#PART 10

[dcxdpdabbles]

Any chance on an update for passion for fashion? The more I read it the weirder I get about my own fashion, and I'm excited to see where I end up lol

Dan's spine jerks into a straight line as if someone had pressed a buzzer to it, sending shockwaves of unease throughout his body. The startling shock is so severe that he drops the needs he holds in his mouth. The metal clacks softly against the kitchen tile, echoing in the silence of the house.

He stands perfectly still, straining his ears for any hints of a threat. His hands are still poised to lift the fabric, but he hears nothing besides the steady bump of his heart, the soft noise of passing cars, and his own breathing. He starts to relax his muscles despite his instincts screaming that something is wrong when he realizes what the silence also means.

The brat wasn't in the house.

Dan knew Danny had been a little upset about the bomb in their chests, starting to become more active, but there wasn't much either of them could do. They haven't found Batman, much less save his humanity, and it seemed that Clockwork would finally end his little game.

Dan hadn't told Danny, but from the very beginning, he knew neither of them would survive this mission. There was no situation in which they would be successful.

How could Dan, a being that has long ago forgotten to be human, save someone's humanity? How could Danny, a child in the eyes of many, know what was needed to keep someone from becoming a monster?

Danny thought Clockwork was a kind god who only wanted the best for the multiverse. Strapping a bomb to their core, non-standing, the boy thought of Clockwork as good. Dan had enough years under his belt as an all-powerful ghost to know not to look at beings of Clockwork's level with expectations of human concepts such as morality.

Yes, Clockwork had stepped in to preserve the timeline, but if he had genuinely cared about the lives lost and the pain Dan had caused, he would have stepped in from the beginning. Even with nearly all life on Earth wiped out by Dan, Clockwork had not moved from his Tower because, despite what humans believed, time did not need them.

Clockwork had been seen before and during humans and likely already knew what life would be like after humans. If he cared about the value of preserving life, he would have never allowed other animals to go extinct, would have stopped tragedies, and maybe would have created a task force to keep others from feeling harm.

But he doesn't.

It's simple; Clockwork was a god of time, not life, and time is never a kind thing. It's not even a cruel thing. It's just...is.

That's why Dan hadn't taken the mission seriously from the very beginning. While Danny was out and about exploring, trying to gather information and leads, he let himself sink into his role as a fashion designer. He devoted all his waking hours—and wasn't that a pain? Having to sleep, eat, and shower again—ugh—to researching, designing, and crafting everything this world had to offer in fashion.

He knew his expiration date was likely coming soon, so Dan chose to use it on something that brought him joy. It's been a long time since he felt ecstatic about anything. He felt an Obsession take root in his soul, and Dan felt content with his impending end.

Why fight for a world they would never see? Dan's family's survival had created a time paradox, wiping his crimes from existence. That was true, but the fact that he remained was a problem. Clockwork had already pulled him out of time, keeping him locked up in the Fenton Thermos for two years, waiting for Dan to vanish.

When he failed to do so, Clockwork realized that the time paradox would be permanent, and if left unchecked, it would slowly grow into a black hole. The Ancient hated dealing with black holes. In Clockwork's own words, they were such a bother to clean.

Dan had to live with the fact that he now knew every black hole was an entire world that had collapsed due to time and that the being of time regarded it with the same importance as mud tracked into his house. He may have destroyed his own world, but at least he cared when he did it.

Danny didn't know that, though. The kid was still too young to really understand how the Ancients worked. He never even questioned what the being had been doing when the last king was running around bringing everything under his tyrannical rule.

Dan hadn't been human in a long time. He had forgotten what it felt like to need to eat, drink, sleep, and, most of all, protect a child's innocence from the reality of war. With each passing day in Gotham, he felt himself reminded, like a forgotten song from his childhood, and the more effort he watched Danny put into finding Batman, the more he realized time was almost up.

He threw himself into this fashion contest because he wanted his last few days to be happy.

Clockwork had even been thoughtful enough to send him an attractive EverBurning, despite nothing coming about it because of his new age. (Though that just made Killer hotter. A man who wasn't a creep with kids was so attractive). Dan hadn't dated much when he went mad, and it would have been nice to explore the options of the Realms, but he was a dead man walking.

He was a bomb ready to explode.

tic tic tic tic

He grimaces, placing a hand over his chest. The timer was reaching its end, and he knew that somewhere out in the city, Danny realized he was in danger, too.

The ticking sped up. It moved so fast against his core that his chest physically ached with each slight twitch. Breathing through his nose- what a gross feeling he can't believe he needed it to survive again- Dan works through the pain.

He stumbles away from the mannequin. It was supposed to be his final piece for the contest. A circus theme.

Something extravagant that you couldn't wear out in the street. He took this to mean more of a costume, like what he saw in those Miss Universal culture costumes.

Dan had been making it a suit, using the iconic circuit red and white pattern with wings. Danny was going to strut to the end of the runway, hold up his wings to display acrobats, and when he moved, it would appear as if the preforms would be flying across his back.

It involved a lot of carefully placed reflect threads and tricks of the yes, but he managed to pull it off; it would be perfection. He had been excited about the big reveal

Dan glanced around his home, his eyes ranking over the fabrics and hastily drawn designs tapped to the walls. It had become a safe haven, a comfortable nest that he knew would one day be a grave, but now that the time had come, he was sad this would be his last sight.

tic tic tic tic

Danny was likely out there trying to run from the inevitable. Dan could picture him grabbing his chest and begging the bomb to stop. He would tease the boy if it wasn't in such poor taste.

Dan looks back at his unfinished masterpiece. A sense of dread and regret pools in his stomach, making his arms feel heavy. He still forces himself to pick up his needle and goes back to threading.

His fingers were no longer steady; they shook far too much, but he pushed through the sluggish feeling and carefully added more lines to the little boy he had added. He heard the final judge was once an acrobat with his family.

He figured he could use some personal points with him. A sad smirk graces his lips as the ticking gets louder and louder, drowning out the sound of his human heart. A wave of fear rocks him nearly off his feet.

Only when the screaming starts does he realize it wasn't just his human body being annoying and inconvenient with its emotional outburst. Instead, the feeling of his legs trembling was due to his house being rocked as someone had broken his door by smashing through it.

Whoever they were also seemed to have gotten a good chunk of the wall. It left a massive hole in his home, which he just knew Danny would find a way to blame him for.

Hey, at least avoiding the stupid lecture from the actual kid was one positive of his pending death!

Dan doesn't bother waving away the dust that kicks up, even if his human eyes burn with the urge to slam them close.

He stays rooted to his spot, half glancing over his shoulder as a tall, muscular man stands from the rumble. Besides the dust that covers him, the stranger doesn't seem to be affected by running through solid walls- Dan was pretty sure the house Clockwork gifted them was so old that it was built of pure bricks.

Or maybe his luchador mask was hiding a grimace of pain.

He's standing in the kitchen, meaning he has a perfect view of the living room and the stranger glancing around. Dan could keep watching him, rush out, and fight the idiot disrespecting their haunt and him, but what use would that be? There was no need to follow ghost traditions.

He was dying very soon, and he wanted to finish the suit's wings.

Dan turns back to his work, ignoring the approaching footsteps. There is a soft gasp as the home invader stands behind him, saying nothing as Dan carefully threads one, two, or three more lines. The silence is loaded, heavy with an emotion he has no mental capacity to understand.

The silence stretches on for a few minutes as Dan threads more until the stranger clears his throat pointingly.

Without turning around, Dan scoffs, "Unless you're about to apologize for breaking my house, shut the hell up."

"I thought you were in danger," the man huffs as if embarrassed and amused in equal parts. "I wasn't really thinking when I broke down the wall."

"Makes sense. You look like the kind of man that doesn't think too often." Dan acknowledges with a head nod.

The luchador laughs heartily. "You have your mother's sharp tongue."

"What do you know about my mother?"

Another long pause, just enough for Dan's chest to ache with another tidal wave of ticking as if the bomb wanted him to know it was attached to his very soul. He rocks slightly to the side, his vision going blurry, but he snaps his head back to his work. He needs to finish.

"I know she was the only woman I ever loved, and I should have gone back for her."  The Spanish catches Dan off guard. He's gotten so used to only speaking that language with Danny, as he rarely left his house, and at the Fashion competitions, they were the only Spanish speakers.

Pausing in his work, he twists around to study the Luchador, only to realize the man has walked closer. He was unnecessarily close, and if Dan were a lesser man, he would have stepped back.

But Dan hadn't been a mere man in the last two decades, so he stood his ground. A hint of pride blooms in the masked man's eyes as he frowns at him.

He tilts his head back, staring upwards at the man towering over him, at least three heads taller than Dan—though that would have been different if he were still in his original body. The stranger would only be one head taller.

"Who are you?" Dan demands.

"My name is Bane." The man reveals with gusto that hearing a four-letter name was a great honor. "And I am your father."

Dan stares momentarily, thinking the words are so stupid that he doesn't know what else to do. Bane mistakes his silence for a shock because he starts telling an insane story of being born to serve his father's life sentence in prison, growing up in prison, and being forced to undergo experiments with a drug called Venom.

How Bane broke out of the prison and killed anyone in his way on the way out in his late teens. He survived on the streets, dodging bounty hunters and the poison of Santa Prisca's general populace.

Until he encountered a young, untrained witch who could take him down with her pitiful spells that relied on death magic. She only had one spell book and half the time, the spells didn't even work, but she never let that stop her, using her fists and metal pipe when her spells failed. The two join forces to take down the prison and their labs permanently.

Bane did it for revenge for his childhood they stole from him, and the witch did it to try and find her brother, who went missing years ago. They found him before Venom could be pumped into his system, and the three lived together for a few years until the brother escaped to America after they got into trouble with someone far more dangerous than a corrupted scientist and prison.

Bane followed a few years after, breaking the young witch's heart in a foolish effort to make something bigger of himself. He had asked her to marry him and go with him to America, but she had refused because she had learned he was going to the States to create a crime empire. She was tired of evil men bringing their crimes into her life.

He found out much later he left her alone pregnant with a bounty higher than anyone else on that island. To protect her children, she vanished.

"I tried to go back," Bane whispers. "I tried to find her, make it up to her. Even if she would not marry me, at least bring her somewhere safe. By the time I was able to pick up her tail, it was too late. She was gone. All that was left of her were her two twin sons. She gave her life to make sure you got here safely. I didn't approach you because she also didn't want my dirty work to ruin your lives."

