers. A faint crimson veneer, sticky and wet, pooling in his lifelines, dribbling down his wrists. But the blood is cool. It does not burn or sting. It soothes. It is a promise. The blood will save you because it will destroy everything else.

“I love you,” says Dave, looking up at you with wide eyes, letting the rareness of the sound peter to a soft echo. “Nothing in this world means shit. Nothing amounts to anything. Everyone just lives and then they die. But you’re my purpose. You’re my meaning. You’re living. I’ve got no use for a world that doesn’t have you.”

You can unpack his nihilistic tendencies later. Now, you beam, threading your fingers through his. You let the blood soak. You let it cleanse.

“Who are you?” you ask softly. His eyes are dark and his lashes spread shadows over his cheekbones.

“I’m Dave York,” he says, resting his chin on your belly, “and I’m yours. ‘Til the fucking stars fall down.”

#pedro pascal #dave york #kiwisbell's fics #dave york smut #dave york fanfiction #dave york x you #dave york x reader #pedro pascal fic #equalizer 2 #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader

[thekentuckyhimbo]

Masterlist/Requests Open!!

Details below the cut

Who I like to write about:

(Note: I will give anyone a go but these are my faves)

(Note 2: I am familiar with most current major wrestling promotion storylines besides WWE but still know a lot about WWE characters)

AEW

Best Friends (Chuckie T, Trent, OC, Kris, Yuta)

Buddy Matthews

Eddie Kingston

MJF

Ruby Soho

Hook

Danhausen

Blackpool Combat Club

Max Caster

NJPW

Jay White

Bullet Club

Rocky Romero

Impact

MCMG (Alex Shelley and Chris Sabin)

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1. Be cool.

No abuse or hate speech please. Topics or requests that make me uncomfortable might be ignored.

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No shipping discourse or kinkshaming on my blog. Get as absolutely feral as you want. If you have a serious concern about something I've written, send me a DM.

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Like literally... If my content says it's explicit, NSFW or 18+, please read it only if you're old enough. If you request NSFW material and your bio says you're under 18, I won't be doing that.

Fic Masterlist

Very Nice, Very Evil - William Regal/Danhausen, Hookhausen, Mox/Kingston

Danhausen gives Jon Moxley some advice. Danhausen realises he should take his own advice.

Sharing is Caring - William Regal/Danhausen, Hookhausen, William Regal/Wheeler Yuta

Danhausen is William Regal's pet. But Danhausen wants Hook too.

The Tweet - Max Caster/MJF

Max calls MJF his boyfriend in a tweet. MJF is a princess about it. Smut, 18+

Sunrises and Kiwi Crushes - Jay White/Reader

Ongoing series. Jay White moves in next door to you in your small country town.

Hey Jealousy - Orange Cassidy/Reader

Orange is jealous that someone else is giving you attention. He gets... Possessive. Smut, 18+

Gentle - Jay White/Reader

Jay keeps you tied up in his hotel room while he wrestles. But when he comes back tonight he's so... Gentle. Smut, 18+

Tender - Jay White/Reader

Jay finally lets you into his life. Smut, 18+

Beretta and the Blade - Jay White/Trent Beretta

Jay stares at Trent's tits. Jay is all of us. Smut, 18+

Insatiable - Jay White/OFC

Jay White is in love. Jay is stupid about it.

Sacrifices - Jay White/Alex Shelley

Jay jerks off to his old mentor. Smut, 18+

Shellshocked - Jay White/Alex Shelley

Baby Jay lets daddy take care of him. Smut, 18+

Something Sinister - Jay White/El Phantasmo

El Phantasmo is a brat. Jay fucks him for it.

Young Once - Chuck Taylor/Orange Cassidy

Orange yearns for Chuck's happiness inside and outside of the ring

Tacks for Snacks - Chuck Taylor/Orange Cassidy

Chuck does a thumb tack spot. Orange has to pull them out. Smut, 18+

Chuckie T Kisses a New Japan Hunk - Chuck Taylor/Kazuchika Okada

Chuck gets to kiss Okada at Forbidden Door

Braids and Bathtubs - Hangman/Matt Jackson

Hangman runs Matt a bath

Softer than I Deserve - Wheeler Yuta/fem!reader (request)

Yuta loses the ROH Pure Championship because he's too busy thinking about you

Polaroid Shots - Hook/Danhausen

Hook likes pictures

Ace Austin Drabble #1

Reader is sick, Ace looks after them

Ace Austin Drabble #2

Ace makes Reader a cute playlist bc he misses them

Prick - Hangman Adam Page/Jon Moxley

The HangMox brainrot got me so I wrote angst/smut to help but it didn't help and I'm still thinking about them ok bye

Ace Austin Drabble #3 - Ace/Reader

Ace gets the Reader a pet kitten

Stray - HangMox

AU. Adam is a single dad waitress in a diner. Mox is the grizzled, mysterious stranger who comes in at 2AM

A Promise of More - HangMox

Pure, absolute smut. Mox bleeds everywhere, cums everywhere, gets fucked until he cries

#pinned post #fic requests #anon is on btw #kentucky himbo writes

[cyancherub]

LET ME ASK U ALL FOR UR OPINION ON SMTH for this fic BUT it’s ahhh talk of weaponplay so scroll if that’s not ur thing

what kind of gun do u wanna get fucked with LKASDLKA i was thinking a beretta maybe... BUT IDK DOES ANYONE HAVE A PREFERENCE LMFAOO

#cc update #weapons cw

[debbiechanclub]

“Not Too Late,” Part 1

Part 1 of the conclusion to the “BTOOT”-iverse. Find the entire series here.

Title: “Not Too Late,” Part 1 (of 2) Theme: @12daysofchristmas Days 6 and 7 - Letters/Cards and Family/Home Fandom/Character(s): AEW - Trent Beretta x OFC (Alex Hawthorne) Warnings: Language, ANGST Word Count: 1,245

Synopsis: Trent makes an unexpected return to AEW Dynamite in his hometown, and Alex learns that maybe there’s something left to salvage of her friendships, after all.

Tag Squad: @galacticstat @hotyeehawman @hdbngsprnva @kingswitchblade @bec0m @champhangman @betsy-bradock @linziland13 @librathepheonix13 @meteora-fc @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @gabbynorth98 @exe-babymox-exe @brokenglassslippers @rocca09 @kawaiikels @adriii-omega @thatgirlforever5 @sugar-melts-mo-fo

A/N: Please tell me why I’m very emotional at the implications of this fic. I don’t really know what else to say. Thank you for reading this series, and I hope this (supposed) ending does it justice.

Wednesday, December 8, 2021 AEW Dynamite – Long Island, New York

When Alex saw that familiar white minivan pull into UBS Arena, she felt like she might throw up and pass out. And when Trent emerged from said minivan sporting a buzz cut and a look that could kill, she almost did.

She’d had no idea he would be there tonight. Sure, he was from Long Island, but he’d had neck surgery less than six months ago; was he already cleared to wrestle? She winced as he hit Brandon Cutler with a spear outside the ring. Apparently so.

He took out Matt Jackson, and then Adam Cole, and then Nick Jackson. Alex’s heart was going a mile a minute in her chest. She’d been nervous enough about this match before Trent had shown up. She wasn’t sure why the Super Kliq had suddenly decided to target Best Friends over the last few weeks, but it was hard for her not to take it personally. Her affiliation with The Elite had been one of circumstance; that circumstance had changed. Going after her former friends was like rubbing salt in a wound.

But it was nothing compared to seeing Kris walk arm-in-arm with Sue to the ring. It made Alex realize: the last time Sue had rolled up to Dynamite, she’d been inside the minivan.

Trent, Sue, Chuck, Orange, Kris, and Rocky Romero all gathered in the ring, arms outstretched, but Alex walked away from the monitor before she could see them hug. She couldn’t watch anymore; she didn’t even want to be there anymore. She’d already wrestled her match for Dark: Elevation. No one would even notice if she just left.

She went back to the women’s locker room and gathered up her things. She was staying at a hotel near the arena and flying back home tomorrow morning. Now, she’d wished she’d booked her flight for tonight.

Especially when she walked out of the locker room and came face-to-face with Trent.

“Alex. Hey.”

It was hard for her not to stare. She was even more taken aback by his appearance now that he was right in front of her. He looked so different.

“Hey. Were you injured or in prison?”

It flew out of her mouth before she realized it, and her cheeks burned pink. But Trent shrugged—perhaps intentionally flexing in the process.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Alex rolled her eyes. But she couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at her lips. At least it had broken the ice.

For a moment, anyway.

“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” she said. It was a pointless thing to say—of course she hadn’t known; they hadn’t spoken in eight months. But she didn’t know what else to say.

“A lot of people didn’t know,” he returned.

Alex looked down at the ground. That didn’t make it any better. In fact, it made it worse. It only reminded her that she didn’t used to be just anyone to Trent.

“I got your get well soon card.”

She looked back up at him in surprise. When she’d found out that he’d had neck fusion surgery, the first thing she’d wanted to do was pick up the phone and call him. But she hadn’t felt like she could. She’d found out about the surgery in the same way and at the same time as the rest of the world: after the fact, on Twitter, as if it were no big deal. Not even Chuck had bothered to tell her about it beforehand. Knowing that hurt. It was yet more proof that their relationship wasn’t what it used to be, and it probably never would be again. But it was hard to just let go of six years of friendship. So, she’d sent Trent a get well soon card in hopes that maybe they could salvage what was left, if there was anything at all. But he hadn’t responded—and thinking about it now hurt all over again.

“That was six months ago,” she returned. “Why are you just saying something now?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, Alex. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to text you over the last six months.”

Alex’s nose unexpectedly burned. Hearing his apology hit her square in the chest. But it felt too little, too late.

“Do you know how hard it was for me to find out about your surgery after it had already happened, on Twitter?” she charged. “I know things weren’t great between us then, Greg, but that’s a serious fucking procedure, and Dustin didn’t even bother to tell me beforehand. Do you know how much that hurt me?”

“Dustin wanted to tell you.”

She blinked in confusion. “What?”

He sighed and looked away. There was guilt in his dark eyes… regret. “Dustin wanted to tell you, and I told him not to because… I don’t even know why now. We got into a fucking screaming match about it right before I went into surgery. Ask Jim.”

Her eyes blurred and she looked up at the ceiling. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. But maybe she should. This had been bottled up inside her for so many months—maybe he needed to see it, to feel it for himself. Maybe it would help them both let go of all their stubbornness and anger.

And maybe that meant she wouldn’t have to let go of him.

“I wish you would have had said something,” she said, her voice growing thick. “Anything.”

He didn’t look away that time. “I wish I would have, too. But I’m hoping that it’s not too late to say it now. I really fucking miss you, Alex.”

Her bottom lip quivered. “I miss you, too. All of you,” she said, and that time she didn’t fight the tears. They fell faster when Trent rushed over to wrap her up in a tight hug, and she buried her face in his shoulder. Eight months they hadn’t spoken, and even longer since it had felt like they were friends. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted to just hug him until that moment.

He pulled back, and she did, too, sniffling. She started to wipe the tears from her cheeks—but he beat her to it, wiping them away with his thumbs. Her stomach fluttered.

“Come get a drink with us,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “What?” She shook her head in hesitation. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because,” she breathed. “The way I’ve acted… the things I’ve said. I just feel like it won’t ever be the same between any of us.”

Another tear fell, and he wiped it away again. “I get it. But they miss you, too. You’re part of our stupid little family. That never changed. Trust me.”

Her vision went blurry again. He had no idea how much that meant to her.

“Just one drink,” he said. “To start, at least.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up; Alex bit her lip. There was no denying that just the thought of even one drink with all of Best Friends made her uneasy. The group itself had changed so much since she’d left. She felt like Kris had replaced her; she didn’t even know Wheeler; they were in CHAOS now, for crying out loud. But friends like Chuck and Trent—friends who had become family—they were worth trying for.

“Okay,” she agreed. “One drink… to start.”

#trent beretta fanfiction #trent beretta fanfic #trent beretta fic #aew fanfiction #aew fanfic #aew fic #best friends fanfiction #best friends fanfic #best friends fic #12DaysofChristmas2021

[winterscaptain]

marksmanship.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: thank @quillvine for kicking my ass into gear on this one. for the record, i took artistic liberties with the differences between the beretta and the glock - nothing too crazy, but they aren’t that different in real life. (yes, hello, i live in the united states of embarrassment and i’m sorry). the first two lines of dialogue come from ncis episode 1x09 and were the original inspiration for this fic. lemme know what you think and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

words: 1.1k warnings; guns (handguns, sniper rifles), firing on human-shaped paper targets on a controlled range, questionable teaching practices, Sniper Hotch™

summary: “you know how you smoke out a sniper? you send a guy out in the open, and you see if he gets shot. they thought that one up at west point” - samuel fuller. au!april 2013

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

You watch him tape your phone to the target brace, dangling right over the hostage outline. 

“Damn it, Aaron. I need that.”

He puts his headphones on and kisses your cheek, lining himself up behind you. His lips rise to your ear and you suppress a shudder. “Then don’t shoot it.”

You adjust your grip on your new Glock, not entirely accustomed to the bigger weapon. Aaron’s weight against your back and his hands on your hips doesn’t help, either. He’s always distracting, but with a firearm in your hands, there’s a little more thrill to it, a little more benign danger. 

It’s exciting. 

This wouldn’t be nearly as fun with Derek. 

You take a shot, immediately letting all your breath out in a sharp exhale when you miss entirely.

“That’s okay. It leans left. Now you know.” 

You nod and roll your shoulders out again, staring down the sight. 

This time, you remember everything you’ve learned, taking a deep breath and firing on empty lungs. You barely blink, but still miss just outside the outline of the unsub. 

Aaron kisses the curve of your neck where it meets your shoulder. “Three more, then notes.” 

To his credit, he doesn’t move, only supporting your body as you get used to the slightly heavier weapon. There’s less recoil than your old Beretta, but the excuse is always welcome. 

You fire off three more shots in quick succession, one hitting inside the lines, right at the top of the head. 

Placing the gun on the felt pad Aaron lent you, the barrel facing down-range, you press the button to bring your target toward you so you can evaluate it. Because you’re the only two in the range, you remove your hearing protection and so does he, saving you the effort of shouting. 

Aaron reaches past you, pointing at the paper, completely ignoring your phone still dangling by the tape. “The Glock releases faster than your Beretta, and will pack more of a punch,” he says. “You don’t have to cheat high because your rounds won’t arc down as much at the higher velocity.” 

You look at your groupings, finding they were almost exactly where you aimed them, instead of the centimeter below, like you expected. “Makes sense. What else?” 

“Like I said first, it cheats left. You’ll have to compensate by about an inch to get it where you want to go.” 

You snort. “So what you’re saying is, if I want a perfect shot I have to aim right at my phone.” 

When he doesn’t say anything, you look over your shoulder. He’s grinning. 

You roll your eyes and put your headphones back on, grumbling something that sounds like “fuckhead,” but Aaron isn’t sure. 

He stands back a little ways, confident that you’ve got the hang of the disparities in physics, with his headphones on and arms crossed. You roll the target out to seven yards (the average distance to an assailant) and take a deep breath. 

Thank God you backed that phone up before you left this morning. 

You fire off three shots, Aaron’s voice echoing in your head. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through. 

Front sight trigger press follow through

Frontsighttriggerpressfollowthrough

You set the gun down and pick up the scope from his disassembled sniper rifle - another item on Aaron’s to-do list for you today - and look at the target. 

With a sigh of relief, you see that your phone is intact and you’ve got a nice, tight grouping on the unsub. 

You hear Aaron’s small round of applause before you remove your ear protection, and turn around to acknowledge the praise with a gracious tip of your head. “Not so bad?” 

He shakes his head. “Not so bad.” He sniffs, holding the scope between two fingers - it’s huge, but he makes it look easily manageable. 

Nice. 

“Now - long-distance marksmanship will definitely take us the rest of the afternoon.” 

You let your head fall with a defeated groan. “We’ve been here since nine and it’s nearly one, Aaron. Can’t we do this… any other time?” 

He raises his eyebrows. “The range is deserted. Would you prefer an audience?” 

Your mouth twists. “No.” 

+++

You shove your earplugs in your ears and fold your arms right where Aaron’s shoulders flatten, resting your chin over your hands. You’re laid out entirely flat over him, lined up as best you can for posture and angle. 

He’ll take a few shots after he shows you how to adjust for wind, distance, obstacles, all of it. 

“The scope will take you where you need to go - you just have to get the reading right.”

Aaron settles his cheek against the stock of the gun, staring down the scope with his left eye. “So,” he says, his voice clouded by concentration, “we’re going about three thousand yards today. What you’ll want to do for a distance like that, with the wind as it is today from the southeast…”

How does he know that? 

You look up, trying to look at the clouds or the trees or something.

He rolls his shoulder, knocking you a little off-balance. “Hey. Focus. I’ll show you.” 

You settle back against him, very much liking his method of teaching, and listen as he walks you through all the knobs and levers and hinges on the scope. 

“...And then,” he presses his cheek against the stock again, making sure his shoulder is flush, too, “you fire.”

He takes a deep breath, pausing for a moment when all the air is gone, and fires. 

There’s a decent amount of recoil as he takes the shot and you can feel the muscles in his back ripple under you as he absorbs the energy. 

“We won't be able to see it well until we drive out to the target - it’s nearly two miles away - but you can see a decent amount through the scope.” 

You kiss the back of his neck. “Very nice.” 

The pull of his cheek is visible from where you are, but you can’t completely see his smile. “Thank you.” 

+++

By the time you get back Aaron’s car outside the BAU offices, you’re entirely beat. Your shoulders ache, your nose is full of dry dirt and gunpowder, your fingers are stiff, and you’ll need to ice your hips and knees when you get home. 

Aaron makes it look easy, but keeping your heels flat in sniper prone for two hours is awful. 

“Remind me why I went to you for marksmanship training, again?” 

He grabs your hand and kisses the back of it. “Because I’m the best.” 

+++

tagging:  @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @prentisswrites @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-marcus-moreno @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reidsmismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @luciilferss @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @s-unflowxr @imlottiie @stummdummrumstehen @hqtchner @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @happyvol7 @the-falling-in-the-danger @ssa-holmes @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @vagabond-ing @triangularroses @itsmytimetoodream @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

[the28thofseptemberr]

helloooo!! i didn't do a fic rec last month because i was so busy with my exams and barely had time to read, so this month's post is going to comprise of mostly fics i've read in june but also some i've read in may.

thank you to all of the incredible writers, please go support them!! and remember to read all of the tags and possible warnings before reading the fic! here is the list of fics (mostly below the cut):

read

•° — led by your beating heart by @missandrogyny 29.4k | E | famous harry/non-famous louis

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any help right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou.

