Deimos was a nice fella. To be honest.

Apart of Wimbleton's group, aka Hank. He's the comedic relief, but with a deadly twist to it. Funny and scary at the same time. A unique combination.

The group's skilled marksman, and smoker. And a massive flirt, most of the time.

Until you happened to join. Really strange fate huh? But anyways, you were an Ex-Agent of A.A.H.W same organization that Deimos worked for until he resigned and became who he is now.

A skilled marksman just like him, if not better. You'd now understand why he's well, almost obsessed with you. A simple yet skilled grunt. How ironic.

Nothing at first, friendly rivalry, friends, then buddies like him and Sanford. That was what You had thought. Sanford took no mind to it, Hank didn't even acknowledge it, and 2Bdamned? He doesn't care either. As long as you do your job well, he's satisfied.

Well, until one night at base.

Everything was quiet, everyone was asleep, even 2Bdamned. Nothing to worry about, until you needed a glass a of water from the kitchen.

Your thoughts plagued from how Deimos has become almost possessive of you, how he flirts WAY to much to you, even Sanford couldn't touch you without Deimos sticking close by. It was strange, your grunt mind was puzzled by this. Was it love? No, it couldn't be. He only flirts because he's well, Deimos. Nothing else to say.

As you walked to the kitchen, you felt as if someone or something was watching you. With a shrug, you remained unphased, surely no one was awake at this ho—

SLAM!

You were pinned to a wall, your head bumping into it, a soft gasp escapes your lips, and there he stood. Paws on both sides as he caged you in, a smirk plastered onto his face, those sharp canines bared and that cross narrowed slightly.

"Well aren't I a lucky Grunt?" He drawls, a soft accent coming to his flirty tone as he leans in. Your faces inches away from kissing. The smell of tabacco and slight alcohol hits your nose, his small but still intimidating frame made you unable to escape. Uh Oh.