Dan holds up a hand, voice in a flat, deadpan, " Wow, that's so sad. You have the wrong pair of twins."

Bane shakes his head. "I understand you find it hard to believe. But I know your mother was Marina, just as you are mine."

"Her name was Madeline." Dan corrected with a scoff, "She wasn't some damsel in distress that you're painting her out to be. She could kick your ass."

Bane laughs almost sadly. "She always did."

Right.

"Look, I have a suit I need to finish, so unless you have a DNA test to prove your story, I'm going to-"

"I already checked our DNA." Bane cuts him off, stepping closer. "I can show it to you later. But for now, we have to go. Your brother was taken this afternoon, and it's not safe-"

Dan reels back a fist, letting it fly straight into Bane's chin. The man flies back, releasing a grunt of pain when he slams against another wall- causing it to crumble. Good thing he was dying. It would be such to be homeless. He huffs out a breath, twisting back to his suit.

He should include more metallic shimmering red fabric instead of a bright shade of red. He pinches a roll between his fingers, squinting down at it when he feels something stab him in the neck.

"I'm sorry. I failed Marina once. I won't do it again." Bane says somewhere to his left. Dan doesn't have time to respond before he feels a liquid fire pushed through his veins.

He glances at the needle sticking out of his neck with eerie calm. "Rude."

His world turns black as the ticking in his chest comes to a scorching stop. Somewhere, an Ancient smiles as his game pieces fall into place for the final curtain call.

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

It was halfway through his shift the next day, just after he'd come back from lunch, that the anonymous tip came through. Dick had frozen when he heard it, but only slightly because the others were brushing it off as a prank call.

"'Blockbuster's after someone named Oracle,'" Officer Diaz had scoffed, "What a joke. Aren't kids supposed to know that their stupid prank calls clog the system? What if someone who actually had useful information had needed to call, huh?"

Dick didn't mention that that isn't how the tip system works, nor did he eve attempt to scold the officer for brushing it off, no matter how stupid it seemed. No, instead, he was stuck in his thoughts.

Blockbuster is after Oracle. Why is he after Oracle? It doesn't make sense! No one in Bludhaven, save for himself, should no who she is! Besides, he'd kept all of the attention on himself. No one was able to even think about the heroes or rogues in Gotham without him knowing! Or, so he'd thought. How does Blockbuster know Oracle's name? More importantly at the moment was who sent the tip.

There was another scoff from one of the others. Did he say that out loud? "Look, I know you're new and everything, but shouldn't you know the mean of 'anonymous'?"

He forced himself out of his head, rubbing his neck with his left hand with a fake smile. "Yeah, I do. I guess I'm just a bit out of it today."

"Well, get your head back in the game," Detective Soames snapped, hitting a file on the back of Dick's head, "File that for me, then file the rest on my desk."

"Yes, sir," Dick took the file, ignoring the snickers and snide remarks from his coworkers.

He knows he's not going to be able to fully focus on anything for the rest of the day, possibly not even until after he finds out who sent that tip and how Blockbuster knows Oracle's name.

Oracle. Dick knows she can handle herself, but he doesn't like the fact that anyone knows her name. Not even B knows about Oracle! Babs had spent so much time and energy keeping her online persona from B so that she could have at least something of her own that Dick had taken it upon himself to erase traces connecting him to Oracle. She didn't deserve to have Batman on her ass, nor did she deserve to have Nightwing's enemies go after her!

He shook himself back into the present with a soft sigh. He'll call Barbra as soon as he gets home.

***

"Danny!" Dick calls into the apartment, knowing full well that the kid is in the kitchen, "I'm home!"

"Welcome back," Danny responds from where he's standing at the stove. He, Dick realizes, does not sound happy.

He hangs his coat up on the hooks he installed beside the door, his shoes going on the rack below them. "You good? You sound a bit upset?"

"I am upset." Danny, after getting comfortable around him, has stopped sugar-coating his words, being brutally honest. Dick blinks. "I was going to message Tim, but I saw a lack of apologies from you."

Oh. Dick had meant to do what Danny said last night and apologise to that Tim kid for snapping at him, but he had been a lot more tired than usual and it had slipped his mind. "I was going to use my phone?"

"You don't have his number."

Another thing Dick had come to learn about Danny in the few weeks they'd been living together was that he can't be lied to. He somehow picks up on lies, so even Dick's best efforts - that have fooled even Batman! - are always thwarted.

"I meant to," Dick said, sitting on one of the new barstools at he island counter, "But I was really tired last night."

Danny sighed. "Because you were out longer than you're now used to." He turned the burner off, moving the pan to sit on the hotpad beside it. "You're body's gotten used to only being out for eight hours during the day and six hours at night. You going out for eight hours last night wore you out more than usual because you're no longer used to your seventeen hour work days."

Dick tilted his head, accepting the bowl of soup he was given. "But it's only been a few weeks?"

"It only takes eighteen days for your body to get used to a routine." He said, placing a bowl of homemade rolls on the island. "After about sixty-six days, it becomes habitual."

"But it hasn't been sixty-six days."

"No, but it has been twenty-one days."

He hesitated for a moment. "Has it really been only that long?" Then, "Have you been counting?"

Danny blushed, sitting beside Dick with his own bowl of soup. "I've been keeping track of your schedule, which means I gotta keep a calendar. I haven't been counting on purpose."

Dick smiled, eating the soup. As usual, it was really good. The first week of Danny's stay, he'd asked where he'd learned to cook, but Danny had given a non-answer, saying only that his parents couldn't make anything edible that wasn't fudge or cookies.

After they had both finished eating, Dick's portions and appetite being larger than Danny's because of the calories he burns as Nightwing, they settled into a nice quiet. Dick had changed from his uniform into sweats and a T-shirt while Danny had chosen a movie. Then, Dick cleaned up dinner and Danny changed into a hoodie and sweats.

"We still need to take you shopping," Dick pointed out when they were both sitting on the couch, ready to start the movie.

Danny shook his head. "Letting me stay here is already enough. Besides, your old clothes work perfectly fine."

"But you're room's so empty! And my clothes don't even fit you!"

There was a pause like Danny was thinking. Dick had the feeling he might not like whatever was going to be said next.

He was right.

"I'll let you take me shopping next week," Danny agreed, "if we go to Gotham tomorrow so that you can apologise to Tim in person."

Dick's jaw twitched. He didn't want to go to Gotham. Going to Gotham meant that he'd inevitably run into Bruce. He wanted to stay far away from that man.

Then again, he'd promised Alfred to come by some time. And, it'd be nice to see Barbra and Jim again. Maybe he could have Alfred make sure Bruce wouldn't be in the Manor?

"So?" Danny promted.

He sighed. "You're evil, y'know that?"

His grin said it all. "I could be so much worse."

"Please don't."

"Don't give me a reason."

Part 9 Part 11

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 10

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: And we’re back! In today’s episode, we have a very special guest. 😉

Also, just so you guys know, my podcast interview with the Idling in the Impala podcast is now live! For all the timestamps of key moments, fic recs, and SPN writer shoutouts, see this post (you'll find the link to the video there too).

Song Inspo: “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak

Word Count: 6.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, angst, drug use, PTSD, violence, and another big reveal…

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

Part 10: I Need a Hero

Revenge could wait for one more day.

It all can wait, Ben thought. Despite how vehement he was yesterday, today, he was reminded of how good it felt to sleep in a warm bed with a beautiful woman. 

He laid there behind you, on his side. He’d woken up to the sound of music somewhere downstairs, maybe in the dining room.

What time is it? It was hard to remember to keep track of that now, even with the digital clock on the nightstand. It was only midnight, but to his body, it felt like morning.

You were dead asleep. Occasionally you let out soft hums, and other semi-arousing sounds. His lips tugged upward.

Still moans in her sleep.

He drew down the comforter and sheets slowly from your back. He was greeted by smooth skin, except where some marks had been made permanent. His fingers traced carefully over a rough, scarred patch of skin above your hip, as if you had been tased there repeatedly.

His jaw clenched. He could still remember the sounds he used to hear—your screams through the walls of the compound. He remembered when you eventually stopped begging for it all to stop.

“You’re saying this is my fucking fault?!” he said. “Yes! It is your fault. Because you’re too much of a mean, callous, arrogant, entitled, selfish, fucking asshole to see that everybody hates you!” you spat. 

For so long after that day, he hated you. He told himself that he didn’t give a shit about whatever was happening to you, because you clearly didn’t give a shit about him.

But the long months wore on to longer years, alone in the dark. Too often, your words would rattle through his head, reach through his chest with ragged claws. No matter how much he fought it, all he had time to do when he was alone, was think.

He vacillated between stubborn, angry indignation, and rethinking every interaction he had with you, with Countess, the rest of the team, and beyond. Slowly, he allowed himself to retrace his steps. If only in his mind, he began to regret certain things…at least where it came to you.

Ignoring you was both harder and easier, since he couldn’t see you.

That all changed a few days ago.

Eisenstein returned to his cell, but this time he wasn’t alone. Two guards held you bound and gagged. You were just as shocked to see him as he was you.

It felt like he was suspended in time.

He saw the signs of aging in your face, but it didn’t matter. Even now, you were beautiful.

The spell of it broke when they threw you down onto the metal table usually reserved for him. He saw now that they had you in a straitjacket to keep your hands covered. The anger built inside him, almost incandescent in his veins.

“What the fuck is this?”

 The doctor held a glass syringe in his gloved hand. He drew closer to you with slow, measured steps.

A realization soon dawned on Ben, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. He saw your terror, the way you wordlessly pleaded with him, asking for help with your eyes.

Part of him still hated you, but he couldn’t take it. He wouldn’t allow this sick bastard to hurt you again. Not right the fuck in front of him.

You were still his.

His hand traveled down your bare shoulder, over the gentle slope of your side, and down the curve of your hip under the covers. You shifted and hummed, edging toward wakefulness. Ben settled in from behind, protectively embracing his body around yours in a perfect fit. He began kissing along your neck, slowly.

“Hmmm I’m sleeping,” you said, keeping your eyes closed. He smirked. His lips became more insistent, along with his hand spanning your thigh.