But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

note: this was so funny and cute and well written, and everyone was characterized so perfectly!! i adored the chemistry between louis and harry, this fic kept me smiling for the whole time while i was reading <3

•° — sounds like love to me by @neondiamond 14.6k | G | kid fic

“Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

Louis watches as Harry’s face falls with the realization that this is one of those things he won’t be able to experience. For a second, Louis considers saying no, to show Harry they’re truly on the same boat through all of this. But he nods in the end, reaching over for Harry’s hand as the doctor flips a switch. Noise fills the room then, and it takes a few seconds for the sound to become clear enough for Louis to make out the baby’s fast heartbeat.

“It’s really fast,” he voices his thoughts out loud as he uses his thumb to tap against the back of Harry’s hand, replicating the rapid rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat. It takes the younger man a little while to figure out what Louis’ doing, but a huge grin breaks out on his face as soon as he does.

“Is that them?” He signs with the other hand, his own eyes starting to tear up when Louis nods.

OR: Harry is deaf, Louis is pregnant. They figure it out.

note: i'm not a fan of mpreg or kid fics in general, but i stumbled across the fic post for this on my dash and the summary sounded really intriguing to me, so i had a go at reading and it did not disappoint!! it was really sweet and fluffy but also so touching and heartbreaking in some parts. plus, i really enjoyed how harry and louis worked together and supported each other.

•° — this restless dream by @afirethatcannotdie 5.6k | NR | first meetings

“Hiii, I called earlier about the dogs?” he asks, taking a few steps closer to the desk where Louis is standing. He’s taller than Louis, with a dimple when he smiles and bright green eyes. There's a cute eagerness about his whole presence. “Do you have any puppies?” He’s a bit like a puppy himself, actually.

AU. Louis works at an animal shelter and Harry wants a puppy. Things don't go quite according to plan.

note: this was so so adorable and soft, especially since i have a soft spot for h&l with pets. i also have a soft spot for h&l being oblivious lovesick idiots and this was perfect!!

•° — all i see is you, lately by @runaway-train-works 2k | G | first meetings

Harry noticed him for the first time three months ago. He couldn’t not, really, what with the man being so pretty and all, and Harry remembers it well because it was three days before his birthday and he had joked to himself that seeing someone so gorgeous for three days on the trot must be an early present from the Gods.

Or

The one where Harry has a crush on a fellow commuter.

note: this one was quite short but so sweet and perfect and lovely!!

•° — the things i'd do to wake up next to you by orphan_account 36.1k | M | amnesia fic

AU. Harry wakes up to a pregnant Louis Tomlinson and a wedding band on his finger.

note: this fic was incredible, i'm always up for an amnesia fic and this one was heart-breaking and realistic but also sweet and fluffy as well :)

•° — this glorious mess by theweightofmywords 14.2k | M | post-breakup

His head lolls to the side, and his eyes float open to focus on what used to be his bedside table.

It’s empty now, devoid of the framed photo of the two of them. And Louis knows that he has no right to feel hurt, but somehow, this only confirms what this really is.

“This is the last time,” he cries, his voice breaking both from pleasure and pain.

“I know, baby,” Harry breathes, burying his face in Louis neck.

note: this is the third mpreg-centric fic i've read this month and... i don't even like mpreg?? but god the premise of this fic intrigued me so much, and it was lovely and emotional and beautifully written.

•° — BLAH BLAH BLAH there's a moment you know (you're f*cked) by @mercurial-madhouse 3.2k | M | spy au

Anyone impulsive enough to betray their country is either foolish or overly-confident. Louis’s too cunning for the former. So his inflated ego tips precariously close to the edge between pride and hubris. In sum: He may be an expert, (as proven by the .32-cal Beretta Alleycat Harry found strapped to his back) but ex-agent Louis Tomlinson will explode like a busted bullet misfiring in a broken gunbarrel if Harry can find his trigger.

___

Or, the spy AU in which Harry thinks he's prepared to meet Louis only to find he's not.

note: the banter and tension in this fic was so good and so fun!! i need moreee

•° — every lonely place by @ham-palpert 38k | E | time travel/alternate lives fic

Facing the fact that he’s been prioritizing his career over his relationship, Harry proposes to his longtime boyfriend Louis on a whim. But when yet another work emergency takes precedence over their plans, Louis decides he’s had enough. Harry goes to bed drunk and alone, and when he wakes, he finds himself in an entirely different world. Over and over again, Harry visits a lifetime he’s once lived, across time and dimensions. And wherever there’s a Harry Styles, there’s a Louis Tomlinson.

note: this was such a unique fic! and such an emotional one too, love the message it sends and the character arc and development was so good

•° — tick-tock by bubblegumclouds 6k | G | soulmate au

When Louis was born to Jay Tomlinson with a tiny 2 years on his clock, it starts the most beautiful love story. Even if things are missed, fate finds a way to make it work.

note: this was just so, so cute and fluffy and sweet! i loved it

•° — baby baby, you're a caramel macchiato by @missandrogyny 3.2k | T | coffee shop au

So, yeah, Harry doesn't think it's that far of a stretch to call himself a good barista. There are some particularly bad ones, and some particularly good ones, and, with his work ethic, his skill, and his charm, he'd probably be lumped in with the latter group.

note: this was so lovely, and i especially really loved the little section talking about louis' name and how it suits him!

re-read

•° — one shines brighter by @afirethatcannotdie 11.8k | T | wedding fic

“Hi, baby. You doing anything fun today?” Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Thought I’d see how I was feeling before making any plans.” “You wanna get married?” Louis asks. Harry’s face breaks into a smile, and he nods. Louis’ lips are just brushing Harry’s when Gemma appears in the hallway. “You two are in so much trouble.” Harry's wedding was never supposed to be the happiest day of his life. No, that was going to be the day after, when he finally got to start his marriage. Unfortunately his family (and Louis) have other ideas.

Featuring a pair of moms who only want the best for their kids, meddling sisters with too much time on their hands, and a groom who gets caught up in the fairytale.

note: i adore this fic!! it's so so so adorable and so soft and well written, and you can feel how in love h&l are with each other. so so good!

my own fics

•° — under your bed in new york 33.4k | T | exes to lovers

"We know you're still in love with Harry."

Louis' nostrils flared up. "I'm not—"

"Louis."

"I'm not!"

there are many things louis likes to tell himself. we broke up for a reason. it's been so many years. and of course, the classic: i’ve definitely moved on from him. but when he suddenly finds harry back in his life after three years, louis realizes he might be a little less moved on than he thought.

au; spilling coffee onto an ex, being set up on dates, and having a nosy puppy might be all louis needs to find love again

note: i didn't actually write or publish this one this month, but i did edit, revamp and make a fic post for it this month so i thought i'd put it in here anyway. reblog the fic post here!

#28th appreciation #tracksintheam #trackinghome #hl source #1d source #fic rec #my fic rec #2021 recs #fic list #june rec #june 2021 rec #* #sched

[dorminchu]

Insult to Injury: The Director’s Cut — Chapter 04

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Mrs. White, Lyutsifer Safin, Mr. White Relationships: Madeleine Swann & Mr. White, Madeleine Swann & Lyutsifer Safin Warnings: Intense scenes of violence, brief strong language. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

NOTE: As of posting this, I have come back from seeing No Time to Die with a good friend of mine. (Our consensus is that it was pretty fantastic, albeit flawed in places.) Regardless, I'll be sticking to my own continuity for the most part where this fic is concerned. While it might not seem the case at first, the backstories and motivation of several key characters will branch off from canon in Chapter IV and the subsequent Chapter V.

Still, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that this chapter DOES borrow some framing elements and involve a few moderate spoilers (and one line of dialogue) for No Time to Die, so, be aware of that before you proceed.

— 1996 —

Whenever Madeleine was on holiday break, she would stay in the guest house across Lake Altaussee. Madeleine's room, a loft on the second storey, looked out over the lake and the surrounding roads Puchen and Fischerndorferstraße. Standing right next to the glass was ill-advised during colder weather, but the air was crisp.

Yesterday maman had offered to walk with her to the length of Puchen and back. It was a particularly cold winter that year and her mother's lungs were not at their best. Still better than sitting around in a house that smelt like ashes, and it would get them both out into the sunshine for a while.

For the moment, Madeleine's attention was diverted by the figure moving purposefully across the frozen lake. All in white. Postmen stuck to the roads. It was too late in the day for a change of security.

There was a Beretta 92 downstairs, in the kitchen cabinet under the sink, next to the bleach. Madeleine’s heart picked up. She went downstairs quickly and donned her favourite pastel coat and grey winter boots.

Her mother was in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette. She hadn't put on her coat. “Your father should be coming home today.”

Her father's work-related absences often dragged on for weeks. When he did come home he would often just retire to his office in the basement and Madeleine had to make herself scarce. But her father would always make time for her and her mother. In the winter months he'd bring them to Tangier to stay at the L'Americain for a few days before Madeleine was sent back to school. Her father favoured an arid climate, and the hotel staff didn't smell of smoke or ask a lot of questions. Travelling abroad never made up for her parents’ verbal spats, but Madeleine, at least, was very cultured for her age.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“There's a strange man outside.”

“He's probably just getting exercise.”

“I saw him from my window. He was coming right towards the house.”

Without turning around, her mother said: “Oh, that's probably one of the guards.” She scoffed. “God, it's almost ten. I'll have to talk to your father about some of these goons he hires.”

Madeleine chewed her tongue and looked anywhere but the cabinet. The sky outside brilliant blue. Sunlight beaming off the plates in the sink from last night, yet to be cleaned. They could always get something to eat en route at the Strandcafé.

“Do you think we will be going to Tangier this year?”

“Most likely. Your father's old friends are going to be there.”

“Will Ernst be there, too?”

Her mother's tone sharpened: “That's not your business, Madeleine.” 

Ernst and her father had met in the French Foreign Legion, three years before Madeleine was born. Ernst had a bony frame that didn’t quite fit a soldier and bright grey eyes that gleamed when he was making a joke. Madeleine didn't like talking to him much because all of his jokes were very grim. Her mother didn't like him for reasons she never discussed with Madeleine.

Madeleine frowned. “Maman.”

“Hm?”

“I thought we were supposed to walk.”

“Mhm.”

“Aren't you going to put your coat on?”

Her mother sighed. “Yes, yes. Give me a moment.”

She put out her cigarette, went into the hall. The right side led to the front door where they kept their coats and the staircase up to the aforementioned loft. The left side circled around the living room and back into the kitchen. In the middle of the hall there was a linen closet.

Madeleine hurried toward the sink. Opening the cabinet door, she took the Beretta 92 from its custom holster; a solid, cold weight in her tiny hands. Her mother's footsteps came back around. Madeleine's stomach clenched. Shoving the gun into her coat pocket, she shut the cabinet behind her. 

“Madeleine?”

“Coming,” she said. Pretending to straighten out her boots.

She was at the threshold between kitchen and hallway when the front door was blasted apart. Madeleine froze mid-step. The gun pressed against her hip. Heart hammering against her ribs. Suddenly her mother came into view. Her face was very pale. She didn't explain, just took Madeleine by the arm and down the hall, shoving her into the linen closet, closing the doors. “Stay there, I'll come back for you.” Moving down the hall until her footsteps suddenly halted. “Ernst,” her mother's voice crackling, “you son of a—"

Gunfire drowned out Madeleine's sharp scream. Dull thump of a body against wood. Heavier footsteps coming down the hall. Madeleine couldn't calm her breathing.

A few weeks ago, it had been her father's hands taking apart the Beretta. Her smaller ones putting it back together. Loading the bullets into the chamber.

She could see the figure through the wooden slats. It stopped, turned towards her. Madeleine's heart in her throat. Clutching onto the Beretta so tightly her fingers hurt.

The door slid open and Madeleine froze. Face-to-face with the man in white parka and snow pants. He wasn't tall enough to be Ernst. A rifle strapped around his shoulder. His painted mask betrayed no emotion. He turned slightly, as if to walk away and Madeleine saw the shine of dark red on his boots, trailing behind him.

She raised the gun. Aiming between the eyes. He put a gloved hand in front of him and started to speak: "Не надо—"

Madeleine pulled the trigger.

— Episode IV: CONVERSATION PIECE —

— 2013 —

Colour of the sky outside was just fading from halcyon into crimson when the vehicle pulled up the drive. Looking over to the window, Madeleine could see a few of the men on-guard coming over to investigate.

Mr. White stepped out of the car. He'd dressed for the weather in a sharp grey coat and matching homburg hat. As he moved up the drive, his gait was a little frailer. Through all these years spent running from his shadow, on his dime, she'd never stopped to notice.

Safin turned toward one of the associates. “Get the door.”

The associate went into the entrance hall. Madeleine took up a seat at the table, kitchen-side. Mr. White was a businessman first and a severe, unapproachable human second. When all was said and done her surface-level concerns would be addressed. It was usually better to settle for whatever answer she got. Push him too far and he'd shut her out, keep her waiting the rest of her life. This was supposed to be a productive meeting. Easiest to approach him not as her father but a business partner who wanted to cut her a deal. 

The front door opened. Her father's voice drifting in, thank you. Despite living in a variety of different countries during her lifetime, he had never been able to leave behind his Austrian accent. Mr. White stepped into view. His cheeks were sunken. Greyer around the temples. Right out of the past, and back into her life. “Hello, Madeleine.”

“Hello.”

Mr. White did not remove his hat. His eyes lingered on her face. Safin motioned to the associate as if to say: Leave us. The man went out.

“Will you be staying?” Madeleine asked, focused on her father.

“I’m afraid I can't for very long. But, never mind that—how are you getting on? You look a little peaked.”

The words didn't match his expression. Body language closed-off, eying her critically. Less the concerned parent and more a discerning realtor. Madeleine shrugged. “Yes, well, it has been a very hectic week.”

Mr. White’s mouth thinned. “I've come here with an offer, and I only ask that you hear me out. All this moving around in the last couple years, well, it isn't good for your security. So, I have sent your resume and other credentials to a specialised clinic in Norway, and they are very keen to interview you as soon as you're settled in. It will be a higher-end establishment, but you know how to conduct yourself in such circles. Think of it this way,” White raised a pre-emptive hand, “once you get into the right clinics, no one is going to bother you. You can continue your humanitarian work. You wouldn’t even have to lay a finger on a gun if the idea displeases you. All the proper arrangements have been made for you to work full-time while living in Oslo.”

“Who is after me?” Mr. White paused. A frown set the lines in his face into sharp relief. Madeleine levelled her tone: “All I know right now is that I’ve been uprooted from my previous life, without any advance notice. I'm not very happy about it, but I can be persuaded to go along with it if there is a valid explanation. Maybe you can tell me who was behind the insurrection in Conakry?”

“Dr Swann,” said Safin tersely.

“Well, it's got to do with Conakry,” said Mr. White slowly, “at least, in part. To give you all the details will only paint a target on your back—let's just say that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you were smart to keep your nose clean of it. Once you are situated in Norway, you will be out of trouble.”

“I suppose the attack on my flat in Paris was meant to frighten me off, too? If you didn’t like my choice in men you could have said so.”

Safin averted his attention to the window.

Mr. White squinted. “Don't tell me you're still seeing that—what was his name, Olivier?”

A relationship in her early days, before Sorbonne. Madeleine gave a little jerk of the head. “I've been—had been living with Arnaud for three years. The one from Oxford.”

“Oh, of course,” said Mr. White uncertainly. “And, how is Arnaud?”

“He's dead. That's why I am here now.”

“Well—I wasn’t aware of the specifics. You neglect to tell me these things.” White exhaled. “You must understand, I’ve done everything in my power to give you room to live as you wish. And you have been exceptionally self-sufficient, always. But there are exceptions to this rule. I really do not think it is productive for you to lead this faux middle-class life when your credentials are—”

“—you've been spying on me?”

His face turned grim. “Madeleine, I don’t want to lose you the way I lost your mother.”

Why not bring this up before I went off to college, or any other place that might have compromised my safety? Why do you only want to see me when it is convenient for your own gain? Madeleine looked into the old grey face. She was very tired. “Of course not.”

Mr. White forced a smile. “If it is any consolation, I’ve heard you were of great assistance to the MSF from Mr. Safin.” Safin tensed very slightly at the mention of his name but it might've been her imagination. White gave her a little once-over. “You’ve grown out your hair?”

“Yes,” said Madeleine stiffly.

“Well, it looks lovely." He straightened up. "And now, I must be on my way.”

Madeleine stared at his retreating figure. When the door shut behind him her eyes lingered on the empty space his body had occupied. She stood up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” said Safin.

Madeleine turned. “I’ve waited long enough to be disappointed by my father. But you knew this whole time that I wasn’t coming back to France. I thought you implied two weeks’ notice?”

“It was a matter of ensuring their safety as much as your own.”

Too tired to argue with any conviction but unable to settle her emotions properly. “Well, it's not as if I'm going to change his mind on this. I’ve heard it all before. Just ask my mother.”

“Your mother is dead.”

“And I’m so grateful that you are keeping score.”

Safin went very still. She caught a flash of red in the black eyes. Six days did not leave a lot of room for prolonged familiarity but even so, her stomach tensed.

“I forget," he began, “that you are still ignorant of many things. Since you've given no indication that you understand the situation beyond the context of your little family spat, I'll remind you, just this once: I am here to keep you alive. And when I tell you the details are of no concern, you will take me at my word.”

His voice came as if from a dead throat. Madeleine's eyes drifted to the window and the empty drive. Trapped in her dismay but unwilling to back down for the sake of pride. Safin wasn't her father, or Arnaud, or anyone else that could be bartered with. So she made a different decision. Checked the larder. Eyed the bottle of liquor that had not been touched. This entire situation was so miserable that suddenly the idea of drinking was more tolerable than sobriety.

Opening cabinets, setting the glass on the counter with unnecessary force, pouring a shot. Downed it like medicine, cringed. Glanced up at Safin vindictively. “You think you've got me all figured out, don't you? Just another overprivileged socialite with daddy issues.”

The smile was very slight, but it touched his eyes. Madeleine averted her gaze over into a darkened corner of the room the light did not reach.

“Obviously I’m never going to have a normal life. This isn’t even the first time this has happened. I doubt it will be the last.” She looked up from the empty glass, squinted at him. “I’ve always wondered why he let me go as far ahead as I did. He must have seen something in me that I didn’t. Or he just wanted to get me out of the way of his work which is fine by me, I never wanted anything to do with him.” A crease appeared in her brow. “Or you.”

“Dr Swann.”

“Don't Dr Swann me, you’ve already called me Madeleine.”

“You’re intoxicated.”

She scoffed. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some sad little animal to be pitied.” Madeleine regarded the bottle with a level of interest that implied a mid-life crisis onset. “I wonder how much of this I could drink before I pass out.” No answer. She sneered. “Not going to stop me?”

“I’m not your keeper.”

Madeleine did laugh. It was a hard, angry sound. “God, you must despise me. Well, I won't blame you for it.”

“I fail to see what drinking half the bottle is going to do for you.”

“Only half? Am I supposed to believe that you care? All you’ve done is threaten to shoot me in the head or keep me under house arrest unless I comply with your demands.”

“You have done nothing that would require me to follow through.”

“My God. From the way you talk, I'd take you for a cleaner.”

The expression on Safin's face would suggest he was, at best, affronted. “Do you speak this way to all of your bodyguards?”

“Oh, that’s right. You’ve been assigned to me. Did my father select you personably?” Safin threw her a very odd look. “Personably? No, that’s—fuck. Personably.”

“Madeleine—"

“—it doesn't matter either way. I've never killed anyone before and I don’t plan to start. I just ruin their lives under the guise of counselling, and they crawl back every appointment.” She walked back to the table with a slight waver but did not sit. “I really couldn't stand working there, everyone wanted to be friends. Every day was the same. Don't you ever just grow to tolerate someone?” No answer. “What starts as co-dependence becomes something less substantial as you grow and change. But it's only natural. Everyone changes. And eventually you start to grow apart from one another. There comes a day when you can’t avoid the topic anymore, so you decide it must be enough, you have to let go of the past, but deep down you know this relationship means a lot more to the other person than you. So you let them stick around because it’s just something to occupy your time. You’re trapped in that sense of obligation that doesn’t represent you.” A beat. Madeleine shook her head. “God, look who I'm talking to.”

“It is not your job to be the world’s saviour. There are those that will die in your stead, not because you are weak but because life can be very cruel. It's impossible to protect everyone you love, no matter how much it pains you.”

She smirked. “I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.” In place of her anger remained a terrible, ugly void that she could speak to more intimately than most living people. Safin took her by the arm as though she were an unruly child. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered, “I’m not that drunk.”

Safin didn’t answer. She leant into him to see if he’d brush her aside. He didn’t acknowledge it, just helped her up the stairs and walked her to the room. She closed the door without looking back, sat on the bed in silence. It was the nature of his job to remain abstruse. And here she was seeking closure from a stranger. By the next morning she would settle back into her old ways. No harm done.

Residual warmth stirred within her breast. It was a little like the buzz of intoxication, yet so foreign to her. Drifting into someone else’s lived experience. Revealing her feelings in such a casual, vulnerable way. The esurient flaw of the lonesome.

She laid there for a long time. False hope all she had left.

She drifted into unconsciousness without changing. Dreamless sleep punctuated by another shapeless, throwaway nightmare, unable to be pieced together upon waking. Opening her eyes, it was dark outside her window. Grief stuck around in her stomach like a tangible weight. Or maybe it was just the liquor. Stoicism was hard-wired into her nature and overrode most other deviations in behaviour.

Movement downstairs. Rousing, she checked the time—almost six AM—and stumbled out of bed, put on a proper shirt and pants and went downstairs. The lights were on. Safin was in the kitchen area, over the stove.

The radio was on. Madeleine didn't recognise the song. Up until now she had never seen him dressed in a manner that didn’t cover his throat. The scarring continued down his neck, hypothetically across his right or left shoulder. The backs of his hands were damaged to a lesser degree. His arms were covered up to the wrist.

He stopped whatever he was doing but didn't turn his head overtly, keeping her in his peripherals. Suddenly Madeleine was a kid again, and her father had just stepped through the door from his three-day business commute. She shrugged. “I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

Safin didn’t acknowledge her beyond this prolonged side-glance.

“You know," said Madeleine, "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep.”

“I sleep when I can.”

It was unreasonable to try and force a conversation with him. Madeleine frowned, prim. She took a seat over at the glass table, surveying her hands, fingernails. “I shouldn’t’ve said all of those things. It wasn’t just because I was drunk.”

“Better to say it now than somewhere else.” He paused. "You were angrier before."

Madeleine scoffed. “You don't really expect me to be angry for the rest of my life? Aren’t I allowed to feel anything else?” Safin said nothing. She glanced back at the stove, agitated. “I’m sure I have caused you enough trouble as it is.”

“Not particularly. Would you like some tea?”

Madeleine blinked. Of all the things to expect from a man like this, it wasn't tea. “I don't see why not.” The song on the radio changed to a spoken interlude before Safin switched it off.

“Why Conakry?”

“Why not? I have worked in dangerous environments before. I knew the risks when I took the offer.”

“You once said that you cannot get all the information from a background check. When I look at you, I see a bleeding heart trying to make herself feel better about benefiting from a criminal element. Afraid of genuine human connection, so you overcompensate by telling yourself you feel nothing for anyone. Your guilt compels you to throw yourself headfirst into danger yet you've never stopped to ask why.”

Madeleine huffed. “All right, who is the psychologist here?”

“I'm not surprised you enlist with the MSF.”

“They're a reputable organisation.” 

“On paper. But they don’t often get to the root of the crises they combat. Aside from outside sources and government cooperation there's no defence against those who would oppose them. They are dependent, most often, upon the goodwill of donations. If an overwhelming crisis were to occur and cast them in an unfavourable light or destroy too many of their numbers, it would be simple enough to take over. Destroy the organisation from within in a matter of years.”

“You must despise them.”

Safin frowned. “No. The MSF are not malicious. Only misdirected. The problem comes from those they must answer to, which is a more complex issue.”

“It's not as if the volunteers get to pick-and-choose who the supposedly corrupt governments are. Everyone on those missions can only do the best they can with the situation and the resources available.” She frowned. “So, you think I am misdirected for joining a non-profit organisation to help others in need?”

“You have appropriated the position as a means of self-preservation. It's not the same as altruism.”

Madeleine was speechless. Then she chuckled to no one in particular. “I suppose that's something else you would look down upon.”

Safin shrugged. “It’s all relative to what you’re trying to accomplish, Dr Swann.”

“I’ve told you, just—you’re doing this on purpose now.”

The water was simmering as he indicated the drawer to his right. “Take your pick. It’ll be a few minutes.”

Madeleine got up, noting that he turned away from the steam with the same detached manner she selected her mug and a teabag, poured the water, watched the steam billow up. 

Sound of the water simmering put her in a state between alertness and something more soporific. His arm came between her and the side of the stove. “You don’t have to stand there.”

Madeleine pulled away. She took the mug, scorching against her palms. Rather than sitting at the table she stood by at the counter.

“So, you're seeing me to Oslo?”

“That's correct.”

Trust was a bridge too far. But it was the first time in a while that she'd just had a rudimentary conversation with someone without regret. Madeleine could only bottle up her emotions for so long before she spilt over. She drank her tea if only to spite the ache in her chest. She went to take her mug to the sink.

“Suffice to say,” Safin concluded, “I cannot change your father’s mind on the matter. He's only trying to prevent you from suffering the same fate as your mother.”

“I never told you how she died.”

“It's on record that Frederich König married Blanchard in 1985. She died suddenly in January of 1996. You were put through several boarding schools shortly after her passing, and it wasn’t her name on the enrolment papers.”

 “Actually,” said Madeleine, “I've never told anyone. Not even any of my psychiatrists know what my troubled childhood dreams were about.” Grinning without any levity, it was just baring teeth. “I suppose it's a family secret. But, you seem like the kind of man who keeps a lot of those.”

Safin clicked off the burner. “Who taught you how to shoot?”

Madeleine blinked. “My father. I found his Beretta under the sink when I was a little girl, so he showed me how to use it properly. But I don't see what that has to do with anything.” 

“What about your mother?”

“That’s—” Madeleine bit her tongue “—we usually had guards for that sort of thing.”

“Usually?”

“One morning, I was waiting for Papa to come home. I saw a man coming through my window, across the lake. At this time, we were living in a two-storey cabin. I knew something was off about the situation and that maman didn’t want to hear it. That was why I took the gun.” And all of a sudden she couldn't stop. “He broke in through the door. I was getting ready to leave with maman, she took me into the closet a-and told me to stay quiet but—” she lowered her eyes “—he found her instead. He must have been looking for my father. And—I, I knew I was next—I couldn’t stay quiet no matter how I tried, I was scared. He must have heard me—he came over and opened the—God, I just wanted to kill him. But it broke—the mask, he was wearing a mask—and, well, I didn't know a lot about bulletproof vests, I was nine—but he didn't go down.” She shook herself. “I just—I don’t understand it. He could have shot me, at any time, but he let me go. A-and, when Papa got back he made me promise not to tell anyone” —Madeleine blinked rapidly— “I don’t know why he would let this happen.” Her voice transformed into a girl's wispy register. “For the rest of my life I couldn’t tell anyone about the nightmares. But I used to think—I still think, sometimes—if only I hadn't taken the gun first, maybe my mother would still be alive.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself.” Abrupt shift of his tone caught her off-guard. It lacked the bite of anger but the harshness remained. Like he was wrenching the words from himself, against all judgement. He wouldn't look at her. “You were not my target.”

“What did you say?”

“Your mother was the target.”

Madeleine laughed. Safin turned around. There was no impassivity on his face but something wretched, tightly controlled. All the derision in her tone stuttered. “No. No, this is just—just fucking ludicrous! Why would I believe that when—” 

“—I never forgot your eyes.” A lurch in her stomach, like missing the last step up a flight of stairs. Her legs wouldn't hold her. She caught herself on the counter, struggling to rationalise what was right in front of her. “In any case, I doubt you will go the same way as your mother.”

Her hands on the countertop balling up, knuckles white. She couldn't look at him. “Why?”

“It was a job. Nothing personal.” His voice cold, flat. “You know how to handle yourself. You’ll be fine.”

Madeleine’s laugh came out harsh. "Fine? What part of this is supposed to be fine? Why—why would you tell me any of that?”

The silence reverberated. Madeleine's jaw tight. Eyes shut against the sting of tears that wouldn’t fall, only brimmed. She heard him approach, shrinking into herself. All he’d ever done in the time she had known him was scrutinise.

He touched her shoulder with a naked hand. Madeleine turned sharply and betrayed herself all at once. Tried wrenching her arm free but he wouldn't release her. His grip didn't hurt. But she couldn't look him in the eye. Turning into him, pushing her face against his shoulder. Safin tensed. Slowly placing a non-committal hand between her shoulder-blades. The backs of his hands were scarred but the palms were not. When he released her, the human warmth receded with him.

“You’re grieving,” he said, still in that cold tone. Looking right through her. “And it is to be expected. Allow yourself this much while you still can. Then get yourself in order.”

She departed, up the stairs, down the hall, went into her room. The curtains were drawn and the door to the bathroom was ajar as she’d left it. There was a suitcase on her bed that smelled new. In the bathroom the light was still on. She sat on the seat of the toilet with her heart in her throat and pushed her face into her palms and trembled.

What the fuck are you doing?

Breathing erratic, hysterical.

You don't have a choice in the matter.

The lifting of a insurmountable burden from her shoulders.

You are not going to go the same way as your mother.

As if in a daze she stood. Freshening up, returning into her room. Opening the wardrobe. Dressing for another commute. The rest of her new clothes into the suitcase. One last look at her old attire. Just clothes. She took up a seat in the chair opposite the door. The effects of lack of sleep hadn't caught up to her yet.

She heard the gait coming up the stairs and down her side of the hall. She had the gun in her handbag. 

“Madeleine?”

She got up and opened the door to meet the dark eyes with a strange, charged silence. It wasn't fear, it wasn't trust. A void in place of old childhood horror. 

“No one ever told me what happened to maman.” Her voice was very soft. She couldn't quite look him in the eyes.

Safin paused. 

“Your flight departs in an hour. We'll leave shortly.” Into her hand, he pressed a box of 9mm Speer Gold Dot JHP ammunition. “There haven't been any complications thus far. Going forward, you may need to be proactive.”

Looking into the sharp face, she found no answers. She went over to the end-table. Withdrew the gun from her bag, ejected the magazine, loaded the bullets into the chamber, pulled back the slide until it clicked. Safin was still in the doorway. Without looking up she said:

“What can you tell me about this position in Oslo?”

“You will be operating out of a private clinic. It won’t be much different than the work you were doing in Paris. That's all I can tell you.”

Madeleine nodded.

She listened to the sound of his footsteps retreating. She put the gun in her bag, took the suitcase, walked out of the room. She closed the door behind her. 

#no time to die #multichapter #no time to die spoilers #madeleine swann #mr. white's wife #lyutsifer safin #mr. white #crime drama #canon divergent au #fanfic #fanfiction

[loadedberetta]

Barracks 4

König x fReader // callsign Misfit; fem no body desc // MDNI

summary: Time soon came to answer to the Colonel, about the botched hit you fucked up a few days prior.

2.8k words // rating: E/18+ // MDNI

(sequel to Apartment 10)

warnings: porn with some plot; humiliation; implied past experience with Ghost; possessive König because that's fun; quick blowie; breath play?; exhibition if you squint your eyes; dacryphilia; some German; nicknames used: callsign Misfit, Mausi (little mouse), Schatzi (treasured one), braves Mädchen (good girl); Reader is left blueballed as a punishment

a/n: it's hella self-indulgent okay? I'm sorry but Reader sometimes gets left on read it'll be worth it I promise

Stitches healed swiftly on your hip, and your bruises faded in opposition to the memories made on that fateful mission.

Colonel König blinked down at you expectantly, walking around behind the metal chair while you were sat further from him in the room filled with other members of your faction.

For some godforsaken reason, he was still in gear, his flight back from mission landed just minutes before he called for a debrief about recent events unfolding. The rest of the meeting didn't concern you much, but when he mentioned your name, blood froze in your veins.

"…and as you might know, the American banker related to AQ transactions is still on the loose, thanks to the bashfulness of our Misfit." He cleared his throat, and you averted your gaze, face burning with embarrassment. "Roze, mission is now yours. Next…"

The world faded quickly into a blur after that. The moment the debrief was over, you headed for your room after taking a thorough cold shower to try and wash away the edge the last few days had left in you.

It hadn't even been a full minute since you were back in your room, three knocks rippled through the stale air of the room.

"One moment!" Your voice rang out, quickly pulling a new shirt on your otherwise uncovered upper body.

Tugging some pants on, you opened the door to the small room and were met by a dark figure on the other side.

"Colonel!" You yelped quietly and crossed your arms swiftly across your chest to try and shield your perking nipples underneath the green shirt.

He sighed. "Can I come in?"

His thick Austrian accent turned even more prominent with the level of agitation that so obviously radiated from him.

"Yes, uh… yes." Your face felt hot again at your state. Barely any clothes on, hair still wet from the shower, room in disarray.

He stood still in the middle of the small space, which enhanced his figure even more. Tearing your gaze from his hips, now sans a tactical belt, you closed the door and leaned against it, not expecting much positive.

He was usually way more lax in his nightly visits to your quarters.

"Your report is nonsensical, Misfit." He rasped, turning around, the hulking frame now facing you. You gulped, as his wide body almost blocked out the moonlight filtering through the shutters, illuminating him in a strange light.

His helmet and hood were gone, only a loose ski mask hung on his head.

You didn't have anything to say, it was; you…

"…completely omitted where you spent the night, how you acquired meds, and why you didn't report in at all until morning." He sounded an inkling more protective than usual.

"Misfit, how did this happen?" He leaned forward a bit, gloved hands fidgeting while crossing his arms over his bulging chest.

"I got hit,-"

"That's not an answer to my question." He cut you off and scoffed under his hood.

It was extremely hard, to discern his expressions through the shadowy eyeholes of the fabric draped over his face.

"Moreover," He lifted a finger authoritatively. "you failed to mention that SpecGru was also on site! Verdammte Scheiße, Misfit!" He fumed under the surface and raised one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose over the hood.

Following his hand, you glimpsed the rough outline of the bridge of his nose under the cotton and gasped lightly.

"I asked you a question, soldier." You heard his stern voice ricochet off the walls a moment later.

Not waiting for an answer, he repeated himself: "Which one of them was there? Hm?"

He settled again, tilting his head and locking his cold, icy gaze on you.

Silence. He stepped closer.

"Cat got your tongue?" You saw as if he was raising a brow behind the mask.

"No, no, I…" You now laid flat against the door, dwarfed by his large body inching closer to you steadily.

"Who… was it." His breath would have fanned over your face, had the mask not separated his skin from yours. "Because I don't like my soldiers… converging with the opposite faction, you understand?"

The small nod you made with closed eyes was stopped by a finger on your chin, ungloved and cold. You gasped and opened your eyes.

"Don't tell me you're trying to protect them…" He cooed, ever so silently, as some footsteps passed by the room outside. "The only person here who needs protecting is you, Mausi."

A dark chuckle reverberated around you.

"Your silence is going to get you into more trouble than it's worth, now…" His tongue clicked, and you gulped in return. A small whimper broke from deep in your throat.

"Scheiße…" He scoffed with an audible smirk and lifted his head. "You're enjoying this…" He stated, rather than leaving the question up to you.

"Ghost… It was Ghost." You whispered, voice choked and burning with embarrassment.

"Was it now?" He perked up, placing a hand on the door next to your nodding head. "Warst du tapfer, ja, Schatzi? Look up, at me."

Your lashes fluttered as you finally found enough courage to blink up at his terrifyingly darkened features.

"Braves Mädchen… Now…" He placed two fingers below your trembling chin and pushed it upwards, making it impossible for you not to look into his glowing eyes. You felt your stomach somersault in place at his words.

The clink noise of the clasp of his belt rang in your ears before the barked command of "Kneel.".

Without a second thought, you did. However, you'd never done this, not with König. Punishment was going to be harsher this time.

You'd had a thing for him the moment you first arrived at KorTac a few months back. And he took advantage of it, not wasting a moment on formalities. He'd marked you for the first time after another member looked at you wrong. You hadn't even seen who it was before he grabbed you and marched you away to a quiet corner of the current base, and had his way with you. Confusion pooled low in your abdomen, mixing with arousal the moment he laid his hands on you. Then slowly, is eased. A few weeks of rigorous establishment of his territory (subtly to others and not so) subtly to you felt natural.

You'd become his plaything; and you had nothing against it. If anything, it was an experience to be enjoyed.

Marks left by him almost constantly make your skin ache in the most sensitive spots over your tits, collarbones, thighs… You were nothing more than a toy for him in your eyes and didn't expect much in retaliation for the wrong step you took with Ghost.

He couldn't have known about it. KorTac and SpecGru were not on talking terms.

"Now did you take me to be that dumb, that I wouldn't see it the moment I laid eyes on you? Hm?"

"What?" You asked, feeling minute on your knees. You weren't small, but to him, you couldn't measure up.

"That prick. He fucked your damn brain out of you."

"N-no, that's not…"

"Oh don't try to deny it, I've seen your medical already."

Diligently, you raised your hands to his hips, trying to veer his attention from the obvious.

"You're going to make up for it, I see. I want to see you try." A dark chuckle enveloped you, drowning out the hard thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat rumbling steadily in your ears.

Instead of answering, you nodded shortly, gaze now focused on the bulging length that dared to free itself should you not be quick enough about it.