“Wake up, then,” he said. He teased the shell of your ear with his tongue, dragged your earlobe between his teeth. You shivered.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you retorted, smiling.

Ben huffed. “Yeah, keep being a fucking brat. That’ll get me to stop.”

His beard rasped against your skin as his lips found a path down the column of your throat. Acquiescing to open your eyes, you sighed, tilting your head back to give him more room. Meanwhile, his cock pressed insistently against your ass.

You smirked and shifted your hips, grinding back against him. “Maybe I like working you up.”

“Oh yeah?” He moved your thigh over his to spread your legs for him. There the warm, blunt tip of his cock pressed at your entrance, nudging you open with shallow thrusts. You moaned in response, reaching back to slip a hand in his hair.

You were a wanton little thing, he thought, even as he reached around to bury his fingers in your pussy. Already finding wetness between your folds, he gathered some of it and rolled your clit smoothly between his fingers. You gasped his name, your hips bearing down against him.

He took the opportunity to sheathe himself all the way inside you, until his hips were snug against your ass. You made a sound of pleasure that had his balls clenching on reflex. Your voice was a curse, even without your powers.

For once, he fucked into you slowly, with long, unhurried strokes that still managed to rock the bed. Ben was surprised the frame and springs hadn’t given up yet.

“You’re fucking mine, you hear me?” he said, close to your ear. He punctuated his words with deeper thrusts. “Say you understand.”

“Yes,” you agreed on a gasp.

“Yes, what?” He laid more tantalizing kisses along your neck and jawline. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours,” you said, in a coarse whisper. Ben claimed your lips in a kiss, before he kept moving inside you in languid strokes.

You were a moaning mess, your eyes squeezed shut. You grabbed at your breasts and kneaded them yourself, rolling and pinching your nipples. He strummed more insistently on your clit, until he felt your inner walls finally start to throb around him.

Your orgasm hit you in a slow, long wave as you pressed your face into your pillow. And you clenched so impossibly tight on his cock, it triggered his release as well. His arm curled around your middle and pressed you tight against him as he uttered a sharp grunt. He finished hot inside you, panting heavily into your neck afterward.

“Well, good morning,” you quipped, despite trying to catch your breath as well.

Ben’s hazy reverie broke into a chuckle. He dropped a lingering kiss onto your shoulder.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he corrected.

You shrugged. “Whatever.”

When he pulled out of you, you shivered a little. He rolled onto his back, and regardless of the mess in the sheets, you turned over to rest your elbow on his pillow, leaning over him.

“I should probably tell you something,” you said.

He eyed you in suspicion. “What now?” 

You smiled and laid a hand on his chest, dragging your nails through the fuzz there.

“My family’s from Brooklyn, not a small town in Indiana,” you confessed. "Made it up to make me seem more...down to earth. Doe-eyed and likeable."

Ben’s brows shot up. He took a moment to process that information, then he shook his head.

“Fucking figures.” His arm lowered to curl around your lower back, caging you against him.

“I grew up in a brownstone that we had to share with two other families,” you said.

“So you were broke.”

“Yep. When I was born, my family spent all their savings to contract with Vought, to give me Compound V,” you explained. “Their plan was something like, if I became a famous superhero one day, I’d bring us out of our shitty life.”

Ben sighed, shaking his head. “So they pimped you out to Vought.”

“Essentially,” you said. You paused. He could see it was difficult for you, but you talked more about your life—the expectations from your parents, the training, the grueling schedules and the robbing of your childhood. 

“When my mom died, I…I realized just how much they took from me,” you said, gazing up at him. “Isn’t that horrible?”

Again, Ben shook his head. His hand had been caressing up and down your back, but it stopped now. Part of him was still reluctant, but he told you about the biggest lie of his life. That he hadn’t grown up poor or struggling. That his father practically owned half of Pennsylvania, and Ben had been a spoiled rich kid. He’d also gotten kicked out of boarding school after starting a fight.

“My father said I wasn’t worthy of his name,” he said, with a wry turn of his lips. “So I went out, talked to some of his golf buddies in the War department, and got myself into the Vought program. I became Soldier Boy.”

You listened with rapt attention. Not interrupting him, just giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“When I came home after the war, my mother was just as proud as she’d ever been,” he recounted. But he didn’t smile. “My father took a good look at me, maybe for the first time in my life. And you know what he said?”

You gave him a questioning look, silently prodding.

“He said I took a short cut. ‘A real man wouldn’t have cheated,’” he said.

When he eventually met your gaze, you at least didn’t look pitying. Just understanding.

“I guess we both have daddy issues, huh?” you said.

Ben shook his head. Then he eyed you. “You don’t look that surprised by all this.”

You smiled, a little sheepish. You stroked your thumb across his chin.

“I can sense when a man is lying to me, remember?” you said pointedly. “I clocked you a long time ago, pal. Mostly any time you told some fake war story... You didn't fight in the war, did you?”

He frowned in offence, even though you both knew he couldn’t deny it.

"I was there," he said.

You gave him a knowing look. "Ben."

"I fucking would've, all right, but by the time I got there it was pretty much..." He waved a dismissive hand. His brows were crunched along with his worsening frown. You felt his embarrassment, and as a result, his agitation. You were glad to finally get the truth in his own words, but you didn't want to work him up in that way either.

You tried softening him with a kiss to his cheek. You rubbed a soothing hand over his arm.

“So what do you want to do when we get our lives back?” you asked, purposefully changing the subject. “After the whole payback thing.”

Ben sat up with you against the headboard. His upset slowly faded away with your ministrations, your gentle touch, and his expression fell into contemplation.

“I always thought I had time, but uh…I thought I’d eventually settle down. Have a couple of rugrats of my own. Raise a family,” he said. “Thought I could do it better than my old man.”

You tilted your head at him with a certain measure of surprise. Out of everything he might’ve said, that one didn’t occur to you. Although, with his upbringing, you supposed it made sense. You smiled.

“You might have a few of those out there somewhere,” you said.

He chuckled. “I've always thought so.”

He looked at you in a way he hadn’t before, a bit gentler, with something else you couldn’t name. Your face warmed as something fluttered in your lower belly.

“So tell me then. What do you want?” he asked.

Once you worked through that bit of nerves, you thought about his question. It took you longer than you thought it would to come up with an answer, but when you did, it was the most honest thing you could think of.

“I want to be happy.”

He paused, not expecting that answer. Then he nodded, with a short hum.

You sighed. “Okay, if you really want to go after Vought, I think I have an idea of where we should start.”

I can’t believe it. This thing still fits me pretty well, you thought. You twisted in the mirror to examine yourself in your old black and violet supe suit, though you didn't bother with the mask.

Meanwhile, Ben was already with your generous host, sat with widespread legs on the couch while he smoked a large blunt. His smoke coiled out lazily.

“You gotta believe me, I didn’t know what they were planning,” said Arthur Cohen. AKA: The Legend. He had been forced into a chair, though Ben hadn’t bothered tying him up. The man knew better than to make a false move. He was a decade older, and lucky for him, even wiser.

His penthouse apartment in New York looked more or less the same. Hit records and old successful movie posters adorned the walls, like a true has-been.

“Yeah, you said that fifty fucking times already,” Ben snarked. “What you haven’t said, is why.”

“To be honest, I never asked,” Arthur said. His expression soured. “Stillwell and Stan Edgar shivved me out of that decision, those uppity fucks. Then they got me fired on some technicality.”

“Allegations of embezzlement, or so I heard,” you said, reentering the room.

Arthur raised a finger. “Not true. That money was well earned backpay.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You know I know you’re lying, right?” You approached the men and crossed your arms. “What’s the lay of the land now?”

“Well, Stillwell’s the new me. Stan’s the new CEO. They disbanded Payback after you disappeared. The others are either working new gigs or are in early retirement. But I heard Vought’s working up to creating a new team.”

You nodded and shared a glance with Ben. He looked a little too chilled out right now. Apparently, Arthur had the good stuff.

“Before we jump into the frying pan with this, I want to go see my family,” you said. “Would you…want to go with me?”

Ben blew out more smoke, gesturing at Arthur. “I’ll keep this one company until he finds our old team. Make sure he doesn’t fuck off to Rio.”

You felt the sting of disappointment, but you sighed and agreed.

“Just…wait for me to get back before you go anywhere,” you said. You saw Ben prickle a little at being “told” what to do. You lowered down to his lips.

“Please?” you said, plying him with a kiss, and a gentle squeeze of his hand. “I’ll be back soon.”

He tightened his hand on yours. His gaze drew over you, briefly with more clarity through his high.

“Fine,” he said. “Be careful.”

You nodded with a smile, giving him one more kiss goodbye.

Your father was the longer drive north than your brother’s house in Queens, so you headed up to find the former first after borrowing a car from Arthur. According to him, your father had moved upstate to Albany after your “death.” 

Now, you understood why.

He lived in a two-story house on a whole acre of land, complete with three cars, a pool, and oh yeah, his new girlfriend. She looked good hanging off his arm in Atlantic City, as you saw from a picture on the wall—after you broke into the house, that is. To be fair, they’d left the sliding glass door open in the backyard.

Your dad was dressed like he just got home from the golf course, walking over from the kitchen to the living room. He dropped his glass of wine in shock when he saw you standing there, admiring the only framed picture of you, your mother, and Chris on one of the display shelves. Glass shattered across the hardwood floor.

“Hey, Dad,” you said. You turned to him, not bothering to hide your disdain.

He gaped for a few seconds as he tried and failed to make his mouth work. He pointed at you with a shaking hand, your name finally falling from his lips.

“It’s a beautiful place,” you said. You gestured widely at your surroundings. “It’s nice to see that you finally got what you wanted.”

He tried to go to you, to embrace you, but you held out a hand. Your lips trembled as you fought the onslaught of your emotions. If he touched you, you might not have been able to control your actions.

“Did you give any of the settlement money to Chris and his family? Or did my death just make you rich,” you asked.

Your father’s eyes closed. He released a heavy sigh before he was able to meet your gaze again.

“He wouldn’t take any of it,” he admitted.

Your tears stung in your eyes as you smiled a little. “Sounds like him.”

“Where have you been?” he asked. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

Again, he tried to get closer to you, and again, you held him off.

“The only thing I need from you is to keep doing what you’re doing,” you said. “Keep living your life like you no longer have a daughter.”

With that, you stalked out of the house and shot out the door, back to your car, no matter how much he called out after you. You got into the driver’s seat and beat the wheel once, twice, venting your frustrations. But you forced yourself to take in deep breaths to calm yourself. You wiped the tears from your eyes.

He wasn’t worth it.

You wondered if you should go see Chris though. Would it be safe for him and his family? Was Vought watching them as a contingency, if you ever escaped?

You weren’t sure. You rucked through your purse lying in the passenger seat for the weird “cell” phone Arthur had lent you. You wanted to check in with Ben first, before you went anywhere else.

You started to dial, but a gloved hand shot out and injected a needle into your neck. You startled at the sharpness and the feeling of a chemicals rushing through your body. Your eyes darted to the rearview mirror.

All you saw was a blurry, black mask.

Meanwhile, Ben was fucking plastered.

He had been ever since you left yesterday morning. In his unrest, he’d moved on to a handful of whatever opiates Arthur kept in his medicine cabinet.

Christ I’m fucking bored.

He glanced down at the phone in his lap. The one Arthur gave him, along with a list of numbers that had been taped to the fridge. The first number on the list was the cell phone you were carrying. Ben read the rest of them.

Pizza place. Chinese. Swedish massage—hmm, there’s an idea. Handy man. BEST escort service…

Ben rose a brow. An inebriated smile curved his lips.

“What makes it the best escort service?” he asked, and loudly. Enough that Arthur came over from where he’d been making calls in his office, trying to find the rest of his former teammates’ whereabouts.

Arthur raised a brow at him. “You sure that’s a good idea right now?”

Ben shot him a terse warning look. The other man raised his hands.

“Eh, I’m three times divorced. What do I know?” he said, but he sighed and gave Ben a long look. “It just seems to me that you and Sirena got a good thing goin’, that’s all.”

The thought of you managed to cut through the haze of drugs clouding Ben’s mind. He frowned.

“That’s how Missus #1 caught me, with one of my ex-assistants in the jacuzzi,” Arthur said, with a mild grimace on his face. “She got that house in the divorce. Well, that and the kids.”

Ben looked over at him blankly.

Heaving a sigh, Arthur went back to his office.

Ben glanced down at the list of numbers in his hand, and the cell phone in the other. What the fuck was taking you so long then?

He dialed the first number on the list—your number. It rang several times, but you never answered. He called you again, waited a few minutes, then called you a third time. You weren’t answering.

His frown worsened, along with a suspicious prickling up his spine. Fuck...

He'd felt it the moment he let go of your hand, but he'd been too out of his mind to actually listen to his instincts; the same ones that warned him not to let you out of his sight. And more importantly, not to let you go.

He got up from the couch and stormed into Arthur’s office, shoving the door open. Arthur jumped in his seat. 

“What? What’s the matter?”

“She’s not picking up the fucking phone,” Ben said. He paused. “Something’s wrong.”

Arthur didn’t ask him the predictable question: how do you know? He just took in the look on the supe’s face and knew it wouldn’t be wise arguing. He tried calling your father's home, but all the man would say was, "She left. She's gone."

Arthur hung up with the man, and for a long moment, he sat pensively while Ben angrily paced the small office, like a tiger confined in its enclosure.

“It’s possible that Vought knows you guys made it back,” Arthur said. At the dark look on Ben’s face, the other man rubbed his chin with a sigh. “Okay. I’ll try to track her down for ya. In the meantime, I’ve got Countess’s address. Maybe she'll even have an idea of where to look for Sirena.”

He slid a piece of paper toward Ben across his desk. He grabbed it, pointing a threatening finger at Arthur.

“Find her.”

You woke with a groan. You knew a drugging when you felt one, and this was it. Someone had given you a powerful sedative.

You were alone in a white padded cell, lying on a cot. It was all too familiar.

Except for the tall figure in black standing in the middle of the room, watching you. You gasped with a jolt, pressing your back against the wall after you sat up. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes.

“Irving?”

Black Noir stepped closer until he was sitting beside you on the cot. Tentatively, he raised a hand up to touch your cheek with gentle, gloved fingers.

Your shock gave way to anger. You slapped his hand away.

“What are you doing?!” you said sharply.

Noir backed off at once, as if you’d struck him a real blow. He got up, went over and grabbed a dry erase board that had been lying against the far wall, along with a marker off the floor. He wrote something down on it, then he showed you.

You shouldn’t have come back to NY.

You frowned, both at what he “said,” and in confusion. Why wouldn’t he just talk to you?

“What did you expect?” you asked incredulously. “For me and Ben just to disappear forever? To let you keep ruining our lives?”

Noir paused at that. He tilted his head with a long look at you. With your abilities, you were able to sense that he was disheartened, and even angry. He erased the board with his arm and wrote something else.

Do you love him?

You blinked at the question.

“Who?” you asked, even though you knew.

Soldier Boy

Emotion rose high in your throat, but you worked past it with a swallow, and a deep breath.

“That’s none of your business,” you said.

Noir just stared at you, his head tilting forward. The longer he stood there, watching you, waiting for an answer, the longer you prickled with unease.

He erased the board and wrote the same question again. He held it out for you to see, shaking it once in emphasis.

Do you love him?

You hesitated, but you didn’t want to lie anymore, even to yourself.

“Yes, I do,” you said. “I know what he’s done, believe me, but he isn’t a monster.”

Noir’s head twitched. You felt his anger intensify. He dropped the board onto the floor, startling you, but all he did next was slowly raise his hands to take off his helmet. He showed you what was left of his mottled, disfigured face—the burnt skin and the divot in his skull that had never fully healed.

Your mouth parted in shock as tears sprung in your eyes. You tried to avert them, but Noir stepped forward and grabbed your jaw, turning your face up to his and forcing you to look. Your lips trembled, but you met his gaze unflinchingly.

When he seemed to be satisfied, he released you and stepped back. He placed his helmet back on.

“I understand why you hate him,” you said at last. “But you made your choice when you let them take me too. You…you changed everything for me.”

You were satisfied to feel a lance of Noir’s guilt. You had scars too, and most of them weren’t physical.

“I’m not going to apologize for my choices now,” you said, with a firm glare. “So unless you’re going to kill me, you can fuck off, before I scramble what’s left of your head.”

Your eyes glowed with your power. You opened your mouth to begin your siren’s song, but Noir turned on his heel and exited the door, leaving you alone in the cell.

A fucking chimp sanctuary. Really? Ben thought as he broke into the boundary of the reserve. About a quarter mile into the tall grass, he found a large, if rundown country style house in the middle of the woods.

“Yes, Big Daddy. I’m almost ready for you. Just let me heat these up…”

Ben raised a brow, but he gritted his teeth and kicked through the front door. There she was, Crimson Countess in all her glory, holding a set of anal beads.

She gasped at the sight of him, but she ignored the “client” on speaker on her landline phone, and dropped the beads so she could aim a fiery blast at the intruder.

Ben jumped out of the way and tossed his shield. It hit her square in the chest and sent her flying back into the wall, destroying a bookshelf and the dining table. He walked over to it with slow, heavy steps.

She raised her head with a groan, but then, her eyes watered with disbelief…and fear, when she looked up at him.

“Ben?” she said. “My God…it’s really you, isn’t it? You... you look the same.”

“You don't,” he remarked. He lowered down to grab her by the collar of her suit and raise her out of the rubble.

“How much did the Russians pay you, Donna?” he asked calmly.

She struggled to escape, her nails scraping at his gloved hand. He tightened his hold.

“They didn’t,” she admitted. Tears leaked from her eyes under her mask.

“They didn’t pay you anything?” he said through clenched teeth. “Then why?”

You know why, came sneaking voice in his mind. He tried to pay it no heed, but Donna sneered at him.

“Because,” she spat. “I fucking hated you. We all did.”

Ben’s lips pulled at a humorless smirk. His chest prickled with heat. “I should’ve known you were a bunch of sniveling, backstabbing, fucking cowards.”

“Kill me then,” she taunted. “Is that gonna make you feel better? Going to make you feel less empty inside?”

Ben’s chest began to get that nuclear glow, but he managed to fight it down, back into embers.

“Not yet,” he said. He drew her in closer. She held onto his wrist, her feet scrambling over the debris on the floor.

“I need to find someone,” he said. “And you’re going to help me.”

Ben and Donna sat across from each other on her living room couch, with the landline sat between them. The phone was on speaker as it rang. The longer it took, the more annoyed he became.

“This better work,” he said. She gave him a flat look.

Finally, a woman answered the phone.

“Good afternoon. Stan Edgar’s office. How may I assist you?”

“Hi Gloria, it’s me, Donna,” she said. “I need to speak with Stan as soon as possible, please.”

“Ooh, I’m afraid he’s in a meeting.”

“Trust me, he’s going to want to take this call.”

“Hmm, I’m afraid his next availability isn’t until next week. And next month if you want an in-person meeting.”

“Just tell him to call me back asap!” She said, hanging up the phone in a huff. Ben gave her an unimpressed look.

“That was your big fucking plan?” he said.

She huffed. “You think breaking into Vought is going to be easy? Let alone finding that weasel. He’s got the best security money can buy, and by the way, finding where they’re keeping your little girlfriend isn’t going to be any easier. They could’ve stashed her literally anywhere by now.”

You think I don’t fucking know that? Ben got up from the couch with an angry breath. He turned away from her and rubbed at his beard in contemplation. He shouldn’t have let you go anywhere alone.

I should’ve been there. The thought gripped him, deep in his gut. Guilt was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling.

“We’re going to need help,” Donna said.

His bad mood took a turn for the worst. He glanced back at her.  

“What, the rest of the fucking Scooby gang?” he snarked.

“Or you can try going in alone, guns blazing,” she shrugged. Her sharpened gaze met his. “How fast do you think they’ll kill her, just to spite you?”

Ben’s jaw clenched. Donna leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms.

“Or worse. They’ll put you back in a box and ship you back to the Russians,” she said. Her snide smile had him clenching his teeth. “Either way, you’ll never see her again.”

With everything in his being, Ben wanted to fry this bitch to Kingdom Come.

“Get up,” he ordered. “Pack a bag. We’re leaving.”

Donna’s expression fell. “What?"

"You heard me!" he barked, grabbing her arm to pull Donna to her feet. "Get the fuck up."