Two clicks snapped your attention away from a vein you traced with your eyes through the fabric, fingers hooked in the brown belt loops.

"Langsam. Show me you are sorry."

You nodded again, rapid, overeager movements with your head. A hand patted your head and settled on the crown of your skull.

Not taking any more seconds to let the fleeting moment pass, you hooked a finger under the waistband of his tight, dark blue boxers, and unceremoniously freed his hard length. You knew how big he was, having taken him before several times, but it never came to this before. Already fearing for your voice in the coming days, you wrapped a hand around the base of his shaft.

Nothing but an exhale marked your actions. Wetting your lips thoroughly, you opened your mouth and inch by inch, started taking him. His hand didn't move on your head yet, and he was worryingly silent.

Wiggling your tongue to feel the same vein as your eyes did just a minute before earned you the first real sound he made that night. A low groan, short, punctuated, and to the point. Closing the tight ring of your mouth around half of his length, you exhaled shakily and closed your eyes with the sensation. A sticky, salty feeling settled in your throat, as saliva pooled below your tongue, making your next move more easy.

Throat slowly opening as you relaxed, you tried the impossible and took more of his length in. He hissed small above you, making your eyes flutter open again.

Dragging your head back, you almost completely removed your hot mouth from around him, only leaving the silky tip between your lips. You let your tongue wander up and down the pronounced dip of it and took him in again languidly with the same momentum.

An exhale hit your ear, forced and involuntary at the same time.

No words. No praise. Silence was your ally, letting you on that he didn't have a complaint.

Working yourself up again to try, you took more of him in, lips brushing your hand wrapped around the base before the sensation became uncomfortable.

"More…" Came the whispered command from above you. Looking up the best you could, you saw König's chin from below the mask, head angled back.

And you obliged. Inhaling through your nose and bracing, you closed your already weeping eyes and felt your wet lips connect to your curled index finger. The sensation was overwhelming, your throat being so full of something.

You felt pressure on your head, his hand first gently pushing you onto himself, losing control as seconds inched by. Feeling him twitch deep in your throat made your cunt pulse repeatedly, a warm feeling overshadowing the warning of dwindling oxygen in your lungs.

"Hold it." You heard him mumble, lengthening the syllables slightly.

A whimper broke from your lungs, with the last of the air stored in them before you felt like you couldn't hold his cock down your throat anymore.

"Yes…" He hissed as he let your head go, making you fall back onto your heels with a gasp.

Completely disconnected from him, you panted, breaking the line of saliva tracing your lips to his cock.

Without a word exchanged, you rose again and licked in small movements along his shaft, kissing it, trying to win time for yourself. His cock throbbed, hard and thick like you've never seen before. Your cunt remembered all the times he speared you open, rutting into you with reckless abandon. Clenching turned painful, as your tight pussy silently begged for his attention and soaked your tight pants.

His hand settled on your head again and guided you onto himself without a care. This time, he settled for a steady pace, lewd noises filling the room from the pooling saliva spreading around on his cock with each thrust.

He didn't talk, he rarely did. Lost in the pleasure, or simply not holding you worthy enough of praise, he had you settle on listening to his noises during it. Unusually desperate huffs and breaths escaped his mouth this time, stirring arousal in every part of your body, almost to the point of it becoming unbearable.

Languid thrusts quickly turned desperate; post-mission stress, the need to use you, and the simple lewd act of a blowjob sent him to the edge unusually quickly. His hand on the back of your head left no room for you to move, or even control your own movements, turning you into a breathy mess under him.

Your tears soon mixed with the cocktail of precum and saliva already running down your chin, dribbling slowly onto your thighs tightly pressed together. You were chasing friction by then, one hand still on his cock (although only two fingers), the other bracing yourself in the crook of your hip.

Neck threatening to cramp soon along with your shaking thighs holding yourself up slightly, you silently begged for it to be over soon. König's palm didn't ease up on your head, instead switching to slower, but much more agonizing, deep thrusts. Cockhead repeatedly punching against the back of your throat, you whimpered each time, swallowing around him when it became too much.

His noises started to pick up, hisses and grunts broke from his lips quicker and quicker. You tried pushing yourself off, getting a full inhale of air into your lungs, but it soon became obvious that it wasn't in your right to. Lightheadedness started to take over you soon, staccato whimpers drowned out by deep thrusts down your neck.

Thankfully, in what felt like an act of mercy, he let up the pressure on your head for a few moments, allowing you to finally gulp some air into your parched lungs. The new, shallow thrusts he settled for allowed you to save yourself from a blackout, but they simultaneously felt like they shattered your jaws each time in turn. Your grip strengthened on the base of his cock again, the edge of your palm nestled against his pelvic bone overspread with dirty blonde hair.

Feeling his body tense and let go, his moans becoming more strained and his hand finding its way back to the crown of your head, you knew he grew close to his climax. Wet sounds echoed all around you, and you were sure at least some of it was audible in the corridor leading up to your room.

Embarrassment washed over you but was quickly overshadowed by a strange sense of pride, bolstered by the noises König made above you as he quickened his already punishing pace driving his dick deeper into your sweet mouth again.

Half a dozen times, you felt his tip connect to the back of your throat before feeling his fingers roughly scratch your scalp. He stilled completely, and his inhale broke sharply. He pumped rope after rope into your needy mouth before he pulled away, uncaring to pearly drops still leaking from his glistening tip.

You managed to disappear his load down your throat in two separate gulps, letting your eyes flutter open during. You sniffled, and wiped streaks of tears down your cheeks as you heard him speak;

"Braves Mädchen, Mausi-" He stepped closer again but didn't make an effort to reach out to you. He did up his pants and snapped his belt close again. "You took me well." He stated rather matter-of-factly, as you remained on the ground, exhausted and ashamed.

"Komm." He offered his shoulder and leaned down. Eyes alight, you grabbed his neck and allowed him to take you over his shoulder, thighs pressed together by the movement. It made you see stars, that little friction you barely got from his touch.

The next moment, he laid you down roughly onto your bed and encased your figure by planting his two hands beside your head and separating your thighs with his knee.

"Sucking me off wasn't a punishment, ja?…" You nodded confused, wanting desperately to agree with him if it meant you'd earned his favour.

You felt his knee slide up between your inner thighs, pressing into your cunt a moment later. A sharp gasp left your mouth, and you threw your head back in ecstasy at the fleeting second of pressure on your cunt.

And then, the mattress lifted beside you, and the moon shined at you again.

"…But this is." He stood up straight, and you heard his voice not even trying to conceal a smirk. "I'll be back tomorrow." He grunted flatly and rolled his shoulders.

Unable to form words while sparks fizzing deep in your brain, spine alight and guts flaring, you sat up, mouth falling open.

"Close your mouth, that look is not flattering." He dismissed you before he promptly walked to the door. "And don't touch yourself until tomorrow. I'll be back at 10."

"Wh--" The rest of your complaint hit against your shutting door, König's footsteps already echoing down the hallway.

masterlist

a/n: oh no poor reader is getting denied oh no! I'm going to start to feel bad for her never soon! what if König and Ghost find her together what then? crossposted to ao3 too; feedback appreciated

#beretta does fics #let the tagging hell commence #cod fanfic #cod mw ii #cod mw fanfiction #könig x reader #konig x reader #könig cod #konig #ghost x reader #könig mw2

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

2020 - archived

[18+ advised ] This is going to be long af. I’m going to do my best to put everything - all my writing on this blog, in one goddamn place, but I make no promises, so forgive me in advance. Below the cut is everything I’ve written and posted, for every single wrestler I’ve written for so far.  If its’ not linked, then I haven’t posted it yet or it’s a placeholder. If it’s bolded/has an m out beside it, it is most definitely mature and only meant for a mature (18+) audience. If there’s an asterisk (*) out beside the title, it belongs to or is part of something else that I have on the blog.

If you want to be on the taglist for my writing, you can find that [here]. If you want to know what I write / how often I write and stuff like that, my faq/about post is [here]

adam hangman page | take you home | spring | mature.

adam hangman page | baby fever | winter| mature.

adam hangman page | darlin | summer | mature. 

baron corbin | right now | winter | mature.

darby allin | the sound of silence | spring | mature.

drew mcintyre | somebody watching me | spring | mature.

drew mcintyre | alpha | winter | mature.

ethan carter iii | worship you | winter | mature.

jon moxley | duality| summer | mature.

jon moxley | allnighter | summer | mature.

jungle boy | touch myself | winter | mature.

jungle boy | unnamed as of yet | summer | mature.

kevin owens | morning | summer | mature.

kyle o’reilly | backseats and phone calls | spring | mature.

kyle o’reilly | the quiet game | winter | mature.

mjf | dessert first | winter | mature.

mjf | sweet | summer | mature.

mjf | morningafter | summer | mature.

roman reigns | alpha | winter | mature.

sammy guevara | dirty dancer | winter | suggestive.

sammy guevara | cheater | summer | mature.

trent beretta | blackout | summer | mature.

trent beretta | sneaky | fall | mature.

adam hangman page | whatcha gonna do by hinder | angst / comfort.

adam hangman page | push my buttons [ suggestive] | 

adam hangman page | i’m erasing myself from the narrative | i’m putting myself back into the narrative | may you always be satisfied | the story of tonight. 

adam hangman page | second one to know |  dancing around an open fire | | 

adam hangman page | dreaming of a wedding dress | | 

adam hangman page | the love boat || | 

adam hangman page | sweet cherry pie || that dress is begging to come off [ virgin oc; mature af } 

adam hangman page | | honey on my table suggestive | motion of the ocean - cruise romance au, mature | 

adam hangman page | alone among the couples | 

adam hangman page | im yours - alphaverse au | won’t you stay with me alphaverse au |  bathtub mermaid - alphaverse au/suggestive | 

adam hangman page | she’s a nutcracker | 

adam hangman page | virginia on my mind, angst | fuck you and the horse you rode in on [ an au of what ifs second chapter, holy shit mature]  | | punishment pretty please, goes with wildside/whatifs holy shit mature | pour some sugar on me, mature | | 

baron corbin | everything you can do i can do better | 

baron corbin | follow me | prince not so charming | 

baron corbin | love on the rocks | 

curtis axel | | | boop [  mature ] | be kind rewind [ roommates au, mature ]| 

curtis axel | discount chocolate day | | 

drew gulak thoughts of yesterdays | august rush | lost in your eyes [ suggestive.]

drew gulak | he loves me, he loves you not [ miiild suggestive, alphaverse] | | leave her wild [ suggestive alphaverse..kinda] | 

drew gulak |once upon a dream [ soulmate au] |  starcrossed lovers and other strangers [ suggestive ] |

drew gulak | valentines day episode | 

drew mcintyre | marionette | | just between me and you | 

drew mcintyre | burnt homemade chocolates [ conclusion to my alphaverse short fic, suggestive and fluffy ] | 

edge x ofc x christian | seeds of unrest | 

elias samson | couples costume contest | 

elias samson | waiting on your friends to leave 

ethan carter III | winners remorse | rewrite history [ a retelling of w.r] | |

finn balor | after an endless dream | 

jay white | graveyard smash | punch drunk princess [ vampire au; mature] | it should’ve been you [human version of vampire au]

jeff hardy  | it all started with glow paint [ suggestive; bordering mature ] | 

jeff hardy | do i look lonely |  my lips are up here [suggestive]

jon moxley | hurt me so good | if I loved you less I could talk about it more | can’t find a better man [mature].

jon moxley | bloody valentine | 

jon moxley | your days are numbered | spared but not forgiven | nature adores a virgin [mature]

jon moxley | all the guys want cheerleaders | ps i lo- | no more almosts | warm desert wind | | dark as night [ roommates au / suggestive ] | 

jon moxley | siren song [ soulmate/pirate and siren au | 

jungle boy | sweet boy | 

kyle o’reilly | can I see through you | | death of a bachelor | 

mjf | did you just grab yourself on tv | 

mjf | candy hearts taste like chalk | 

pete dunne | you jump i jump jack | | you can’t win | I’m melting

pete dunne |bitter bite alphaverse au |  aftershocks suggestive |

roderick strong |  trying not to smile | 

roderick strong | kisses like cruelty [suggestive,borderline mature] | | | 

roderick strong | walking the line | put ‘em up | 

roman reigns | patchwork heart | 

roman reigns | slow roasted | 

roman reigns | anorgasmia | 

sami zayn | farmers market | moonbeams on pumpkins

sami zayn | heart and soul |

sami zayn | reflecting light | 

zack ryder | rough rider 

12 Days Of Christmas Masterlist 2020

My entries for the 12 Days of Christmas on both my writing blogs can be found on this post right here.  [ merry christmas clicky ]

Halloween

Thanksgiving

Christmas

New Years

Valentines Day

Other Holidays / Special Occasions

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS I HAVE / USE TO WRITE

original character, Adeline x | 

original character, Kasey x | 

original character, Violet x | 

WRESTLERS ONLY DOWN BELOW

adam hangman page x [m] | x - soft hangman | x -hangman does halloween | x hangman on your first date [ fluffy,suggestive]|  x [soft] | adopting a dog | enemies to lovers | roommates to lovers | softly mature | more halloween hangman | 

buddy murphy x [ mature, sex life] | 

cash wheeler x [ suggestive ] | 

chuck taylor x [soft]| x more soft | 

damien priest x [ mature ] | 

darby allin x[soft] | x [mature] | 

drew gulak x | 

drew mcintyre x [ mature ] | 

eddie kingston x | x | x mature | enemies to lovers | 

elite x celebrating Halloween with the Elite | 

ethan carter iii x [m] | 

finn balor x [ m] | x [m] | 

heath slater x | 

jeff hardy x[m] | sick female!SO [pms mentioned briefly] | 

jon moxley x [m] | x [m] | 

jungle boy x[food/cooking] | x [ actual! jungle boy in love ] | fall softness | 

kenny omega x [ suggestive ] | x | x [halloween] | 

kevin owens x [m] | 

kyle o’reilly x [ mature - werewolf!kyle ] | 

luchasaurus x[mature+soft] | 

marko stunt  x soft and mature | x mature | x soft | x daddy kink of sorts |

matt jackson x [m] | x more m | enemiest to lovers -suggestive | 

nick jackson x [suggestive] | losing a basketball game to you | x mature/soft mix | 

orange cassidy x [lowkey m] | 

Pac x [suggestive fluff] | 

pentagon jr x mature | 

pete dunne x [ mature ] | 

prince devitt x mature | 

ecw era raven x [soft ] | x [m] | x[halloween] | 

roderick strong x [ adopting a kid with ] | 

roman reigns x!HeelRoman, slight nsfw | 

sami callihan x [ music preferences ] | 

trent beretta x [lowkey m] | x [ soft ] | x [ more soft ] | 

tyler breeze x [ enemies to lovers, polyamory hinted at | 

undertaker x [ gender neutral baker / biker taker SO] | 

wardlow x [ m ] | x [m] | x [ soft] | x[ halloween] | x mature | x Christmas with Wardlow | 

AEW;

- adam hangman page [ f s v ] | o i d | c m x | k l | 

- cash wheeler [ i l s ] | [ m o r ] | c s u | 

- chuck taylor [ j m w ] | [ a d l ] | [ c  v ] | i k w | n u x | 

- darby allin [  k o t ] 

- jack evans [ b t h ] | 

- jon moxley [ a k r ] | 

- jungle boy [ d m o ] | 

- matt jackson [ k q w ] |  [ b d e ] | f i o | u y | c j v | 

- mjf [ s k v ] | b m u | 

- nick jackson [ a b g ] | [ m o ] | c i o | 

- orange cassidy [ f h x ] | [ o ] | [ i p v ] | [ k w ]

- pac [ d m x ] | [ i p u ] | [ f o s ] | 

- santana [ a o q ] | 

- trent beretta [ j m u ] | 

- wardlow [ d j w ] | [ k u ] | [ b m r ] | [ a o v ] | c i p | 

WWE NXT;

- chad gable [ b o u ] | 

- damien priest [ d i v ] | 

- drew mcintyre [ b e d ] | i p w | 

- jinder mahal [ g i w ] | 

- roman reigns [ c u m ] | 

- timothy thatcher [ c j y ] | f k | d | 

- tyler breeze [ l x y ] | d j u | 

TNA;

- heath miller [ b e d ] | 

NJPW;

- jay white [ d f k ] | k u m | b j w | 

AEW;

WWE / NXT;

AEW;

WWE / NXT; 

#wrestling fanfiction masterlist #masterlist wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fanfiction writer #wrestling fanfiction blog #out with the old; in with the new

[goulets]

Heartland

Chapter: 3/8 Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Additional Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Colin Wilkes, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas Rating: T (for now) Case Fic / Kid Fic a03 link

The library has its benefits: no harassment from over-familiar family members, no Dick sexually frustrating him within an inch of his life, and, if he’s willing to be a little sentimental, he kind of does want to show it to the baby. She’s too young to appreciate it, probably, but it stirs something in him to share it with her all the same. He’s heard it’s never too early to get kids into reading - his parents sure as hell never tried, but Jason had read anything he could get his hands on, once he learned how. It had saved him, back then. Maybe it can do the same for her one day.

“Could’ve sworn Bruce had a Dr. Seuss anthology somewhere in here,” he says to her, combing over the shelves with his eyes. “Guess not. You up for something more sophisticated?”

She grunts, squeezing his shirt in her fist. “Alright,” he agrees, pulling Twelfth Night off the shelf. “Shakespeare it is. You’ve got taste, kid.”

***

(dick)

Venice is a nightclub that has gone by many names during its Gotham tenure, and just as many owners. Dick has been undercover here at least twice, back when the club was catering to the wealthier patrons of Little Italy. The current management clearly hasn’t bothered with maintaining that exclusivity - the building is now shabby and outdated, even for this neighborhood. One thing that hasn’t changed, though, is the real draw of Venice, which is the illegal casino in the back rooms beyond the VIP lounge. Through all the club’s owners, the casino has always been run by the Falcones, and always frequented by the city’s most morally flexible elected officials. In the past four nights that Dick’s been staking the place out, he’s seen five judges, two city council members, and even the new police commissioner slipping out the back door into the alley, stinking of gin and cigar smoke and patting their coat pockets with an air of satisfaction. It’s good intel to have, Barbara’s told him. Always helpful to keep the files updated on who’s being bought and by whom. None of that really makes him feel better about the fact that he’s been staking this place out for four nights and still hasn’t managed to pin down their actual target.

It’s embarrassing, is what it is. He’s Nightwing, for God’s sake. He’s taken down whole Russian mobs in Bludhaven, and now he’s being completely eluded by a third-string Falcone no one’s even heard of.

Oracle had ID’d the doer of the Torres/Howard murders in a matter of hours, true to her word, and the ballistics had predictably matched up with a few other murders that the police never bothered investigating. Susanna “Susie” Falcone, a second cousin once removed with a rap sheet that puts many of her relatives to shame. Her name must still have some pull in political circles, because she’s only done time once, in spite of being indicted almost a dozen times. Gotta love good old fashioned judicial corruption, Jason had said. No one had been able to argue, looking at the number of charges dismissed.