She struggled against his grip. "Where’re we going?”

“To find those fucking Twins.”

They took her car, a tiny sedan. Evidently, the end of Payback hadn’t been good for Donna’s career. Arthur had told him that, irony of ironies, she now sang at a Soldier Boy tribute act at Voughtland to pay her bills. And as he’d seen earlier, she needed to pad her income in other ways.

She was driving them up to Vermont. It was going to take days, and Ben was already sick of her.

It was a small blessing when they stopped at a gas station in the nighttime. She gave him her credit card to buy some snacks for the road while she filled up the tank. (He took the keys with him as insurance that she wouldn't bolt with the car.)

He returned with a far bigger bag than she expected. She forgot what a human garbage disposal he could be. He tossed the card back at her.

“Your card’s maxed out, by the way,” he said.

She glared at him, but she endeavored to let it go with a sigh, raising a hand to her temple. How the fuck had this become her life?

To minimize being overheard, she stepped closer to him while the gas pump kept going on her car.

“Gunpowder is the easiest one to find next. Mindstorm’s probably hiding in a hole in the middle of the woods some-goddamn-where,” she said, keeping her voice down. She gave her unwanted companion a sly look. “Though I’m thinking you want Mindstorm to stay wherever he retired.”

It brought up an unsavory memory.

After the team turned on him, Mindstorm had been the one to lock his gaze on Ben. For a moment, his feet had been rooted to the ground while Mindstorm tried to shove him deep into his mind. It had given someone the opening to slip a mask of Novichok over his face. He suspected it had been Countess.

Now, Ben turned to her with a glare at her audacity.

“You know, for a massive cunt, you’ve got some brass balls,” he said dangerously. “How the fuck didn’t I see what a vindictive little snake you were from the beginning?”

Donna scoffed in derision.

“I’m vindictive? Says the cheating, lying, bastard,” she snapped.

“Oh, shut your hole. You knew what I was doing, and you didn’t give a shit,” he said with a glare. He leveled a finger at her. “You used me to get exactly what you fucking wanted. Fame, money, and all the perks that come with it.”

Her lips pursed, like she didn’t want to admit it. But if they were airing out dirty laundry, then she wasn’t pulling any more punches.

“Well, I wasn’t the only one. Was I?” she said. “Anyone who ever smiled at you, fawned over you, or sucked your dick was trying to get something from you. Or, they were scared of you. Because you’re a bully. A fucking monster. And sooner or later, Sirena won’t be able to stomach you anymore.”

The thin leash on his temper finally snapped. He reacted, reaching out to grab her by the throat. He was truly thinking about breaking her neck.

Donna choked for air and gripped his wrist. “Without me, you’ll have no one. Good…fucking…luck finding her.”

Ben was furious, but he battled it down, expelling a breath of frustration.

He released her. She coughed and gasped and stumbled a few feet away from him, glaring at him all the while through her fear.

When she was eventually able to stand again, she and Ben shared a look of mutual loathing, but also, of understanding.

It was an uneasy truce. For now.

You were quickly unraveling alone in the dark.

You felt the phantom cold of your old cell. No matter how you rubbed your arms through the leather of your supe suit, you couldn’t get warm. You released a shaky breath and swiped at your tears.

You missed Ben. He had to know by now that you were in trouble, but you didn’t know if he’d know how to find you. Or worse, if they found him first.

You steeled yourself and tried to calm your panic. You counted to thirty. Your eyes flit to every small detail of your cell that you could name: the small crack in the gray linoleum tile, the line of ants slowly creeping along the corner, the brittle wool blanket you were sitting on, laid over your cot.

When your breathing was steady, you tried to think. You didn’t know where you were, of course, but you could try to sense how big the building was.

You did something you rarely did. You cast your awareness outward as far as you could reach.

There were very few male energies, and you only picked up on a few scattered thoughts.

Until you found one. It felt…strong, but young. A kid?

Jesus Christ, what’re they doing in this place? you thought.

What…who’s there?

You heard the voice in your mind, small and afraid and lonely. Before you could answer him, the door of your cell opened to a few familiar faces.

There was an older man in a lab coat that you recognized, but you couldn’t place his name until you read his monogram. Vogelbaum. Followed by Stan Edgar and Black Noir, who came to stand behind you. You knew that if you made any wrong moves, Noir would kill you this time.

Quickly you read their energies as you observed them.

Vogelbaum gave off mild interest in you, but it felt clinical. Stan felt resigned and calculating as he took you in.

“For what it’s worth, I do wish it hadn’t come to this, Sirena,” Stan said. “We didn’t intend for you to get caught up our deal with Russia.”

He may have been telling the truth, but that didn’t mean you cared.

“You’re in the most secure lab we have,” he said, gesturing to your wall-to-wall cell without windows. “No one knows you’re here, and no one will find you.”

You smiled dryly. “So what do you want from me?”

“I want to know how you and Soldier Boy escaped the facility in Russia,” he said, gathering his hands behind his back.

What he really meant was, How did you escape? So we can make the next cell even more effective.

You leaned forward and spat at his shoes.

Black Noir grabbed you by the back of your neck and yanked you back. Your jaw clenched in anger, but you didn’t struggle. Even if you opened your mouth to sing, Noir would snap your neck before your powers had time to affect him.

Stan remained unaffected by your outburst, though he glanced down at his shoes.

“These are handmade Italian leather,” he remarked.

“Even if you find Ben, you’ll never be able to kill him,” you said tersely.

“We don’t need to kill him. Nor will we need to find him,” Stan said. “He’s already looking for you.”

Your eyes widened. Your heart swelled with both hope and dread, though you tried to hide it.

“We have a plan to neutralize him. Several, in fact,” he added, and spread his hands wide. “Until then…welcome home.”

Smug bastard. You glared back at him.

He left, along with Vogelbaum. Black Noir glanced back at you once, then he was gone.

The lights in your cell turned off, leaving you in darkness. You heaved a breath and couldn’t help the tears that found hot paths down your cheeks. You curled your knees up on the cot and held them to your chest.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could pretend the room wasn’t pitch black. You focused your breathing, in and out, until your heartbeat began to slow down from its panic.

The kid, you remembered.

You licked your dry lips and tried casting your awareness out again. When you found the familiar energy from before, you reached out to him.

Hey, are you there? you prodded.

Who the hell are you?

It’s okay. Don’t be scared, you said, and you gave him your name. Are you locked up here?

Y-Yeah.

I’m sorry to hear that. I am too.

How can you be talking to me…in my head?

Well, it’s complicated, you admitted. It’s a new power I’m trying out, thanks to my time as a human test subject.

Something told you this kid knew the feeling.

What’s your name? you asked.

Um…John. I’m John.

  AN: 🤭 Oh, yeah, we're going there.

How did you like getting Ben's perspective on things? And his "forced" team up with Countess to find the rest of the cast of Payback. 😬 What could possibly go wrong?

Next Time: 

Ben hated to admit it (so he wouldn’t), but she had a point. It took him a minute to wrangle in his ire, taking deep breaths to try and calm the power inside him. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

This time, it actually did.

His hand fell back to his side, letting the younger man breathe freely.

“Let’s go.” Ben turned on his heel and headed out.

“Where, uh…where’re we going?” Charlie asked, rubbing his sore neck.

“Looks like we’re getting the team back together,” Ben said grimly.

He tilted his head.

“Well. What’s left of it.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 11

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Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 10

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Summary: Messmer is stressed, and when he unravels, he becomes frustrated.

A/N: This chapter is labelled a spicy chapter 🌶️Warnings for this chapter: male masturbation

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Chapter 10: Undoing

"Leave me."

His personal knights, and his staff hurry out at once the tornado has made its way into his chambers, a mess of red that has consumed him body and soul.

He doesn't look back to know he's alone, he hears the many footsteps leave at once, shutting the door so that he feels some level of peace wash over him.

He would hate for his men to see him like this; wracked with shame and on the path to losing it.

Messmer likes to think he's a relatively calm man, and it takes a lot to piss him off. That thing pissing him off though was running amok and battling his men, reading his books. He allowed it, allowed her despite this entire time for some absurd unknown reason.

It didn't help that he still couldn't get out of his head the way you felt.

Your soft skin, the way you felt in his arms, the memory flashed so vividly that he thought he was truly losing it. How had this Tarnished do it-- he wonders. Perhaps it was a curse to torture him forever. It could be one of the many ways.

His insides tighten, and he's half-leant against the pillars of his darkened chambers, trying to distract himself even with his cock still hard and it's not going away. No matter what he thought, there was nothing he do to distract himself.

Curse her. He thinks, wracking a hand through his wild red locks, a sheen of sweat on his forehead makes him feel as if he's just drunk the strongest alcohol and it has lit a pyre in his gut.

The heat is too intense, the serpent calls within, and he's ripping at his clothing to be rid of the confinement, discarding his helm with a thud as he throws the red mantle off him. The cooler air hits the exposed areas of his skin. Still, it is not enough. 

He can't even close his eyes without you taking a part of his mind, the way you looked up at him when he caught you, that you knew this was all just as embarrassing as how he felt inside.

It's not the only memory that comes to mind, there are many others. When you're wearing red, his colours. When you kept your promise and returned to him on the verge of death, even when you're half bleeding all over the place and you're trying to find a way to vex him.

How could he explain himself if you accidentally found out about the tent forming between his legs.

He is half human after all, but all this had still been new to him. He had his urges, but he had quelled them before they could fester. Sometimes, he gave in, but the regret hit him hard soon after. It was never about him, never what he wished for. He was a soldier and soldiers never thought for themselves.

He was somewhat disgusted in himself for feeling this way, like some carnal beast, thinking thoughts that were so mixed that it muddled his head.

He hated her, oh, he hated the way she flounced around his Keep, grinning with blood in her teeth and breaking any bone in her body for the thrill of it, but Messmer had never felt so thrilled and enticed ever in his entire existence to witness this.

The Tarnished was merely an acquaintance, not his enemy nor a friend - not that he had many of those. Could he call upon her to be his friend? 

He had witnessed first-hand the way you were blessed by his mother's golden grace, and you had not fallen to Miquella's ways. Friend or foe, you were a distraction.

Messmer slumped in defeat, closing his eye as all distractions failed, he had come to realise one thing, the thing that his mind had been trying to deny whilst his body yearned for more.

It is the greatest of defeats he feels when his hands wound their way down his stomach, across his strong thighs and finding purchase on his hardened length.

He winces immediately, trying to ease the sensitivity by rubbing himself through his loincloth It doesn't do enough to help ease it, as the guilt hits him.

Stress consumes him to think he was so foolish to have feelings like these. He curses himself, foolish and immature, yet his hand finds a way inside, holding his length as he gives long strokes.

He almost collapses to the ground at the sharp sensations, biting his bottom lip as he tries to keep his noises at bay. He runs a finger over his tip, already leaking with precum as he smears it, helping to intensify the sensitivity. 

His precum helps his hand guide along his length, urging him to continue, harder, faster strokes have him quivering and whimpering.

His eye remains shut, but it reveals the filthiest of fantasies that have him half feverish and insane.

In them all, all he sees is you.

Your face, the way you look up at him, the way he imagines what you would look like naked, drenched in sweat, in blood, beneath him or on top. His hand doesn't tire it's spurned on by what he sees, his stomach begins to twist from the upcoming release.

He's never been this close this quickly, choking on his tears as they leak from his golden eye. Bliss is on the horizon as he quickens in his strokes, biting his lip until he's sure he tastes the bitter copper. He sees her in his fantasy, bare beneath him, moaning as he takes her, and he's closer, so, so close, until he hears the whisper of his name.

"Messmer."

His orgasm comes to him like a punch to the gut he's doubled over, failing to hide his muffled moans as his hand and the ground is covered in his essence. Pearly white drops decorate his skin, the ground is marked in his shame as he collects himself, letting out a shaky moan as he comes down from his high.

He's ashamed of himself in an instant, collecting his breath, reality coming back to him that he remembers where he is. The hand not covered in his cum runs through his sweaty hair, defeat consumes him as he tells himself he will lurk in the darkness of his room for as long as need be, just so he didn't have to see her for some time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You don't try to think much about Messmer's abrupt departure, believing that a man as busy as himself is a means to himself. He's part god, so you tell yourself that he has things to deal with that you cannot relate to. He does have an entire Keep to run. 

Finding a nook for you to crawl yourself into, you find yourself there pouring as much into your mind, forgetting about the world around you. The hours pass, darkness swarms around you, and it's only when you yawn, looking up, do you notice how late it is.

The wick of the candle beside you has whittled down, and you need to replace it, however, your hunger gnaws at your stomach, and you think about how late it is. You think about whether Messmer is around if he's gone to bed or not, so you tell yourself perhaps it would be best to try and find him.

Scurrying around the Keep, you find his chambers, only to be surprised to find two of his black knights standing guard outside the doors. You feel intimidated, asking if Messmer is around, only for one to answer you.

"I apologise, Lady Tarnished. His Lord is not seeing anyone at this moment."

"Ah." You say, and you're uncertain what to ask next: is he feeling unwell? Has he fallen ill? "Is he alright?"

"Yes, he's... occupied in seeing an audience."

"Alright. Would he be free for a meal?" You question.

"I'm afraid his Lord has already eaten."

Oh. What were you expecting? And where did this question come from? Your cheeks feel warm from embarrassment, and before you can feel further foolishness from it all, you turn on your heel. "Tell him I bind him goodnight then."

You don't wait for their answer, for you're scurrying towards where you believe are the kitchens, bursting through and alerting the staff that remain there. The chefs give you a careful glance before you ask if there's any leftover food. You're given a simple bowl of brown meats in a broth, and a slice of cheese with some bread, leaving you to take it with you as you scurry like a rat back up towards your chambers. By the time you reach your apartments, your chest feels as if it has a pit inside, and you're feeling rather uneasy.

Still feeling self-conscious, you nibbled at your meal until you could not eat any more. You pull the servant bell, calling upon your handmaidens to pour you a bath and to leave a glass of wine for you to have to quell your nerves. How foolish you feel, believing that this stark confidence and friendliness would be accepted by Messmer. He may have allowed your protection, but to believe he would be kind and amicable back? 

Your skin feels flush and warmed to the bone when you step into your bath, leaning your head back as you try to relax. The wine you eye in your hand is almost empty as you reach towards the bottle they left for you, eyeing it carefully.

The words are strange, but your years of learning to dissect the language allowed you to realise the bottle had come from Leyndell. How it arrived in the Shadow realm was a mystery to you, but you slowly sipped it, thinking about how you could've remembered tasting it.

-

A/N: This chapter took so long to write. I've been exhausted from work that I've only been napping! I'm trying to break out of it, but it's been so tiring having no time to myself. Hopefully, things can change.

[itsnobodysproblem]

(The Sing of Four p10 spoilers)

So we got a newsletter (written by Mariana) on Patreon

And. These two parts...

And

Yeah...

Just thought I'd leave these here

[yugogeer012]

Part 9

Part 11

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Apple Seed 10: Craving

Charlie: (laying on her maternity pillow, staring at Vaggie's face)

Vaggie: (dead asleep)

Charlie: (nudges) Vaaaagggiiiiiieeee~

Vaggie: ZzzzzzZzzzzzZzzzz

Charlie: (grows tail and slithers tail up and around Vaggie's wrist and forearm) Vaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee~

Vaggie: (shakes back to consciousness, rubbing her eye, and barely awake) Sí, amor de mi vida.

Charlie: (bashfully as she pokes her fingers together but has a gravelly tone in her voice) Mi cielo~

Vaggie: (suddenly very awake and springs up) Yes, hun?

Charlie: I.... I want something~

Vaggie: S-Something? Like... something something? Not just midnight cravings?

Charlie: It's a type of craving. (looks up at Vaggie from under her lashes) But those can wait until later. (walks her fingers up Vaggie's bare arm to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear)

Vaggie: (electricity zips through her spine after months of celibacy) Whatever you want, princesa~

[casuallivi]

The Midnight Kiss

Enjoy. Comments are welcomed and cherished :)

Part 10: Raise your hand if you have ever been personally victimized by Regina George

Her leg shock with anxiety the entire uber ride to the airport, the noises of the big city doing nothing to drown the variety of wild imaginative scenarios her mind had been creating since leaving Azriel and his ex to have a cozy one-o-one. Elain hadn’t been able to get a hold of her boyfriend for the last three days – that is, if he still was even her boyfriend. A loud groan escaped her at the same time the driver did a sharp stop to avoid crashing in the car in front of them. She checked her wrist watch. Damn it, she was late, late! It was just her luck forgetting to plug her phone the night before a trip. Elain needed to get a grip and take her head out of the clouds! She was a mess since Friday.

When the drop dead gorgeous woman Azriel refused to call and ex had rolled up at Marinos on Friday, Elain idiot-self thought it was a good idea to give them a bit of space. After leaving the conference room, Elain waited in the lobby for about an hour before hunger was clawing her insides like a wild beast. She texted Az to let him know she would be at the Wendy’s across the street and ordered two meal sets for the both of them. Elain ate her food, scrolled on the gram, munched his fries, sipped his watered down drink, scrolled some more, and nothing. By the time the employees began to stack the chairs and give her pointed looks, she apologized for the delay and left, Azriel having successfully ignored her texts and calls for the last three hours, the last bit of hope of finding him getting blow like yesterday’s birthday candle when she returned to the building and didn’t find his car in the parking lot.

Her attentive and sensitive about priory agreed upon engagements boyfriend left her behind when they were supposed to go on a date, a date consisting of delicious homemade food and Elain finally meeting Azriel’s place. Was it her fault for leaving first? Hadn’t he read her text about Wendy’s? Was he mad that she decided to eat without him? Or was it because he had someone else to take home today? Someone whose importance span in the many years from his youth to adulthood? Someone who refused to properly date him but had no qualms in reaping the fruits of his adoring affection.

Sniffing in bed and stress-eating his now cold triple baconburger, Elain could not help but feel like the development of the night was her fault. Christ, why couldn’t she be like those obsessive girlfriends who would not aloud their boyfriends to set a foot away from them, especially when pretty women were in the vicinity? Damn her and her stupid confidence in their individual boundaries and trust in their relationship. Screw that, Elain was going full toxic next time! Yeah, maybe like that she would not be here mopping and wondering about what the heck had happened to Azriel. 

And speaking of Azriel…. The more the thought about, the more she grew mad at him! No matter what he had to discuss with blondie, she was sure it wasn’t so long he could not spare a minute to text or call her, let her know he would not take her home. One last frustrated bite to his sandwich and Elain decided that yes, Azriel should be the receiver of her anger, not herself. She decided then and there that she would not be calling him. Azriel should be the one calling her and giving a good explanation for prioritizing the wrong lady in the equation. Yes, she would not forgive him for leaving her behind without some good groveling.

In the end, her resilience amounted to almost nothing. As Saturday came and went without a single smoke signal or nothing, her resentment turned to concern. Was Azriel okay? Had something truly bad happened to him? Did blondie finished stabbing his heart and ripping it out of his chest? Or worse, did blondie managed to crawl back into his heart?  Had they gone back together and now Azriel didn't know how to dump Elain’s ass? Sweet lord in heaven, was he gonna fire her now that he was back in the arms of the prettier match? Oh no, her rent was due in one week, how was Elain supposed to afford rent now? What about the new sofa she ordered online?! Her back could only handle so much sitting on the floor before collapsing, she needed this sofa! And what about their relationship? The relationship he said to mean for real! Was it just a long term joke? Was he now badmouthing her to his ex, kissing her slender neck and telling her all about Elain’s crazy new year’s eve agenda?

Jesus, kill me now.

By the time she stumbled into the airport, Elain was breathless, but she took little time to spot the familiar faces of Nuala and Miguel in the far end of their terminal.

“Angelita, aqui! This way!” Miguel waved her closer.

Elain waved back, ordering the wild inauspicious scenarios to go away.

“Girl, our boarding is about to begin.” Nuala reprehended.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, my alarm was off.” She apologized to her team members, finally noticing three small carry-ons neatly arranged beside a big bright fuchsia one, rolling her own dusk pink carry-on beside his, confusion evident in her raised brows.

Before she could ask any questions, a loud whistle resonated from behind her.

“Howdy, pumpkin! Should I be expecting milk anytime soon?”