All in all, it was supposed to be a fairly simple tag-and-bag. Once they’d found her place of work - officially, the Venice nightclub, unofficially, the family casino - he’d been tasked to track her, question her, and then turn her in to the police. He’d chosen his stakeout perch well, on a hotel roof high above the alley, he’d followed her, unseen, and so far, she’s given him the slip every freaking time. The woman has vanished through every doorway from here to Robinson Park, as only the most enterprising criminal can. Were this a different kind of case, Dick might have been impressed.

Instead, he’s annoyed, and having to compromise - his vantage point is lower, closer but more exposed in the thin shadows of a third story construction platform right above the alley. He can see the door to the club without any difficulty, but the moment he moves, he’ll be open to attack.

He’ll just have to move fast. Fortunately, that’s what he’s best at.

There’s a soft motion behind him, almost quiet enough to escape his notice entirely. It’s Jason - Dick hadn’t expected him to actually turn up. No doubt he’s here to make sure they finally succeed in catching their mark tonight, but he’s been so adamant about not leaving Danielle with anyone except Dick that it’s still a surprise to see him. What’s equally surprising to Dick is that he was apparently hoping Jason would show, if the relief he feels at seeing him is anything to go by.

It’s a nice moment of solidarity, until Jason opens his mouth. “So, fourth night’s a charm, huh?”

Dick bristles. “What happened to not leaving the baby?” he retorts.

Jason bristles back, but doesn’t rise to the bait. It’s a little wrongfooting - a reminder that things are changing between them. Dick is used to the veneer of antagonism that hangs over his relationship with Jason, the unresolved tension they both pretend not to notice. They’d gotten into a pretty good groove when he was acting as Batman, staying out of each others’ way for the most part, and working together when necessary. Dick’s pretty sure Jason doesn’t actually harbor any murderous feelings towards him, just like he doesn’t actually hate Bruce, no matter what he says.

“The girls and Alfred ganged up on me,” Jason says, leaning back against the scaffolding. “Whatever. I needed to get the hell out of there anyways. I don’t know how you stand being around them all so much.”

Dick laughs. “They’re not as interested in me,” he admits. “I’m not the cool sibling.”

Jason doesn’t respond right away. It's hard for Dick to tell, when he’s wearing the helmet, but he thinks Jason is probably waiting to see if Dick is joking. It’s another way things have shifted between them - Jason’s holding back, not jumping straight to lashing out, like he used to. It should be a good thing - it is a good thing, but it’s throwing him off balance all the same. He feels like he's spent most of the past several days looking for Jason, even when Jason is right in front of him. He’s used to trying to find the Jason he knows - or knew - the Jason who was taken away from him. Now there’s a new Jason, a Jason he’s still getting to know. Dick can’t choose between them, can’t decide which one he wants to find every time he looks at him. Maybe that’s why he can’t seem to find his one lousy mafia shooter.

“Looks like the cops are covering up the ballistics report on Reynolds,” Jason says, after a moment. “Go figure.”

Dick frowns. “Just Reynolds?”

Jason grunts. “Hold on. What.”

Dick turns to look at him.

“Did you burp her?”

Oh, Dick realizes, he’s on the comm. Someone back at the Manor must have pinged him on a private line.

“Then get Alfred to do it.”

It’s curious that the ballistics on Cy Reynolds’ murder are the ones being suppressed, Dick thinks. He was the only one killed with a submachine gun - the bullets from most of the other crime scenes had come from a standard Beretta APX, and the object of his stakeout, Susie Falcone, had used a Glock on Danielle’s parents. The Glock matched a few other shootings, the Beretta matched none. None of that is particularly noteworthy - after all, Susie is a criminal, and Beretta shell casings are a dime a dozen at any mob shooting.

“Fine. I’ll check back in five. If you asswipes don’t pick up, I’m coming back there.” Jason makes an aggravated noise in the back of his throat, which Dick takes to mean he’s hung up.

“Everything OK?”

“Just peachy. By some cosmic fucking joke, I’m the only person in the family who can get the baby to take a damn bottle. I told her they just need to burp her, but I guess that’s too complicated a task for a family of genius detectives,” Jason grumbles. “I knew I shouldn’t have left her. Shit.”

“Jay, relax. She’s fine.” Dick can’t help but grin at him. It’s honestly sweet, the way Jason and the baby have gotten attached to each other. Dick likes to think he’s her second favorite, but it’s pretty hard to tell. No matter who’s holding her, she’s always looking at Jason, and Jason never stops looking at her.

“It’s fucking cold out here,” Jason says mulishly.

Dick raises an eyebrow. “I noticed. It’s April, not August. If you really want to go back, I’m not gonna stop you.”

“I don’t…” Jason sighs. “Look, I’m here, okay? You bungled this grade school op three nights in a row, so congrats, you triggered the bat buddy system. If I leave and you fuck it up again, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Dick supposes it’s his turn not to rise to the bait. “Fair enough,” he says easily, turning around to face the alleyway again. “What were you saying about the ballistics on Reynolds?”

“Oh, Oracle ran the bullets through Interpol. Turns out our ill-fated gang boss was offed by one of Carmine Falcone’s personal weapons. The record’s been scrubbed from US databases, but Babs had a hunch.” Jason sounds impressed.

“Been scrubbed meaning...there was a record,” Dick follows, “and some people might still remember, if they saw the bullets. Hence the coverup.”

“Yup. Hence the coverup.”

“Could explain what the commissioner was doing here the other night,” Dick muses.

Jason snorts derisively. “See, this is what I hate about the mafia. They’re so goddamn predictable. Kill the competition, pay off the cops, around and around forever. It’s so pedestrian.”

Dick laughs. “You’d rather deal with Clayface?”

“Fuck yes I would. Clayface has flair, you know? Anybody can be a mobster, shit.”

Jason has started shifting with agitation, or maybe impatience. Either way, their vantage spot isn’t hidden enough for him to be moving around. “Get low if you’re gonna be twitchy,” Dick tells him. “Or if you’re gonna have a cigarette, but I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“Lucky for you I quit then,” Jason says, crouching down next to him. “I’m not jonesing, I’m just fucking cold.”

“We could huddle together for warmth,” Dick jokes, grinning unabashedly when Jason’s helmet fixes him with a death glare. “Wait, you quit smoking? When?”

“When I started taking care of a baby, obviously.” Jason goes still, suddenly. “Is that her?”

The door to the alleyway opens, and they both tense - but it’s just a man, a bodyguard, by the looks of him. Close-cropped blonde hair, early 40s, used to throwing his weight around. Feeling there’s something familiar about him, Dick nudges Jason and motions for him to take a photo. Jason starts almost imperceptibly at the contact, but follows suit. They both hold perfectly still in the shadows as the man looks around, glances in a cursory way along the rooftops, and then sets off down the alley towards the street.

“I know him,” Jason mutters. “From Tim’s case files - he was with Intergang.”

Dick doesn’t say anything about Jason calling Tim by name, but it’s a welcome development. “Looks like he switched sides, if he’s hanging out here.”

“Wonderful,” Jason says. “All right, I’m gonna check on the kid again.”

Dick represses the urge to give him a shoulder squeeze, or ruffle his hair. It’d probably result in him getting shoved off the platform, but Jason’s being so....not different, because Dick’s always known that this Jason was still in him, somewhere. Always hoped, anyways. When Jason had been younger and acted like this, surly with his words but tender with his actions, Dick had always thought of him as cute. It’s like that now, too, except it’s not just cute, because Jason has several inches and at least two weight classes on him. It’s cute in a different way, an adult way. It’s cute in a way that makes Dick want to push harder against Jason’s armor, to catch as many glimpses of that side of him as he can. If he thinks about it too long, it’s cute in a way that makes him want, recklessly.

“Red Hood to Batgirl,” Jason says. He’s calling on the family line this time. “Give me an update.”

“You’re seriously a helicopter parent, you know that, Hood?” Steph laughs in Dick’s ear. “We figured it out. Well...Black Bat figured it out.”

Jason’s shoulders sag a little in relief. Cute, Dick thinks, involuntarily. He needs to get a grip. “About fucking time.”

“She prefers being propped up,” Cass says. “It helps her swallow.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. And she likes her back straight.”

“You said none of that, actually,” Steph says. “You just told us to support her head. Which we have been, thank you very much.”

“You have her now?”

“Robin has her.”

Dick and Jason look at each other. Jason says, “What the fuck?”

“Right?” Steph sounds amused. “I was surprised too....his friend is here, that ginger kid? He’s the one that took her from the orphanage, right?”

“Batgirl, I swear to god, if anything happens to her - ”

“Oh, calm down, jeez,” Steph groans. “They’re being supervised, okay? It’s honestly precious, you would agree with me if you could see it. I’ll text the pictures to N.”

“Please do,” Dick says. Speaking of cute, in a way that’s much safer to think about.

“Go do your job now,” Cass tells them. “We’re handling it.”

“Yeah, what she said. Batgirls out.”

“Feel better?” Dick asks, after a moment.

“Don’t ask me that,” Jason grouses. “And show me those pictures when you get them.”

Dick grins. “Sure, Jay.”

“Ugh.”

Dick decides to change the subject, before Jason gets too antsy and tries to bail. “So how do you want to play this, when Susie shows?”

Jason points to a dumpster halfway down the alley. “We wait until she’s there. I’ll get the club door, put a taser on it to stop her getting back in or anyone else from coming out. You cut her off before she gets to the street, and we question her on the backside of the dumpster. I’ll take line of sight, since I’m packing.”

Dick nods. “So is she.”

“So is every goon in those back rooms, sure. That’s why we lock their asses in.”

“And if they come out the front?”

Jason spins a gun in his hand. “Rubber bullets do the job just fine if you know how to aim. Let me worry about the backup.”

Another thing that’s changed about Jason - or that hasn’t changed, depending on how far back Dick looks. He uses rubber bullets now, whenever he’s working a case with one of them. Supposedly it’s a stipulation from Bruce, but Jason didn’t use lethal force on the couple cases he and Dick worked together, either, back when Dick was wearing the cowl. Dick thinks Bruce just gave him an excuse - whatever bloodlust Jason was fueled by when he first came back to Gotham has long since dried up. There are still things that set him off - Barbara had informed them about a dead rapist in the Narrows just last month - but Bruce hadn’t even commented on it, besides the barest acknowledgment. Dick thinks he might be the only one that actually cares when Jason kills someone, anymore. And what’s really disturbing is that he’s not actually sure how much he cares. For instance, he knows Jason has a third gun, holstered under his jacket, loaded with live ammo. He could call Jason out on it, insist he ditch it or at the very least unload it.

He says nothing. Let me worry about the backup. If this mission ends in a massacre, Dick will only have himself to blame.

The door opens again, and out steps Susie Falcone.

She immediately looks around, staying still in the doorway for a minute or more. Dick is pretty sure she hasn’t seen him following her, but he’s familiar with the sensation of being watched. He and Jason both shrink further into the shadows, waiting for her to make a move.

The whole process takes about six seconds. The moment she gets a few paces into the alley, they drop down. Jason electrifies the door handle, and Dick outmaneuvers her easily, slapping his police-issue cuffs on her and kicking her gun aside, then spinning her into the wall behind the dumpster. She hits it with a grunt. By the time she’s glaring at him, Jason is at his side again.

“Nightwing and Red Hood?” she says. “Damn. Didn’t expect to see you fellas out here.”

She doesn’t seem scared of them. Dick guesses they’ll have backup coming their way soon.

“Hey, what do you know,” Jason says conversationally, picking up the gun and emptying the clip in one swift motion. “Nightwing, I do believe this is our Glock.”

“Not mine,” Susie objects. “Picked it up off the club floor.”

“Come on, Susie, you’re smarter than that.” Jason crosses his arms. “Look, I can appreciate a sensible weapon. The Berettas the rest of your family favors? Too flashy for me. I loved Sopranos as much as the next guy, but come on.”

Dick suppresses a laugh. “Thought you were a Sig man,” he says in an undertone. He hadn’t expected Jason to take the lead, but it’s working. Susie looks agitated at the mention of her family.

“Wow, stalker. Remind me to move safe houses,” Jason quips back. “Aw, look, she slipped your cuffs.”

There’s a taser in Susie’s newly freed hand, and Dick quickly sidesteps it, twists it out of her wrist and sends it clattering down the cobblestones of the alley. Jason sweeps her legs out from under her and knocks her down flat, maybe a little harder than Dick would’ve. Thankfully, she goes down without a fight.

“Let’s try this again,” Dick says, kneeling next to her and zip-tying her wrists. If he wasn’t sure before, he is now - she was expecting them. They won’t be alone for long. He throws a couple smoke pellets down to the ends of the alley, and clips a nearly invisible wireless mic to the shoelaces of her boot under the guise of patting her down.

“You’re obviously not surprised to see us, so just tell us what we want to know,” Jason tells her, squatting down. “I’ll be honest, I don’t really give a shit that you shot Big Mouth, but what did Linda Torres ever do to you?”

“Let me up,” Susie snarls.

“No. Talk, or I’ll give you a taste of that taser you tried to pull on us.”

“Hood,” Dick hisses.

“See? He knows I’ll do it. Save yourself the grief, Susie.” Jason points the barrel of his gun lazily at her temple.

Susie narrows her eyes. “Fine. The two of them robbed me, last September. Dumb motherfuckers didn’t know who they were messing with. But I let them live because the bitch was pregnant.”

Jason makes a noise of disbelief. “Oh, sure. You’re a real bleeding heart, is that it?”

“Like you’re any better,” Susie fires back.

“You said you waited on Linda because she was pregnant,” Dick says. “Why’d you wait to kill Big Mouth?”

Susie’s mouth twists. “Guess I just felt like it.” Dick doesn’t need to see the tension in her shoulders to know she’s lying.

“Strike two.” Jason clicks the safety off. “Who put the hits out?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Susie answers. “I’m dead if I talk, so pistol whip me if you want to. Here’s the God’s honest truth: I really didn’t need a reason to kill those assholes. I was out for ‘em anyways. But I’m not crazy enough to kill a baby, all right? I don’t need shit like that on my conscience.”

“Keep talking,” Jason growls. Dick hears the whoop of a siren a few blocks off. “Where’s the baby now?”

“Somewhere safe, I swear. If anybody comes for her, it won’t be me.”

Susie still thinks Danielle’s at the orphanage, then. That’s good for them, but potentially bad for all the other kids, Colin included. These guys clearly have no problem killing children, even if Susie won’t do it.

The sirens are getting closer. Someone inside must’ve called the cops. Dick motions to Jason, indicating they need to wrap things up.

“Who is coming for her,” Jason barks, every line of his body a threat. “You’ve got five seconds.”

“You don’t.” Susie looks triumphant. They can hear the shouts of police from behind the smoke. “But don’t worry, boys. You’ll find out who really runs this town soon enough.”

“Hood,” Dick mutters. “We need to go, cops in this neighborhood aren’t cape-friendly.”

Jason stands, visibly enraged, and for a moment Dick thinks he’ll shoot Susie anyways. He’s prepared to move - but then Jason pulls out his grapple, fires, and flies up onto the roof.

“Talk about a bleeding heart,” Susie says to Dick. “He have kids or something?”

Dick doesn’t like her tone of voice at all. She’s too relaxed, too unconcerned about being under arrest. She won’t stay in long.

“It’s Nightwing! Get your hands up!”

Dick obliges, ready to pull his escrima sticks.

Three police officers come through the smoke, weapons drawn. “You better have a damn good reason for being this far out of Bludhaven,” one of them shouts at Dick.

“Sure do!” Dick calls back. “Arrested a murderer for you, no need to thank me!”

“Shut up,” a different officer retorts. “Keep your hands up, pretty boy.”

“Oh, fuck this,” Jason mutters over the comm. “I’m throwing you an escape, we’ll recon on the library roof. Stop being so goddamn chatty.”

One smoke pellet later, Dick is three rooftops away and flying. He gets to the library before Jason, exhilarated as ever from a good run.

Jason drops down next to him after a minute or so, laughing when he gets a look at Dick’s smile. “Running from the cops still does it for you, huh?”

Dick elbows him, momentarily forgetting to keep his distance. “Doesn’t it for you?”

Surprisingly, Jason doesn’t move away. “Usually they’re shooting at me, so.”

Dick leans closer, testing. “So…yes?”

“You’re so annoying,” Jason says, but he lets Dick nudge his shoulder, bump their arms together. He’s so solid, Dick thinks. So big. More like Bruce than any of them.

“So, how fast do you think she’ll get out?” he asks, when Jason stays quiet.

“Fucking tomorrow, probably,” Jason sighs. “Next week if we’re lucky.”

“Sounds like she didn’t know about Danielle, at least.”

“She’s not the problem,” Jason says, shrugging Dick off and standing back up. “Falcones will blow up the whole orphanage if they get wind of it. We need to put them down first.”

“We need to find out who’s in charge,” Dick agrees. “I planted a mic on her shoe. In the laces. Hopefully she won’t find it for a few days.”

“Good thinking,” Jason nods. “You gonna keep patrolling?”

“Might as well,” Dick says, standing up next to him and stretching his arms over his head. “I’m still stiff from that stakeout, I need to move.”

Jason’s gone quiet again. Dick thinks he hears his breath catch, but the helmet muffles it enough that it could be a yawn.

“You’re going back to the manor?”

Jason groans. “Fuck my life, yes.”

“You miss her, huh.” Cute, his brain chants.

Jason doesn’t answer, but Dick has a feeling he’s getting the stink-eye.

“I miss her too,” Dick offers. “It’s okay.”

Jason sighs. “Dick…”

“It’s a good thing, Jay. You care about her! We all do,” Dick adds, seeing the rigidity in Jason’s posture. “I mean, you’re practically her parent right now. Of course you miss her.”

“...Don’t say it like that.” Jason’s voice is low, almost pained, and Dick knows he pushed too far. “Like…like I have a right to, okay, just. Don’t.”

“Jason, wait,” Dick starts, but he doesn’t get to finish. Without a backward glance, Jason fires off a line to the neighboring building, and then he’s gone.

***

(tim)

The docks are quiet, unsettlingly so, as Tim prowls around the towers of shipping containers, keeping to the deep shadows they cast along the chipped pavement. It’s overcast, so there’s no moonlight to expose him, but it’s also too dark to see which of the trucks and campers parked all over are occupied, which ones might suddenly turn their headlights on him and catch him out.

One truck in particular - an innocuous looking Isuzu with a stunningly weaponized interior, is the object of his search. The driver, Felipe, is one of Tim’s best informants within Intergang - or had been, prior to the upheaval. Tim’s reasonably sure that Felipe is too lowly a grunt to make an example of, but still, he’s concerned that he hasn’t heard from him in a few days.

As it turns out, he needn’t have worried. He finds Felipe a hundred yard away from his truck, taking a piss off the wharf. He lets himself into the passenger side of the truck, and immediately notes that it is packed. There’s hardly a spare inch in the back, and Tim has a tough time even getting into the passenger seat with all the bags, clothes, and blankets stuffed into it. He pushes the majority of it to the floor, and waits.

Felipe comes back a few moments later. He opens the door and starts, eyes going wide when he sees Tim, but Tim puts his finger to his lips and motions for Felipe to get in so they can talk.

“Red Robin,” Felipe says, once the door is closed. He looks even more shaken than usual. “What the fuck, man?”

Tim crosses his arms. “You tell me, Felipe. You’ve been dodging my calls for days, and now I find out you’re skipping town?”

“I ditched that phone, man. Boss Reynolds had my number in there, you know? Ditched it as soon as I heard about him. I wasn’t trying to ghost you, honest.”

“Relax,” Tim tells him. “I’m not mad. I’d dodge me, too. Just tell me what happened, and I’ll shadow you out of town. Make sure you’re not followed.”

“Shit, man,” Felipe sighs. “Okay, look. There’s shit I can’t tell you, not if I ever want to hench again. You gotta figure that all out yourself, yeah?”

Tim shrugs. “Fine.”

Felipe swallows. “It started last week when Boss Reynolds met with somebody - I don’t know his name, God as my witness, but from what I heard, ‘cause I was unloading some of that funky alien tech, and you know Boss Reynolds wanted to supervise that personally - anyways, this guy in a suit took a meeting with him, and it sounded like he was offering Boss Reynolds a job. Said he had a new operation, bigger than Intergang, bigger than anything Gotham’s seen in a while.”

“Did Reynolds believe him?”

“Nah, he told him to get lost. They had some words, and then everybody started pulling guns, and I went back to the ship so I didn’t get fuckin’ shot, but I didn’t hear anything after that. Next thing I saw, Boss Reynolds was calling his son up and telling him to demo some building down by the old boardwalk - a hotel, maybe. Guess he wanted to expand that way, I don’t know.”

“That was the old Falcone hotel,” Tim says, mostly just to see Felipe’s reaction. He isn’t disappointed - Felipe goes pale, and his eyes flash to the rosary hanging off his rearview mirror. Tim likes Felipe as an informant because he’s nosy, shockingly competent for a henchman, and because he really likes to gossip. He’s never held back on Tim before this.

“Few days later, one of ours, this merc named Tiberius, comes down to the warehouse and says he’s got something to show us. Takes out a fat fuckin’ folder full of pictures…man, it was some sick shit. Boss Reynolds, his wife, Reynolds Jr, and every fuckin’ guy under him. Kids, man. He just passed it around, made everyone look at it. Then he says, we can either be in the folder, or we can come meet the new boss.”

Felipe takes a shaky breath. “Obviously I go with Tiberius, like everyone else. I heard a couple guys stayed on the ship that was docked, thinking they’d wait ‘em out, but the new boss blew it up. Says we’re not in the tech business anymore, and anyone caught trying to smuggle it is gonna get tied to it and tossed in the harbor. You can imagine my concerns,” he says, gesturing to his truck. Tim estimates half or more of the weapons in it are salvaged from alien junk. Roy Harper would have a field day with the setup this guy’s made for himself.

“So that’s why you’re bailing,” Tim says, understanding. He can hardly blame the guy. “Why not just hide the truck somewhere?”

“Well…I did think about that,” Felipe admits. “Tiberius made us a pretty sweet pitch, once we went along with him. Not gonna lie, I was tempted. Tech is my thing, you know, but I can make a gun out of pretty much anything. I could see the possibilities, is what I’m saying, but that was before we met the new boss.”

Tim nods encouragingly. This is what he’s been waiting to hear.

“Listen, Red Robin - I know we’ve had our differences, but I respect you, man, you know that. You’ve been good to me, so I’m gonna give you some advice here. Stay the hell away from the new boss. Like, don’t even get involved. I’ve been henching for a while, and I’ve seen some messed up shit, but they are crazy. Está loca, you feel me? I’ve seen the hit list, and you’re right at the top of it. You and all the other capes. Half of Arkham, too. And they’re connected, like you wouldn’t believe. Shit, I’m already saying too much, man. You see the position I’m in here?”

“I do, Felipe,” Tim tells him. He hands over a stack of hundred dollar bills, their agreed-upon rate for information. “Where are you going?”

“You’re crazy too, if you think I’m telling you that,” Felipe scoffs.

Tim wasn’t expecting a straight answer anyways. “Fair enough. You heading out now?”

“Soon as you get the hell outta my car, yeah. You said you’d shadow me out?”

“I will,” Tim says. “From a distance. If you don’t see me, it means you’re clear to cross the bridge.”

“All right,” Felipe nods. “In that case, I hope I never see your ass again.”

Tim laughs, and climbs out of the truck.

He finds his own way out of the shipyard, pulls a bike out of a safe house, and catches up with Felipe’s GPS signal halfway to the Fashion District. Once he’s sure there’s no immediate threat, he calls Barbara.

“Red Robin to Oracle. I’m uploading a recording to the server.”

Barbara is in his ear at once. “You met with your informant?”

“He wouldn’t give me a name, but he let a couple things slip.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” she says.

“First, he flinched hard when I brought up the Falcone name.”

“Confirms what we already know,” Barbara says. “Good. There’s more?”

“There’s more.” Tim tries not to gloat. This is, after all, a serious situation. “He was being cagey about mentioning the leader’s gender, so I was already suspicious, but then said ‘está loca’ when he was trying to warn me.”

Barbara whistles. “Well,” she says, sounding satisfied. “That’ll certainly narrow it down.”

“Yep,” Tim says grimly. “Looks like the new head of the Falcone family is a woman.”

***

(jason)

When Jason was Robin, the library had always been his favorite room in the Manor. It had spoken easily to his idea of what wealth was - rich people had fancy cars, sure, and maybe pools and expensive wardrobes, but wealthy people had art collections, and gardens, and libraries. Jason had spent hours upon hours browsing the shelves, reading anything he could wrap his brain around (and plenty of things he couldn’t), suggesting additions to Alfred, and avoiding his schoolwork in favor of learning about more interesting things, like string theory, or cryptology, or chemical warfare.

That was then.

Now, the library is the only place he can get a minute of peace from the constant barrage of his obnoxious, nosy, boundaryless family members. They’ve been characteristically persistent in their curiosity about him, and about Danielle, who is now Dani, courtesy of Stephanie. This is a nickname family, she’d said, and Jason hadn’t known how to disagree. So now she’s Dani, and Jason is family, and that apparently means he is no longer entitled to any privacy, or personal space for that matter. The only person who hasn’t barged in on him is Bruce, which is almost worse, in a way, because it’s one thing when nobody seeks him out, and it’s quite another when everyone does and then Bruce...doesn’t. Not that he wants Bruce to come up and bother him, God. But he’s in the man’s house, he’s hearing him on the comm constantly either on patrol or down in the cave, and all the other Bat brats and even Alfred are buzzing around him like flies. It’s too much - it feels like before, except for Bruce’s conspicuous absence reminding him that it’s not.

Sharing a bathroom with Dick is another before experience that Jason didn’t need a repeat of. In some ways, it was worse when he was Robin - stripping and showering after patrol in the cave with Dick a few feet away from him is a memory he really wouldn’t have minded leaving back in the Pit - and in other ways, it’s worse now, because Dick is always freaking around. There’s no reprieve, he’s not flitting off to the Titans every week like he used to be. Jason hasn’t gone half a day without Dick getting in his space, drawing up close to him and making that earnest eye contact he’s so annoyingly good at; sometimes wet, sometimes half-naked, sometimes both. And what can Jason do? He’s not going to leave Dani, and he needs Dick to be there so he can get some sleep every once in a while, or patrol, or shower. It’s actually been pretty helpful to have him around, in that regard, but if he has to see the guy walking around with bedhead and nothing but a pair of boxer briefs on one more time, he’s going to fucking explode.

So, the library has its benefits: no harassment from over-familiar family members, no Dick sexually frustrating him within an inch of his life, and, if he’s willing to be a little sentimental, he kind of does want to show it to Dani. She’s too young to appreciate it, probably, but it stirs something in him to share it with her all the same. He’s heard it’s never too early to get kids into reading - his parents sure as hell never tried, but Jason had read anything he could get his hands on, once he learned how. It had saved him, back then. Maybe it can do the same for Dani one day.

“Could’ve sworn Bruce had a Dr. Seuss anthology somewhere in here,” he says to her, combing over the shelves with his eyes. “Guess not. You up for something more sophisticated?”

She grunts, squeezing his shirt in her fist. “Alright,” he agrees, pulling Twelfth Night off the shelf. “Shakespeare it is. You’ve got taste, kid.”

He wonders, not for the first time, what exactly he thinks he’s doing, playing at this whole parenting thing. The rational part of his brain knows that this is a case, that Dani is a victim, that Jason is protecting her because it’s his job. The emotional part of his brain has gone completely off the goddamn rails. Case in point: he’s here with her in the library, prepping her for early literacy like some kind of Crest Hill soccer mom wannabe. Like he’ll even be in her life when she starts doing her ABCs - God willing, she’ll be as far away from him as possible by the time that happens.

It’s fucking hard to think about. He never thought he’d get this attached to a person who can’t even burp on their own. It’s been over a week, and he still struggles with putting her down, with stepping away from her, even when he knows he’s coming right back. Steph and Damian have been wanting to hold her all the time, and Jason knows that they’re capable, knows he has no claim over Dani, doesn’t even mind either of them all that much under normal circumstances, and still, he can’t help feeling like something has reached inside and gripped at his heart every time he passes her over. Which is ridiculous, because she’s not his, he has no more claim over her than any other schmuck off the street. She’s just a kid with unbelievably bad luck, and he’s the idiot who followed Dick up the stairs instead of booking it out the door like a sensible person.

He settles down with her on the couch, propping her up on a couple of pillows, giving her foot a little squeeze. She squeals, smiling at him, and stuffs her fingers in her mouth. God, Jason didn’t know he could feel the way he feels whenever she smiles at him. It’s gonna kill him when he has to give her up.

“If music be the food of love, play on,” he reads, walking his fingers up her leg. “Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die.”

Dani watches him, chewing happily on her fingers. “‘O, it came over my ear like the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets.’ That’s you, you know.” He pokes her in the cheek, grinning. If music be the food of love…but hell, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this. Especially when she’s all calm and engaging, the precious few minutes that he’s learned to appreciate in between finishing eating and being tired and cranky, when all she wants to do is look around at things, and all Jason wants to do, ever, is look at her.

The door to the library opens, and Jason goes from content to murderous in a fraction of a second. “What the fuck is it now,” he hisses, expecting Damian or maybe Tim, coming to nag him some more, and instead sees Damian’s friend Colin, who looks horrified to have intruded on him. Jason immediately feels like the world’s biggest ass.

“Sorry,” Colin whispers, mortified, and Jason waves a hand apologetically.

“My bad, I didn’t know it was you. Come in, it’s fine. She’s awake, you don’t need to whisper.”

Colin looks unsure, but soon nods and steps into the library, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Once inside, he dawdles by the nearest bookshelf, clearly at a loss. Jason probably should’ve just let him back out, because this is awkward. Should he keep reading to Dani? Talk to Colin? Ask him why he looks like someone just kicked him and stole his dog?

“You good?” he ventures, figuring he ought to at least attempt to be the adult in the room.

Colin glances at him over his shoulder, smiling tentatively. “Yeah, just bored. Damian’s sleeping, we had a rough patrol last night.”

“We?” Jason repeats, stunned. Bruce isn’t an exemplar of child welfare practices, sure, but letting Damian take other kids on crime-busting playdates? What the hell?

“Oh, I guess you don’t know,” Colin frowns. “I’m….uh, it’s probably easier if I just show you.”

He slides his jacket off, threadbare t-shirt hanging off his skinny frame. Jason tenses, not sure what to expect. When Colin’s arm starts to expand, his eyes widen. By the time his fist is as big around as Jason’s thigh, he thinks his eyebrows have probably disappeared into his hairline.

“Oh.” Jason has no idea how he’s supposed to react to this. Is Colin a meta? He’s pretty sure he would know if Colin was a meta. “How…?”

“Scarecrow,” Colin explains. Jason’s heart sinks. “He experimented on me with synthetic Venom. Batman saved me.”

Dani fusses, twisting her body and scrunching her face up. Jason sympathizes - this conversation is giving him gas, too. “Shit,” he says. Not the most articulate way of expressing his condolences, but Colin’s friends with Damian, so tact can’t be of great importance to him. “I didn’t know.”

Dani starts to cry, and Colin takes a couple steps forward, putting Jason’s hackles up at once. Stop it, he tells himself sternly. He might have fallen down a few pegs, but he’s not pathetic enough to square up against an abused fifth grader. He picks her up, rubbing her back, and then glances over at Colin. The kid’s gone shy, looking down at a point somewhere between Jason’s legs and the floor. Jason feels all the hostility bleed out of him, and he sighs.

“You can sit down.” He gestures to the couch, trying to sound nonthreatening. Dani burps, mouths at his shirt, and then gurgles and kicks her legs again. She leans back against his hold to stare at Colin, and Colin’s face splits into a huge grin. He tucks himself down into the cushions, keeping plenty of space between them, but Jason can sense from the inclination of his body that he wants to be closer. Well, if anyone has a right to be close to Dani, it’s the kid who rescued her in the first place.

“Here,” he offers, turning Dani around in his arms. His heart clenches, and he clamps down on his desire to flee. “You can hold her for a minute, if you want to. She likes you.”

Colin looks at him, eyes shining. “Really?”

Jason nods. “Go ahead. Honestly, you probably know a lot more about this shit than I do.”

Colin takes Dani from him carefully, smiling at her and laughing when she reaches forward to grab at his jacket zipper. A few seconds later, it’s in her mouth, along with most of her fist.

“Should I…?” Colin looks at Jason hesitantly.

“I mean…she’s had worse things in her mouth,” Jason tells him. A ringing endorsement of his child-minding abilities right there. “It’s fine, right? That’s how they build an immune system, or whatever.”

“Well, Alfred washed this for me last night,” Colin admits, looking embarrassed. “So it shouldn’t be too gross.”

Jason leans back against the couch cushions, crossing his arms. “Getting all the perks, huh?”

Colin shrugs, casting his eyes down again. “I like it here.”

Considering where Colin grew up, Jason supposes he can’t blame the kid. Still, he’s not quite wrapping his head around this sweet, genuinely nice kid being buddies with Damian. The demon brat isn’t exactly known for his winning personality, and Jason only knows vaguely how the two of them met, but what he’s heard doesn’t strike him as being particularly conducive to forging the lasting bonds of friendship.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he decides to just ask. “Why’d you call Damian, the night you found her?”

Colin looks surprised. “I...don’t know,” he says, slowly. “I didn’t know who else to call? Damian’s my best friend, and he always knows what to do.”

Jason can’t keep the skeptical look off his face.

“And if he doesn’t, Bat….Bruce, I mean, definitely always knows what to do.”

Jason scrubs a hand over his face. Time to change the fucking subject. “How’d you two get hooked up, anyways?”

Dani turns her head to look at him, still eating Colin’s zipper. Sometimes, Jason gets the bizarre feeling that she can somehow tell when he’s about to blow a gasket. It’s probably a coincidence - she moves around a lot, and Jason has anger issues that flare up every ten minutes, so there’s bound to be some crossover - but it works, because it takes the fight right out of him every time.

“We worked a case together,” Colin says, holding Dani a little more securely against him. “About a year ago, I guess. Kids were disappearing from my orphanage, and from the shelters. I don’t think you were around.”

“I wasn’t,” Jason shakes his head. He and Roy had been busting a trafficking ring in Ibiza, and it had taken Jason over a month to get all the major players. “I heard about it a little, from Dick.”

Dick hadn’t given him too many details at the time - Jason had chalked it up to him having a few other things on his mind, but as Colin fills in the gaps, he starts to suspect Dick just didn’t want him going on a rampage. Which he absolutely would have - he still wants to, God. God. All those poor kids, just a stone’s throw from his old neighborhood. And of course the police had done jack shit - Zsasz is practically Black Mask’s pet, he probably paid them off to look the other way, not that most of them need the excuse - and Bruce was gone, and Jason was gone, and Dick was in over his head, and - fuck, it should never have fallen to Damian and Colin.

He waits for the fury to subside a little, not trusting what will come out of his mouth. Dani hums around her fist, blinking at him, and it helps. “Jesus,” he says, finally. “This fucking town.”

Colin’s mouth twists a little. “Yeah. But you were Robin, right? You probably saw worse things.”

Did he? Jason doesn’t remember. He doubts it, though. He can’t imagine he would’ve been satisfied with Bruce’s way of dealing with it.

“I wouldn’t have pulled my stroke, when I was Robin,” he muses. “Probably why Bruce never gave me a sword.”

No, Jason would’ve bisected the fucker. It still has appeal, though he thinks he would lean towards his favorite Sig rifle if he was taking care of it today. Headshots for the henchmen - anyone who signs on to that kind of operation, even in the most menial capacity, doesn’t deserve to breathe. Kneecaps and crotch shots for the spectators, to make sure they couldn’t get away. Gut shots for the kid-wranglers. And Zsasz....it’s tempting to want to draw it out, but Jason can feel the desire leaving him the longer he thinks about it. His imaginative tortures fade into a simple headshot, and even that isn’t satisfying. Fuck. He just can’t seem to hold onto his rage lately, even when he wants to. It’s all being replaced by some kind of anxiety, some kind of tenderness that aches, burning deep into him every time Dani looks at him, or touches him. Every time he thinks of her. Every time he feels Dick watching him with her, all warmth and affection.

Colin bounces her a little, making her laugh. Jason feels his revenge fantasy slip away.

“What’re you reading her?” Colin nods to the book still laying open in Jason’s lap.

Jason looks at it. “Oh, Twelfth Night. Shakespeare,” he adds, recalling that Colin is eleven, and likely not perusing great literature in his free time. “Figure it’s never too early to start her on the classics.”

Colin grins. “That’s cool,” he says. “Does she like it?”

“Beats me,” Jason shrugs.

“Read some?”

Jason raises his eyebrows.

Colin flushes. “Um. I mean, if you want…”

He decides to humor him. What the hell. “Sure, why not. ‘O spirit of love! How quick and fresh art thou, that, notwithstanding in thy capacity, receiveth as the sea.’”

Dani yawns widely, relinquishing her fist in a long string of drool. Jason laughs, and so does Colin. “Maybe jumping the gun a little,” he admits. “I don’t really know what kids are into these days.”

“Me either,” Colin says. “I think she liked it, though. See, she’s just sleepy.”