Elain wondered if her cow print shirt was a bit much as she turned in the direction of Cassian’s familiar voice, the smile in his tone plastered all over his face as he pretended to throw a lasso at her. For the first time since she meet him, Elain felt no urge to rebuke Cass, his ever present smirk making her mildly annoyed instead of flushed. First of all, what was he doing here? Then her eyes drifted to the one waltzing behind him and her stomach dropped, her face heating from a different emotion entirely. 

Elain flushed, her short washed-jeans overall and dark brown boots seeming like the silliest outfit of the world in comparison to Morrigan deep purple off-shoulder dress, her elegant neck and collarbone in perfectly display for the world to admire. Fabric flow effortlessly all the way to her ankles, the long sleeves giving the piece a regal feeling, the material so delicate one could see glimpses of her marble skin beneath it, the click of her heels making sure she was real and not a fruit of Elain’s imagination.

Nuala took a step near her friend and kicked her shin, mouthing “close your mouth”. Elain pretended to clean the sweat in her open lip and closed he mouth, which was literally hanging open.

Cassian caught her staring and grinned, thinking she was looking at him and not past him. “The girlfriend is here at last, I thought you were both ditching us.”

Cassian was talking again but Elain wasn’t hearing a word, eyes going back and forth between him and the silent Morrigan who matched his step without a word, the hem of her dress sweeping the floor dramatically. Morrigan’s cunning eyes were covered by a pair of expensive sunglasses but Elain was sure she was looking at her too, her head bobbing slightly up and down as she appraised her love rival.

Christ, why was she wearing that in the airport? Every time Elain encountered this woman she was left feeling underdress when she was the overdressed one! Cassian, on the other hand, looked like he was ready for a vacation, sporting a hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and flip flops

“Where's Marino?” Elain asked no one in particular.

Miguel frowned.

“Isn’t he with you?”

“Mhm,” Nuala agreed. “His phone is off, we thought he was with you.”

“No, he’s not with me.” If Elain wasn’t already breathless from all her running, she would be turning breathless now. Azriel was never late. Never. “He was supposed to be here. He’s always the first one in.”

Elain picked her phone and dialed his number, stopping when she remembered he had not answered her once in the last days.

“Call him.” She asked Cassian.

“Already did. No sign at the strip club. Underground rooms and all that.”

Elain rolled her eyes, mustering courage to call him herself.

“That’s not funny Cass, something could have happened to him. And why are you here again?”

“Wow Lainy, no need to be so thrilled to have me.” Cassian raised a hand to his heart, pretending to be heart.

Elain ignored him, her eyes scanning the airport.

“Where are you Az…” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

“Relax, he’ll show. He must have lost track of time styling his hair or some shit.”

Now see, at any other moment his jab might have been funny, but have Cassian making fun of Azriel while she was seriously worried about him was starting to piss her off. Elain glared at him, imagining herself tugging his stupid ponytail until he came to his senses. His brother was missing and he was wasting time being sarcastic! The line rang till it died in her ear, Elain rubbing her face before calling Azriel again. All this radio silence was really worrying her now. What if he got in to an accident and none of them knew about it? What if his body has been laying cold in a morgue since friday?

Sweat dripped down her armpit and Elain fanned herself with her free hand. It was hot or was it her? Elain was about to shove her pride where the sun didn’t reach and ask Morrigan when was the last time she saw Az when something caught the corner of her eye.

Slowly, she lowered her phone, zooming in the missing man making his way through the crowded space, shoulders hunched and dragging his luggage as one does to a body, a cartoonish dark cloud shooting lightnings straight to his head and making the air denser. Elain rubbed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the illusion her anxious mind had casted, but the vision did not fade. In fact, the vision nodded at Nuala’s frenetic waving hand crisscrossing bodies till he was standing in front of her.

This man couldn’t be…. Could he?

No, no. No way he would leave the house like that.

Would he?

Elain’s eyes lowered to his left hand, quickly spotting the signet ring with a gracious M he always wore on his pinky. A twin to his brother’s ring. A Marino heirloom gifted to them by their mother before she passed away. 

Oh. My. God.

This disheveled man was Azriel!

And Azriel was wearing… he was wearing….

Elain’s eyes were nearly popping out of their sockets, because Azriel was wearing sweatpants! Dear lord, the man was wearing sweatpants. Sweatpants! And it didn’t match the hoodie either! Cold shivers ran down her body, and Elain could swear somewhere outside thunderstorm was brewing, even though the sun had nearly burned her alive once she was of her uber.

There he was. The man who had not so friendly ghosted her harder than Casper, the man who she had never seen sporting anything below a business casual look, the man who wore a suit even to a goddamn get along in Cerridwen rooftop, that same man was now wearing a mismatched combo of purple sweatpants and the most hideous orange hoodie Elain had ever seen. His usually perfectly cut and stylished hair was messy and sticking out from beneath a worn-out cap, a pair of vintage sunglasses covering half his face, the other half gone under the shadow of a beard that had no business looking that good in such a mess of a man. Elain didn’t even know he could grow a beard!

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, unable to hide her concern, only to regret 0.5 seconds later when he completely ignored her.

Sharp hazel eyes popped over the rim of his black sunglasses, apparently counting the staff members till he spotted two who made him squint.

“What are you doing?” he said, his voice low and tight.

Elain followed his line of sight, her eyes meeting Cassian’s, who was now seated and chewing gum. He winked at her, spreading his legs further apart in a move that would have Elain gulping not too long ago.

“Waiting for you,” he said simple. Elain didn’t know if he was oblivious to Azriel’s agitated state of if he was pretending to be. “As is everyone else. You know, nowadays we have this amazing device called ‘watch’. You should get one.”

“Why are you here, Cassian?” Azriel rephrased impatiently. 

“Isn’t this a business trip? I’m here to do business.”

“I don’t need you here. I don’t want you here.”

Elain, Nuala and Miguel exchanged looks. The photoshoot trip was originally scheduled for the four of them, and the models would arrive on set on the next day. Except, earlier that morning Miguel received a call from Cassian asking which flight they were taking, and when he arrived at the airport Miguel spotted Cassian chatting with Morrigan, who was dressed in Valentino from head to toe and doing a marvelous job ignoring his good morning.

“Don’t worry, resting bitch face is her best angle.”  Cassian laughed it off

Miguel couldn’t mention any of this now with all that tension in the air, but the group sure would be debriefing everything later.

“Can you take anything seriously?”

“I take many things seriously,” Cassian said, feigning offense. “Like this,” he gestured to himself. “You don’t just wake up looking this good. It takes effort, discipline—”

“Cassian!” Azriel cut him, his bad mood turning worse. “I’m not playing with you.”

Cassian’s teasing expression faltered for a moment, something almost thoughtful flickering in his eyes. Fixing the imaginary wrinkles of his Hawaiian tee, Cassian stood, the mirth she was used to seeing in his eyes nowhere to be found.

“Weren’t you the one whining about being understaffed? Well, I brought you a staff,” he pointed at himself, “a fucking expensive one. And a model too,” he pointed at Morrigan. “You are welcome. Now stop being a little bitch and let’s get going before we miss our flight, huh?!”

Azriel’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need your help.”

Then his gaze shifted to Morrigan. The other woman who Azriel didn’t acknowledge since his arrival hadn’t take her eyes of him for a second, making Elain’s imagination fertile again. “And I definitely don’t need hers.”

Cassian shrugged. “Well, tough shit. My presence is hella expensive, but I choose to be here, so stop being an ungrateful little bitch and enjoy the free ride.”

Cassian tapped his brother’s chest, collecting his and Morrigan’s suitcases before moving to the front gate, Nuala and Miguel awkwardly glancing between the brothers before following him, Elain staying behind with Azriel, who had yet to look at her.

Elain knew this wasn’t good time to question him, but all this anxiety and tension was driving her mad! She had to ask at least one question, one miserable question that was eating her mind away.

“Are you okay?” she asked again.

“I’m fine.” He answered annoyed, stalking ahead without her.

Oh, hell no. She had been worried sick about him and that's how he was treating her?

That rude son of a–

+

The plane touched down in the small, sleepy town of Redhaven just as the last of the evening turned into night. The airport was barely a blip on the map, the kind of place where the ticket counter doubled as a café and announcements were shouted left and right. Soon as they landed, Miguel went on a mission to exchange their rented car for a minivan to fit everybody, Azriel snatching the keys the second he was back.

“Sit on the front.” He ordered the male that wasn’t his relative.

He’s avoiding me again, Elain thought glaring at the back of his head, childish idiot.

Azriel had not sat beside her in the airplane ride either. At least he had not sat with the model, who he seemed intent in ignoring as much as he was avoiding Elain.

Elain slid into the middle row next to Nuala, who gave her a questioning look but said nothing. Elain fastened her seatbelt, reading herself for another round of brooding silence, Cassian and Morrigan occupying the last row, each one lost in their own phone.

In the plane Azriel sat at an aisle seat with other unknown passengers and stared at his laptop the entire time, boring stupid excel sheets covering the screen. Now, he drove with the same laser focus, his hands gripping the steering wheel like it might shatter if he let go.

Elain starred at the back of his head, feeling divided between knowing what the hell was he was thinking or beating his ass for daring to treat her like this. Hell would be damn if she ever approached him again after he shut her down in the airport. At this rhythm her dating life would burn out quick as it began, once again woven by the whims of Azriel Marino.   

At that moment her stomach growled. Loud. The awful noise filling the silent ride louder than the trumpets of the apocalypse. Finally, Azriel’s eyes meet hers through the rear mirror, the glint in them indecipherable.

“I’m hungry,” she said quietly.

“Me too.” Nuala complained.

Elain had skipped lunch in her hurry to the airport, and then her stomach was too unsettled to handle food, the horrid mood of their trip making her queasy inside. Azriel said nothing but Elain saw he readjusting the GPS, a cute roadside dinner appearing at their left ten minutes later.

The place was decent enough, bright neon lights casting a cheerful glow on the cracked parking lot. Azriel parked without a word, heading inside ahead of the group as if they weren’t even there. The diner’s interior was all checkered floors and red vinyl booths, the kind of nostalgic charm that made her smile despite her awful driver.

The group moved in direction of a corner booth, Azriel going to the counter, Morrigan lingering near the jukebox, her sunglasses now perched on her head. Elain ignored them all and headed to the bathroom, the queasiness in her belly now turned into a full on stomachache. Her stomach had always been sensitive to her emotions, and today they were out of control!