Jason feels a lump forming in his throat, and swallows hard against it.

“What does it mean? The part you were reading,” Colin asks.

“Um.” Jason doesn’t really know, he’s not exactly a literary scholar, but he’s always liked to work Shakespeare out on his own, finding meaning in the wordplay and running the metaphors through his mind until they line up in a satisfactory way. He doesn’t know if his interpretation is correct, exactly, but: “So this Duke, a guy called Orsino, is saying that he doesn’t want to be in love anymore. He’s talking about love and how everyone thinks it’s this wonderful thing, but the truth is that it actually just makes people miserable.”

Jason pauses, feeling like he just showed way too much of his hand. “Basically, he’s just complaining,” he finishes, uneasy.

Glancing at Colin out of the corner of his eye, he’s relieved to see that he’s occupied with Dani, and not paying attention to Jason at all. Thank fuck. If it’d been anyone else in the house sitting there, he’d be in for some horrible armchair psychology session, and he’d have to book it out the window and not return for several months.

“I think she wants you,” Colin says, as Dani ramps up her fussing. Jason takes her gratefully, holds her to his chest as she rubs her eyes and grumbles her displeasure at being passed around.

“All right, I hear you,” Jason murmurs, gently tugging her fists away from her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, come on. It’s not so bad.” Like he’s one to talk.

And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, ever since pursue me, he thinks, rocking her tiny body into a comfortable position. Colin was only holding her for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and Jason was sitting less than five feet away, but he missed her. God, what is happening to him?

“Damian didn’t want to bring her here, at first,” Colin says quietly. “But I think he’s glad that we did. He really likes her, you know.”

Jason doesn’t quite know how to feel about that. It’s sweet, on some level. And he’s well aware that Damian likes her, going by the amount of time he spends hovering in the hallway outside Jason’s room, not to mention the increasingly expensive toys that keep showing up among her things.

He looks down at her, dozing off. “Well, she’s pretty easy to like.”

Colin nods, looking pleased.

“Damian, on the other hand....”

Colin grins. “He’s not so bad.”

He’s really not. Like hell Jason will ever tell him that, though. “You have bizarre taste, kid.”

Colin blushes, hard, and Jason blinks. Well. That’s interesting, isn’t it? Or it will be, in a few years. He makes a note to ask Dick about it, later.

“Are you gonna adopt her?” Colin asks, bringing Jason’s amused thoughts to a screeching halt.

Automatically, he says, “No way.”

Colin looks wounded. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t,” Jason replies. “I’m the last person who should be a parent, trust me.”

“Doesn’t look that way to me.”

Doesn’t feel that way either - the thought floats up, unbidden, uninvited. He can’t. “She deserves better,” Jason says, heavily. “Even if….even I could handle it. She deserves better than this family.”

“But your family is - ”

“A death sentence.” He’s being harsh, but if Colin’s gonna be hanging around, he’ll find out for himself soon enough. “It’s fucking cursed, look. I couldn’t do that to any kid, especially her. You should get out too, while you still can.”

Colin looks angry, which surprises him. His hands are balled into fists, and Jason sees a tremor in them, a bulging that immediately sets off alarm bells in his head.

“Kid,” he says sharply. “Colin. If you’re gonna hulk out, take it outside. Alfred will have an honest-to-God stroke if you do it in here.”

A few deep breaths later, Colin looks normal again. “Sorry.” His voice is hoarse. “You’re wrong, though.”

Jason’s temper flares. “No offense, but I think I would know better than you,” he snaps. Dani grumbles sleepily in his arms, and he sighs out in frustration. “Trust me, okay? She’s better off. It never ends well, not in this family. I’m proof of that.”

But Colin shakes his head. “You don’t know,” he says. “My mom said the same thing, when she dropped me off at the orphanage. She gave the nuns a letter - she said I’d be better off with them than with her.”

Jason stills.

“It didn’t matter,” Colin continues. “Scarecrow still got me. Victor Zsasz still got me. Maybe they would have gotten me with her, too. Maybe I wouldn’t have been that much better off with her, but at least I would’ve been with her.” He sniffles, and Jason holds Dani a little tighter.

“I know she loved me.” His voice cracks. “I just wish...I wish I could’ve stayed with her. I wish she would have known that I never would’ve been better off away from her.”

He looks absolutely miserable, pitched forward and rubbing hard at his eyes. Jason is reminded painfully of how young Colin is, closer to Dani’s age than his own. He remembers being Colin’s age and younger, thinking the same thoughts about his own mother. How fiercely he’d guarded her, chased away the cops and the social workers, doing everything in his power not to be separated from her. Not that it mattered, in the end.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Colin, I’m sorry. For the record, I actually kind of get where you’re coming from.”

Colin looks up at him.

“Wish I didn’t, but. That’s life.”

“You should adopt her,” Colin says again, softly.

Jason shakes his head. “Colin…”

“You’ll think about it.”

He exhales. “Sure, I’ll think about it.” Like he’ll be able to think about anything else after this.

“She needs you,” Colin insists stubbornly.

Jason doesn’t reply. He knows on some level Colin is right - Dani does need him right now. She needs someone, at least, someone who can take care of her and protect her. Someone who isn’t afraid to shed blood to keep her safe. Jason doesn’t relish the thought, but he’s certain this won’t end tidily. Mob cases never do. It’ll be messy, and bloody, and Bruce will have a shit fit, and Dick probably will too, and Jason will go back to Crime Alley and Dani will get shipped off to Witness Protection or something, and damn, does that hurt to think about.

He looks over at Colin, still hunched over on himself, vulnerability written into every line of his posture. He’s desperately in need of a hug, or some kind of affection, validation, maybe. Or that’s just Jason projecting, who the fuck knows. If Dick was here, he would know exactly what to do for him. Jason’s at a loss, unable to separate his young self from the damaged kid sitting next to him.

He adjusts his hold on Dani carefully, laying her down flat along his arm, while he works out what to say. Finally, he settles on, “Damian’s lucky to have you.”

Colin sits up a little straighter. He looks like he’s waiting for more, but he’s shit out of luck, because Jason has no idea what else he needs to hear. No idea what he could say that wouldn’t be completely insincere, anyways. We can be your family, Colin. Like hell. Bruce has enough kids lined up waiting to die for him, he’s not about to encourage another one to be turned into cannon fodder for the man’s principles.

“Uh, yeah,” Jason says, after a moment. “That’s all I got.”

Colin smiles wanly. “Thanks, anyways.”

Jason snorts. “Sure.”

“Can I hug you?”

Jason stares. “Can you…what? Me?”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Colin adds, averting his eyes.

Jason can’t even remember the last time someone hugged him. He thinks Roy might’ve, some eight or nine months ago, after they’d narrowly survived a warehouse explosion. Jason’s whole body had been ringing from the blast, so he doesn’t exactly remember the sensation of it. And before that…?

He imagines Dick’s reaction, if he was here. He’d be disappointed in Jason, that’s for sure. Really, Jay? You can’t hug a child? It’s a fair argument, he has to admit. Jason’s fucked up personal space issues don’t really apply to children, or babies, clearly. Colin’s obviously attention-starved, and Jason’s already holding one kid. What’s another, really.

“Okay,” he relents. “Hit me.”

There’s a shuffling motion next to him, and then Colin is hugging his free arm, leaning his head against Jason’s shoulder. Jason can’t quite contain his surprise - it’s weird, as expected, but it’s not dramatically increasing his desire to bolt through the nearest exit like he’d thought it would. It’s a little funny, actually. He’s pretty sure both Bruce and Damian would lose their shit if they could see him right now. Dick, too, most likely, but to his credit, it would be a happy kind of shit-losing. Damian would probably try to gut him.

Are there cameras in the library? Jason can’t remember. He kind of hopes there aren’t, because if anyone else sees this, he will absolutely never live it down.

***

(dick)

“Wait, I think that’s him.” Dick leans forward to peer at Tim’s screen. He points to the familiar looking figure. “That guy. Do you have a clearer shot?”

Tim skips a few photos ahead, and zooms in. “Him?”

“Yes. That’s the guy. Jason said he recognized him from your surveillance files. He was at the club the night we caught Susie Falcone.”

“The fourth night, was it?” Tim asks, innocently.

“Don’t be mean, Timmy.”

“Just clarifying,” Tim grins. Dick raises an eyebrow. “Okay, okay. I don’t have a ton of intel on this guy, he’s really slippery. According to my informant, he goes by Tiberius - some kind of mercenary, Greek or Albanian national. I doubt that’s his real name.”

Dick nods, studying the photographs. Tim continues, “He came over with Intergang as an enforcer, I think. Might’ve been Reynolds’ personal bodyguard.”

“Could explain how Reynolds got taken out,” Dick says thoughtfully. “He’s on the Falcones’ payroll now, but he’s not family. Might be an easy target.”

Tim opens his mouth, about to reply, when there’s a choked-off sound of fury from the Batcave below them.

“Was that Damian? He’s up already?” Dick asks, glancing down towards Bruce’s computer. He hops over the ramp to see what the fuss is about. Tim follows close behind.

“Everything okay?” Dick asks, approaching the wall of screens. There’s nothing that jumps out at him as being particularly alarming; Bruce is looking at DNA analyses, and Damian is looking at the Manor surveillance, tapping furiously at his ear.

“Todd!” he hisses. “What do you think you’re doing? Colin is my friend!”

“Robin,” Oracle’s voice comes through the speaker. “No names on the comms. And Hood isn’t wearing his earpiece, so you’ll have to tell him in person.” She sounds amused. “Oracle out.”

Damian swears.

“Holy shit,” Tim says faintly. “Look at them.”

The screen that all the Manor surveillance feeds run to is showing just one room - the library, of all places, but Dick vaguely recalls it being some kind of sanctuary to Jason, years and years ago. It makes sense that he’d end up back there, and it makes sense that he’d have Dani with him. What Dick doesn’t expect to see is little Colin Wilkes, all five feet and change of him, snuggled up to Jason’s side and hugging him, wrapped around his arm like a gangly koala. Dick can’t help but notice that Jason’s bicep is about as big around as Colin’s head, which is certainly...something. He’s not quite ready to classify how he feels about that, so he refocuses on the hug itself, which is nothing short of charming.

Damian grinds his teeth audibly. “It’s still going.”

“Oh, man.” Dick can’t help the grin he feels creeping up the sides of his face. “Bruce, are you seeing this?”

“I am,” Bruce says, stiffly. He looks like he’s in pain. Dick fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? Look how sweet they are!” he exclaims, gesturing. It’s adorable.

“It is not sweet,” Damian snarls, whirling on him. “Todd is a corruptive influence, and Colin is young and impressionable! Where is your concern for him?”

Tim coughs, and it sounds a little bit like “jealous”. Surprisingly, this does not diffuse Damian’s indignation.

“I don’t get it,” Dick says, stepping between them quickly to block Damian’s spinning kick. “I thought you and Jason were fine, Damian. You’ve been spending enough time in our - in his room lately. Where’s this coming from?”

“Incredibly, I don’t feel as concerned about Todd recruiting an infant onto the path of lawlessness,” Damian retorts. “Colin lacks paternal guidance in his life, as you know. Todd clearly senses it.”

“Jason is very paternal these days,” Tim agrees.

“I’m pretty sure it’s just a hug,” Dick says in exasperation. “No one’s recruiting anyone, Damian. And look, it’s over. Your friend is just a hugger, that’s all.”

“I must agree with Master Richard,” Alfred says from behind them. “Having been the recipient of many such embraces from young Master Colin myself.”

“See? I’ve gotten hugs from him too,” Dick tells Damian. “And I know you have, so don’t bother denying it. He’s probably gearing up the courage to get one from Bruce one of these days.”

Bruce looks slightly alarmed by the prospect. “He is?”

Damian looks conflicted. “He is?”

Dick casts his eyes heavenward. “Colin, I’m so sorry.”

Before he can say anything else, the Cave door opens below them, and Duke’s bike comes shooting in, whipping around into its parking spot in a move that would send Dick flying over the handlebars. Bruce takes about half a second to look impressed, and then clears the main screen to pull up their intel on the Falcone case.

“What’s up, guys,” Duke calls, pulling off his helmet and jogging up the steps. “I’ve got news. Where’s Jason?”

“Being hugged, in the library,” Dick tells him. “You just missed it.”

Duke looks nonplussed. “Damn. Wait, that’s not some kind of weird euphemism, is it? If it is, I don’t want to know.”

“It most certainly is not,” Damian says venomously.

“Cool. I tried to get him on the comm, but he didn’t respond. Should I go get him? He’ll want to hear this.”

“Damian will get him,” Bruce says.

Damian is…already on the elevator. Dick spares a thought for Jason. At least he’s holding Dani, so Damian won’t attack him outright.

“Your news?” Bruce prompts.

“Right,” Duke nods. “I’ve been all over City Hall records, and spent yesterday afternoon getting intel in the East End. I’ve got names and faces of most of the major players in this. They’re trying hard to front some distant nephew of Carmine Falcone as the head of the whole operation, but it wasn’t quite adding up. You said the new Falcone boss is a woman, right?” he asks Tim.

Tim nods affirmatively.

Duke looks triumphant. “Then I know who she is.”

***

#jaydick #in which there is so much plot all to justify the existence of 1 baby #low key this fic is my maternal love letter to colin wilkes #i miss him dc bring him back #my fics #heartlandverse

[neerasrealm]

Describe your Jay Myles Planetary Go AMV- I want to know what you see-

FUCK DUDE THAT WAS FAST. ok ok fair. ok so to start off, i DO actually picture an AMV for this HDSGFDSHGJ ive never made an AMV before but god do i wanna. maybe i’ll attempt one in december when i have my christmas break off school?? i need an editing software fhdgdsjhfgsjd if any of yall know one thats free or cheap please lmk. the AMV itself i picture in black, white and bright pink. its inspired by another planetary go AMV, an undertale one from like 4/5 years ago. its how i first found the song so i always associated those colours with it lol.

I’m gonna go through it lyric by lyric and try to describe things the best i can DSHFGDSH im mentally ill sorry <3 ALSO this has a lotta spoilers for lore i havent talked about at ALL if yall wanna hit up my inbox after and ask for more explanation feel free lol

There might be something outside your window But you'll just never know I picture Jay standing by a window looking out it, on the second line he turns away and walks off. the art is white with black lines. There could be something right past the turnpike gates But you'll just never know we see Jay walking down the street holding a camera. He stops at the burnt down remains of Karen Doggers’s house, like in the fic i posted yesterday.

If my velocity starts to make you sweat Then just don't let go And if the heaven ain't got a vacancy Then we just, then we just, then we just, then we just Get up and go Just Jay looking around the house, again like in my fic. We see him get scared by Zalgo appearing behind him and we see him grinning wide, setting him up as a somewhat important character in the narrative. I think. During the instrumentals it’s the general credits and stuff.

Ladies and gentleman, truth Is now acceptable fame Is now injectable process the progress These lines are black with white lineart. We get shots of Doby just living his best life, being a murderer and having fun. The only colour on him is the pink of his goggles, which obscures his eyes.

This core is critical faith Is unavailable lives Become incredible now Please understand that With each line another character appears. Each one is another that works for The Operator like Doby does. ‘‘This core is critical’‘ is Dana (OC), ‘‘Faith is unavailable’‘ is Godfrey (OC), ‘‘Lives become incredible’‘ is The Operator, ‘‘Now’‘ is Toby and ‘‘Please understand that’‘ is our main man Doby

I can't slow down I won't be waiting for you I can't stop now because I'm dancing Some imagery of Doby running off away from Jay. This isn’t literally happening, it’s more a way of showing that Jay feels abandoned and betrayed.

This planet's ours to defend Ain't got no time to pretend Don't fuck around, this is our last chance More stuff showing The Operator’s proxies. Godfrey tells Doby not to fuck around and shoves him. Toby catches him and the other proxies all glare at him. Fuck Godfrey he’s the worst.

If my velocity starts to make you sweat Then just don't let go We see Jay and Zalgo sitting in a cafe together. Jay is obviously nervous about something, and sweating. On ‘’don’t let go’’ Zalgo grabs his hand from across the table 'Cause the emergency room got no vacancy And we just, and we just, and we just, and we just Get up and go Zalgo is the one saying the line about the emergency room. He’s convincing Jay to do his bidding. We see the two shake hands.

they want you to be (Who) they wanted to see (Go) kill the party with me and never go home We see Jay doing things for Zalgo, completely unaware that he’s being manipulated into doing his bidding. Zalgo pretends to help him. On ‘‘Who they wanted to see’‘ we see Jay being shown a picture of Doby. Who they want you to be Who they wanted to see Just leave the party with me and never go home We see Doby again, still being a murderer and having fun. On the last line we see him running along with Toby.

You're unbelievable Ah, so unbelievable Ah, you ruin everything Oh, you better go home Jay is the one saying these lines. He’s looking over photos and footage of Doby. He’s mad, he feels abandoned, and like Doby doesn’t care about what it is he’s doing. He wants his friend to come back home.

I'm unbelievable Yeah, I'm undefeatable Yeah, let's ruin everything, blast it to the back row Doby is the one saying this. He isn’t having fun this time though. He’s talking with Toby and Dana. On the last line Godfrey bursts into the room and gets mad at them

They sell presentable Young, and so ingestible Sterile and collectible Safe, and I can't stand it Godfrey summons The Operator and he tries to attack the three of them. Dana defends them, attacking The Operator on ‘’Safe, and I can’t stand it.’’ This is a letter, my word Is the beretta, the sound Dana yells at Toby and Doby to run of my vendetta Against the ones that planned it We see Toby and Doby run out of the shack and away from The Operator. They’ve never been able to escape him before, and they weren’t prepared to leave, so they’re scared.

If my velocity starts to make you sweat Then just don't let go We get a shot of Toby looking scared and nervous. On the second line Doby takes his hand 'Cause the emergency room got no vacancy Tell me who do you trust, do you trust And we just get up and go We see Jay laying in his bed, asleep. He hears knocking on the window and gets up. He opens the window and sees Doby grinning at him. He was NOT READY FOR THAT OK HE WAS NOT

Who they want you to be Who they wanted to see (Go) kill the party with me and never go home Ok this parts kinda fast but I’ll try to get through it. Doby and Jay hug, then it cuts to the two of them plus Toby sitting on the bed talking. On ‘’kill the party with me’’ Godfrey BUSTS into the room, attacks Toby and Doby and then Jay fuckin smacks him over the head with a baseball bat. The three of them start arguing and then Jay points at the window in fear. Who they want you to be Who they wanted to see Just leave the party with me and never go home Hobo Heart is at the window. This makes sense in context I promise. He motions for Toby and Doby to follow him. Doby and Jay exchange a look and Doby follows after him. Things get a little rough from around here to the end of the song im sorry HDSFGJDSGJ

You keep eternity, give us the radio Deploy the battery, we're taking back control Doby and Toby are the ones speaking here. They’re in Slender Mansion now, getting ready to fight. Engage the energy, light up the effigy We see Jay again, tying Godfrey to a chair like a reasonable human being. On ‘’light up the effigy’’ his phone lights up. Zalgo is calling him. No chance to take it slow By now I'm sure you know, know, know, know, know (one, two, three, four) We see Jay freak out and Z’s appear in his eyes. Godfrey climbs out of the chair and looks at him. Get up and go Jay, who’s now under Zalgo’s control, follows Godfrey out of the house

they want you to be (Who) they wanted to see (Go) kill the party with me and never go home Who they want you to be Who they wanted to see Just leave the party with me and never go home We see quick shots of various characters all fighting here, including Doby and Toby. Masky does something cool here but I won’t say what

Are we still having fun? Are you holding the gun? We see Doby and Jay recovering from a fight. Doby turns around and sees Jay, who points a gun at him. Take the money and run We'll never go home Jay fires at Doby and Toby lunges at him, fighting him until he runs off

I've got nothing to lose You've got nothing to say And we're leaving today We'll never go home Toby turns and tries to run over to Doby, but a huge crack in the ground appears. Toby tries to jump it but he doesn’t make it and is left clinging to the edge. We get a shot of Doby, laying on the ground, too pained to help his friend. Then we see Toby lose his grip

I think I better go now I think I better go now I think I better go now (go home) Gonna go now, gonna go now, gonna go now, gonna go now Go now, gonna go now Go home Some shots of Zalgo in his true form fighting against someone. Then it cuts to Jay stumbling through the woods. He stops against a tree, then collapses. A picture of himself of Doby flies out of his pocket and towards the camera. It’s the final thing you see.

#THIS IS REALLY ROUGH AND NEEDS MORE CONTEXT #BUT I REALLY WANNA MAKE THIS ONE DAY AAAAAAA #ask #anon #anonymous #third base #third base creepypasta #jay myles #doby doggers #ticci toby #dana punaise #godfrey #zalgo #I may change the ending and stuff idk

[tinycaprisun]

a song not about love

title: a song not about love characters: chuck taylor x trent beretta word count: 1864 part: 1/1 warnings: mild cursing, no character names are said (but the perspective is alluded to be chuck’s and the “best friend” is trent) a/n: hi! so, holy crap i’m actually doing this... i know, it’s freaking me out too. i guess for context, yesterday i literally did not sleep at all and in a 5 am sudden burst of energy, this little fic came out of my brain. i’ve never posted my work online before, so this is kind of a big thing for me? also, this is so different from how i normally write because there is next to no dialogue, and it’s not, uh... funny? but it sure is something ahah

He won’t say it. That one fucking word that has been tormenting him for what feels like his entire life. He will not under any circumstance say it, or hell, even feel it. It sets you up for failure, for a gashing claw directly to your heart as it punctures and plays with what little you have left.

It’s like that song from Hercules, he thinks. The one where Meg is singing by the fountains about her feelings for Hercules and denying them every step of the way. It feels like that, except the brunette knows this isn’t some sappy Disney movie. This is real life, the one that made him hate himself every time he looked in a mirror. The one that gave him no other option to cope with everything that swirls in his mind at blinding rates than to drown what he does have away. 

Words were never his strong suit, with him always clinging to actions and movement, as more often than not, his mouth would betray him with what would come out of it. 

There’s this burning sensation, festering deep under his skin, well into the flesh, that tingles and jumps no matter what he does. It gets worse when he’s around. Not that he would know it, his friend was never good at picking up on just about anything. Itching, almost, with him unconsciously rubbing his arm over and over trying to forget that was where he had last touched him. A congratulatory pat, and that was it.  

The thought of already being dead crosses his mind. That perhaps, he is already dead, and that what he is living now would be his own personal hell. Set up explicitly to torture him for the wrongdoings of when he was alive. He wonders what that life was like, and if the people he knew now were there. That gave him no solace, as even if he were still living, there would still be his best friend there ruining it all.

Ruin in the best way possible, he amends. Because without him, the brunette can’t picture his life in any capacity. There would be none as far as he is concerned. There was so much of him that did not have, that lived in his friend.

Someone a long time ago said they were soulmates. Platonic, he assumed at that moment, was what the man meant. All this time later, he knows what he was getting at. He won’t say it, he never will, but he knows why the other man said it. That memory liked to crawl into his brain sometimes, replaying like a song you have stuck in your head until you can’t take it anymore and finally listen to it. It does not ease your pain, the song is still stuck. 

Soulmates were someone that housed all of the pieces of you that you did not have. The parts of you that you could fully - the word - because they were in someone else. Maybe that was why he liked keeping his friend around all the time. Because they were the same person.

Except they weren’t. His only slightly shorter friend was better than him at literally everything, not that it bothered him. It just made for more to... This was getting harder and harder to not say by the ever so slowly ticking seconds.

His mind takes over again. Blocking him even farther from reality than he already was, to think.

It’s the way he smiles, he ponders. But only when it’s at him. Tiny, unguarded, and sweet like pineapple fluff. Adoration is always in there too; along with warmth, and if he himself was feeling extra in his own head, intense longing. He silently prays for the last one. Never has been sure why, but he hopes with everything he’s got, that it’s in there somewhere.

What was longing? Catching his eyes across the room as they sparkle under even the dingiest of LED lights? They’re brown, like rich earth that used to be beneath their feet when they would do an outdoor show. Exposed from years of treading, letting others walk upon it without question, working down to its most basic form. It’s very core. He decides that him and the earth aren’t so different.

There is no reason to be like this. So deep into his own recesses that even the most forceful of tactics will not rouse him. Akin to a coma, however his eyes are certainly still working and there is definitely a concerned friend staring at him through their own pair of sunglasses and a neutral expression. 

He says something, slow and quiet like he usually does. It does not compute. His friend says it again. He cannot speak, but he can shrug while moving his gaze to stare past him.

It’s radiant over there, a shining oasis asking to have its glory basked in. Unsurprisingly, it’s him. Recognition helps bring back his question. Longing is time. All of it wasted, even if there is still so much to go. No mercy is given to him, not that he believed he deserved it.

His mind jitters and trails off again as it usually does. It’s his voice, he considers. Peering at him would make you guess it’s low and gritty, but he knows far better than that. His voice is of a baritone, but it’s far too uplifting and sometimes outright high to be anything else. Smooth also felt applicable, calmly finding its way to the right words and pitches as his hands say what his mouth can’t. He really enjoys that quality about him.

Reality is boring, he concludes. Sinking back into his cave of wonders and mostly misfortunes he calls his brain. He has his muse of which to think about... again, and the brunette couldn’t be any more content.

Content is the wrong word. Again, he is no good with those, but he does know that content is something he will never be. His is different though, for a reason he will not say. Fuck, are we really back to thinking about longing? For a third time? Is this what he wanted; to be caught in an infinite time loop, ala Groundhog’s Day, where he relives every thought he’s had for the millionth consecutive time? 

To be fair, that was how it always was when he saw him. Everything surfacing at the same time and he gets caught in the crosshairs, winning the wonderful luxury of wading through them again. 

His laugh is nice. His hair looks good today. The tank top he has on is way too tight fitting and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Not hard to imagine anyways, he’s seen it a thousand times, having roamed it with his hands. But only briefly, and the idea sends him into a tizzy.

One that marks the end, the one that finally has snapped him and made him have a new goal. It’s like drowning again, except not in his usual Crown. This is one where he actually can’t breathe, unable to get above water safely and take those precious gulps he so desperately desires.

He is standing in front of him now, fueled by this very known force that has a known name that managed to carry his battered body to the other side of the room, without him even noticing. There is no one else in the room. Or maybe there is, but he can’t tell. For him, it’s only his friend and himself, which is all he could ever want.

His best friend asks him how he is. He does not answer. The other brunette seemed vaguely alarmed by this, commenting on this fact and letting the notion hang in the air. There is no true reply, not to what he is asking nor to anything else. They stand in silence, pressure building and concern rising, like a dam that’s about to burst open and destroy everything in its wake.

Being forward has always been his calling card. Breaking any tension or an awkward silence with little tact and a lot of bluntness. He’s rough around the edges, as are most things in his life. 

This one comes off as a cliff though, hurtling himself off of it and waiting until he hits the bottom. But there is none, all there is- is his best friend, still concerned for his well being, because of course he was. Did he really need another reason? 

Now there was even less reason to be cautious. If he didn’t say something now, the brunette was going to faint, the lights behind his green eyes going out like the flickering flames of a candle. Where he would drop, essentially dead to the world, straight to the floor and live there for eternity. Or until his friend kneeled down and checked on him.

That idea… The thought of waking up to his face. Seeing him tending to him because for his friend, life seemingly depended on it. But he didn’t know that. What he did know was that the thick and uncomfortable quiet that had filled the room; reminiscent of a smog like haze, was becoming unbearable. 

Caution. Wind. Blunt. Do it. He has to. He will explode if he doesn’t. His best friend is staring at him with what feels like baited breath and stitched brows. He looks completely mental, clearly needing to say something, anything really to amend the situation. At this point it doesn’t matter, he’s so gone for him that even if this irreparably damages their relationship, he would at bare minimum be rewarded with getting real sleep at night.

His mouth opens on its own accord, letting the words waterfall out nearly unceremoniously as he keeps eye contact with his friend.

“I’m in love with you.” 

He says it. 

The one fucking word that has been tormenting him for what feels like his entire life. He says it out loud, to his best friend’s face, with a few words before and after it. Sure, he could say that they don’t matter as much to this whole ordeal he got himself into, but truly, they make up the full saying that has been playing on loop on his head for months. 

His friend doesn’t react, not instantly, staring at him with a blinking gaze as either his brain self-destructs, or tries to figure out a way to let him down easy. Heavy doubt sinks into his bones, weighing him down and taking residence within him. 

It’s a new, hellish, spiraling sensation that the brunette was not ready for. He was used to his usual downward hole of thoughts, usually brought about by his unmitigated need to bash himself, but this… This feeling didn’t even compare, with it being so much more destructive and raw, it opened him up like he was a frog being dissected and leaving him vulnerable to the world.

He finally speaks, his words soft and slightly timid as he can’t seem to look away from him. Unlike what he was expecting, his friend's expression was open and understanding, albeit still taken aback by his forwardness.

“I… I love you too.”

#chuck taylor #trent beretta #chuckie t #trent? #no real names #aew fanfiction #wrestling fanfic #shut it liz #tinycaprisun writes #my writing #chuck tea #trenty b #fics #current song: why not me

[debbiechanclub]

So a whole four people responded to my poll and I may have just written up a whole backstory/a bit of an outline for something and I’m just gonna leave it here—

Surprise! It’s a BTOOT reboot—sort of. Because while this is the same Alex from “Best Two Out of Three,” this reboot does not recognize any of the relationships/events from that series. Alex never dated Cash, Callie does not exist, etc. The only thing that would be carried over from the original series are Alex’s relationship with Kenny Omega and her friendships with Best Friends and Adam Page. However, the timelines of those relationships in this fic would differ greatly from in BTOOT.

Background

Alex Hawthorne is one of the first women to sign with All Elite Wrestling, thanks in part to her friendship/professional history with Adam Page

In AEW, she meets and quickly becomes friends with Chuck Taylor and Trent Beretta; there is a mutual attraction between Alex and Trent, but it never develops into anything because Trent is an idiot, basically

Alex begins dating Kenny Omega in February 2020 after Kenny and Adam win the AEW World Tag Team Championship; she subsequently becomes a member of The Elite/the intermediary between Adam and Kenny/the Young Bucks when tensions start to rise (onscreen) in the group

However, real-life tensions arise between Alex and Kenny after he wins the AEW World Championship in December 2020, and they break up just shy of their one-year anniversary

About a month-and-a-half later, Trent returns from his (first) injury on March 31, 2021… and he and Alex hook-up

However, Alex feels guilty about it as she’s still not over Kenny, and things become awkward/strained between her and Trent

Then, Trent injures himself again in June—and while he’s away, Kenny and Alex rekindle their relationship

But things get complicated when Kenny takes an extended hiatus from wrestling after losing the AEW World Championship to Adam Page and Trent comes back…

Fic Outline

Begins January 2022

Alex has moved in with Kenny and is adjusting to that while also trying to make a name for herself in AEW separate from The Elite

Things are still awkward between her and Trent, but in a different way than before; with Kenny away, Trent suddenly seems interested in pushing the boundaries with Alex

This becomes something of an issue when Kenny’s old enemy Jay White shows up in AEW and deliberately targets Trent on behalf of the Super Kliq

Potential for a collision of the OCs with Alex and Nellie???

So yeah, as per usual the backstory is way more fleshed out than what I’d actually be writing 😶 But I’m lowkey excited about the potential for this? And just thought I’d share.

#BTOOT reboot #sort of #I always gotta give love triangles sorry #oh also the votes were split 50/50 for trent and ethan #but I'd already finished this when the second vote for ethan came in #and this works better than what I could come up with for him probably #but yeah #i'm lowkey excited

[sybilius]

baby steinway

Part (1/3) of a self-indulgent fluffy MacGyver Mactrio fic I’m working on. Figured I might as well workshop it here, happy Sunday Six!

*

A truly incredible notion, how little the state of his apartment has changed in the year or so that Murdoc has been...involved, should he put it? With MacGyver and Dalton, no less. Or Jack, rather. 

He picks up an older floral lace shirt, one which he in fact had used recently. It served his employer’s purposes to have a woman in the secretary’s desk when it would set the clients at ease. And the practice was nice to keep in hand. At least gave some measure of purpose to the mountain of clothes in the bedroom. 

The weapons on the other hand, he’d barely begun to redistribute. Not to mention the books, which he was disturbed to realize he hardly remembered buying or reading, nor the excess of ostentatious effects that were ever so fitting in that crumbling mansion he bought…

"Hey Murdoc! These real gold?" 

Murdoc poked his head out of the bedroom, to see Jack brandishing a candlestick excitedly, "you know what these are worth? Where did you get em?"

"...don't particularly remember." 

"Oh well, you want to keep em, I'm sure we could find somewhere in Mac's house they'd fit…" Jack's uncertainty was clear enough, but it did spark remembrance of when he'd purchased them. For that dinner set at MacGyver's home. Arguably the scene where it all began. 

"Keep one. If you find a way to sell any others, that's fine by me."

"Putting it in the discard box, only this one is for me! Jack box. Heh," Jack scrawls his name on the side. 

Murdoc nods, turning his attention back to the pile of clothes. He'd offered that deal to MacGyver, when he was going through their plans. There would be three types of items, those to be discarded (or sold at a substantial markup, if Jack would have his way), those to be stored in Jack's hangar, and those to end up in the small space of MacGyver's houseboat. 

Moving in. It was truly dizzying to think about. And yet, three times the past week he'd woken with Jack's breath next to his ear, or fallen asleep on the couch next to MacGyver while watching one of those plotless westerns. What could possibly change?

For one: he would be there. That changed everything. 

"Hey you know, it's too bad Mac is busy with Phoenix stuff. Could use his energy lifting up all these boxes."

"Yes, a pity," Murdoc murmurs distractedly, finding yet another Beretta amongst the lace and cufflinks. Unloaded, thankfully. Unlike the previous two. 

Jack stops a moment, a slight frown on his face, "This is one of your 'things', isn't it?" .

"My...things, Dalton?"

"Oh see, I got you, you only call me Dalton when I get you," Jack stuffs the marker in his pocket, "I must be in love with you, coming over to kiss you making that sour face and holding a gun."

"...you're far too ridiculous for anyone to want to kill, Dalton," he lets the syllables snap that time, ridiculousness to match as Jack crosses the room. 

Murdoc does drop the gun to let Jack frame his face with his hands, allowing Murdoc the space to hide in warm lips and a brash laugh. And to his credit, Jack steps away with a wink. Letting Murdoc know he doesn't have to explain himself. 

But at this point, Murdoc supposes he might as well. 

"It's not as if I didn't want to have MacGyver along. Simply that...well, he's made it clear what his thoughts are on my possessions."

"He has?"

"You aren't with us all the time, Jack."

"No I mean...what are you thinking he's thinking?" 

"That I should get rid of it all, I suppose?" 

"Oh. Yeah, he's like that. Always saying that about whatever plane I've bought next, you know? I just ignore him and explain to him how it's gonna make tons of money once he's fixed it up. And they're always beautiful things, like my Sharon," he sighs, probably seeing that rusty floatplane in his mind’s eye. Murdoc privately agreed with MacGyver’s protests there, but still, Jack’s sympathies aren’t unappreciated. 

Murdoc picks up a round object on the ground. Hamster wheel. He’s never owned a hamster. See, the difficulty is, he’s not quite sure what he wants these objects for at all. He’s sure that getting rid of them sounds distressing, and keeping them even more so. That doesn’t help with MacGyver’s convictions. 

“And besides, you know Mac, he likes having projects, things to fix. Figure I’m doing him a favor there, right?” Jack winks, utterly cheeky as always.

“I don’t particularly want my space ‘fixed’ to whatever MacGyver considers it as such,” that much, Murdoc is sure of. 

“Makes sense. Well you know, anything doesn’t fit, you know where it’ll go! Safe and sound at Dalton air! Say, d’you think I could use this silver tray table? Maybe get a first class in after we stop doing cargo only-- oh, say!” 

Jack has pulled a velvet curtain off the baby grand piano underneath all the debris. Murdoc feels the first twinge of possessiveness in seeing his reflection in its lacquered black. Yes, he very much remembers why he bought this. 

“What are you thinking for this thing?” Murdoc pulls the cover off the keys near-reverently, only half listening to Jack. He touches the middle C key carefully. It rings discordant. The surreal elation he felt upon uncovering it pops like a soap bubble. 

“...it’s very out of tune. Will be expensive to move.”

“Yeah, but it’s a pretty thing though, innit? You said you play, right? Hell, I bet Mac could tune it, if you give him enough time--”

“I would be opposed to any form of tinkering on a Steinway. Besides, I’m sure he has more than enough projects.”

“Sounds like you’re protective of her, she got a name?”

“...Claudius,” It would seem silly, admitting that name to MacGyver. But since Jack asked, and would likely have no idea of the context...

“Not a lady piano, huh? Not that I ever owned a piano, most I ever played was a beat-up sax. But say, we’ll figure out what to do with this after you tell me what’s to be done with all the silverware, huh? Put it all together and I think we could really attract some high-class people to fly at Dalton Air, say maybe you could cook…?”

Murdoc slowly closes the piano, settled by listening to Dalton prattle. What did it matter, where Claud-- where the piano ended up, really? It had been years since Murdoc had even pulled off the piano’s velvet. 

Still, when they came across an old folio of Chopin, Murdoc did have at least one object to start a box marked to take home.

#my fic #MacGyver 1985 #macgyver #murdoc #jack dalton #mactrio #fluff #mac fluffic