+

Elain was embarrassed to admit she spent a little more time than necessary inside the bathroom stall. Freaking automatic flushing! Why couldn’t bathroom be manual and easy to use? Not trusting machines, she passed her hand over the sensor one last time, not very ecologic of her part, but she could help it. Enough! She should return to her table before all the food was gone.

Elain exited the stall humming, but stomach ache nearly returned in full when she recognized the tall blonde in a shimmering gown by the sink, using her fingers to comb her perfectly flattened sunny hair.

Her eyes snapped to Elain’s reflection in the mirror, a glimmer of recognition passing behind them. Elain turned the faucet on feeling self-conscious, the model broke the silence first.

“You again. Azzy’s assistant.” She emphasized the last word with a tone meant to make Elain feel inferior.

“His photographer.” Elain corrected politely, making sure to edge her voice as well.

Normally Elain would have no problem being mistaken by Karen, Azriel’s real assistant. Being her boss’ assistant was not for the faint of heart, and the small brunet held their office record of the person who Azriel took the longest to make cry. Elain didn’t last a week. Let that be known that she cried from frustration! Still, a measly week. And what was it with the sudden nickname drop? This whole Azzy stuff was an awful nickname and she would really appreciate if people stopped calling him that.

“That must have hurt.” Elain turned to the model to find her eyes cast down as she stared at the faded scars running the length of her knee. Her lips creased, grossed out by it.

“Yeah,” she said unsure of how to react.

“I barely noticed your limp.”

“I don’t have one." Okay, was she imagining it, or was this woman deliberately trying to be rude? "Recovered completely in physiotherapy.”

Elain soaped her hands quicker, her gut urging her to get the hell out of this bathroom.

“A word of advice?” Morrigan didn’t wait for an answer, her acid words pouring like lava from an erupting volcano. “Try some pants next time. Or at least a piece of clothing that covers everything that needs to be covered.”

Nope, not imagining.

“Excuse me?”

Hard brown eyes did a slow inventory of Elain’s body, grimacing at her clothes. Elain looked down on herself to see nothing wrong with her outfit. She was dressed appropriately and comfortable for a day long trip. Her clothes were clean and smelling good, but Morrigan’s nose wrinkling made it seem like she was cow shit on the road.

“Is there a problem with my clothes?”

“Your taste is… peculiar.” Morrigan produced a lipstick from her mini purse, applying a new coat of bright cherry red as if she had all the time in the world. “It’s fine, tho. We both know you won’t keep dressing like that for much long.”

Elain frowned. “I won’t?”

“Did he sleep with you?” The question was unexpected, spoken with brazen confidence and catching Elain out of guard, whose face turned fifty shades of red. Morrigan’s mirror reflection smirked with bright red lips. "I knew it. I knew he didn't."

"Who say we didn't?"

"You didn't." She says with conviction. "You think this is the first time this happens? The first time he uses other women to make me jealous? It isn't. But he never crossed the line, never sleeps with them, and he never will. He wouldn't hurt me like that."

Elain could barely contain her shock. Hurt her? For fuck sakes she's dating his fucking brother!

“Right now you are trying really hard to make a man way above your league to look at you, that's how I know you won't be dressing like this for long. Azriel might be giving you time of his day now, but that man is obsessed with fashion, style, elegance, to reach his standard would require some drastic upgrade form your part. I would recommend pitch black tights if you are so set on showing your legs around.”

Elain was rendered speechless, not believing those absurd words were coming from a person’s mouth. Wait a minute. Did a grown ass woman really just tried to make her feel ashamed of herself, for having a scar, in the bathroom of a roadside dinner? Laughter escaped her shocked lips.

Who did this girl think she was? Some Dollar Tree version of Regina George? What the hell was going on! Elain couldn’t contain herself any longer. She refused to let people walk all over her in this goddamn awful day.

Had Morrigan bothered to learn a bit about Elain before going on her insult rampant, she’d have known that Elain has two sisters, and if there’s one thing that growing in a house full of girls taught her, was how to keep her spirits up in a verbal sparing.

In order to bully a bully, you have to take what he hates the most and turn it against him. And right now, for whatever stupid reason she carved in her head, what Morrigan seemed to hate the most was Elain.

“Is this a prank? Is that your way to congratulate me and say, ‘Yey, we are basically sisters now!’?”

Mor carefully created persona soured, her megawatt smile dying down.

“Are you mad? Why would I be your sister?”

Now Elain smile was so real it hurt her cheeks. “Because we are dating brothers.” She pointed to the shocked blonde, “you dating Cass,” then to herself, “me dating Azzy. That makes us sis-ters. We even look alike.” Elain beamed, clapping her hands excitedly.

Morrigan face turned green like she was about to be sick.

“I look nothing like you!” she raged.

“Oh, but you do. Brown eyes, golden hair, lovely smiles. I was almost a model as well you know, but taking pictures is much more fulfilling.”

“You think you are funny?”

“I think your attempt to patronize me is pathetic.” Elain shook her hands hard enough to sprinkle Morrigan with water, the blonde squealing away from her. “By the way, it’s okay for me to have peculiar taste, Az is the one with good taste in our relationship. He's dating me after all."

Elain hummed drying her hands, Morrigan still glaring at her as someone who wanted to pick a fight. Elain was having none of that. She was way too strong to fight with this skinny idiot, one punch from her and half her teeth would be knocked out.

"Enjoy your night. I’ll tell Azzy you said hi.”

It was offical. This trip was the worst ever!

Once she was out of the bathroom and out of the blond’s sight, Elain took her phone and texted a quick message for her sister.

Nes, hypothetically, if I go to jail for aggravated assault will you bail me?

A minute later came her response. A short,

No.

Then,

Because I’d be locked beside you.

Then,

Who’s the bitch?

---

I imagine Mor to dress something flashy and completely out of hand like this

[agathawellbelov3d]

[forgers-therapist]

tiny people (part 10)

[coffeecat1983]

Stobotnik: "As the Song Says" pt 10

Pt 9 here

   A sharp inhale and a hiss joined the sound of splashing water as Robotnik began cleaning the blood from his chest. He would have normally summoned Stone to attend to this, but that would have meant his agent would have asked questions or worse, concluded his own answers. Stone wasn't stupid, the doctor knew this. He'd originally been wary of keeping one of GUN's agents so close but within a month he had seen that Stone's file hadn't lied. The man was well educated in medical care, his actions over the years proved this. And it certainly came in handy after their defeat in Green Hills...

   Stone waited and once the sounds of the GUN crew had moved past, he crawled out from under the rubble where he had been hiding. Spotting an open car nearby, he snatched the loose jacket and slipped it on along with the sunglasses that were in the pocket. His shoulder and chest screamed in protest and he knew a few ribs were cracked or broken, his arm nearly dislocated. The dizzy spells weren't helping, either.    Avoiding the scattering of agents and townsfolk, he found a place to hunker down and keep an eye on the activity. As night fell and the area was cleared out, he pulled his own gloves out and donning one, tapped it. From deep within the rubble there was a beep and a tiny drone wiggled out from the wreckage.      "F-Find him!" Stone ordered, clutching his head as the world spun. A beep and the drone began scanning for signs of life. Stumbling along after it, the now former GUN agent felt a surge of adrenaline as the drone began beeping wildly. Pulling aside the metal sheet he dropped to his knees beside the still figure.      "Doctor! Doctor, please, wake up!" A moan and eyes fluttered open, staring up in dazed confusion. "Stone?" Pushing himself up with Stone's help, the scientist cringed as he gripped his side. Tapping a few buttons on his own gloves, he went to stand.      "We need a car, agent." he groaned. "We're getting out of this hellscape. The large cornfield, north of town, is our goal."      "Y-Yes, sir." Stone kept an arm around him and the two, along with the teeny drone, made their way to a parked car. A quick lockpicking by the tiny drone and both men were in, with the drone moving to click into the ignition. Ignoring the growing nausea that was threatening to overtake him, Stone took over and drove them out of town to where the doctor's private jet was now waiting. Pulling up along the cornfield, he got out and went to help Robotnik. His boss had been alarmingly quiet on the ride over.      "I believe I have more than one broken rib." Robotnik moaned as he got out. His hand tightly gripped Stone's left shoulder and the man yelped, pulling away.      "So you're beat up as well. Figures." The rush of pain and dizziness was too much and Stone doubled over, vomiting onto the grass.      "And a concussion, perfect." Robotnik sighed. "Get it all out, agent, we're in for a few hour's ride and I don't need you messing up my jet."      "O-Of course, doctor."    Both half climbed, half fell into the waiting jet. Taking off, Robotnik gritted his teeth and ignored his own wounds, not even complaining as Stone slumped against him. He glanced at the other man and saw he was fighting staying awake. Something about it stirred an ache in his chest that he was quick to blame on his injuries.      "Get some sleep, agent." he ordered. "I'll wake you as needed to check your status."      "Thank y-you, doctor." Stone mumbled, eyes closing.

   Landing at the secret base, Robotnik let out a shaky sigh of relief as the jet landed and the hatch closed, the entrance now well hidden from any prying eyes. Not that they were in an easy to reach area. The nearest small town was forty minutes by car and that was in good weather. As it was now it was snowing and the middle of the night. The base quickly warmed up, lights coming on as systems started up in reaction to the doctor's presence.    Dragging each other to the med bay, Robotnik found himself regretting not having two beds be put in.      "Take the bed, doctor." Stone spoke up, pulling his trick of mind reading that he was so good at. The pain getting to him, Robotnik stayed quiet, eyes closed as he sat back on the thin mattress. He heard Stone moving around and was startled as the agent appeared beside him with a first aid kit. How had he gotten that so quickly?      "We need to get your coat off, sir. You're bleeding." It was then Robotnik realized he'd left a trail of spattered crimson across the floor. His head swam as he tried to focus. "Agent, you should be car'ul with that concussion." he slurred, his body finally giving out. The last thing he saw was the cut on Stone's face.    That's going to scar, he thought as the world went dark.

   He had awakened later to find himself bandaged and covered with a blanket. His arms were wrapped, as was his chest and legs. Checking, he found the gashes in his side had been cleaned and stitched and his left leg was wrapped and elevated. Hearing snoring nearby, he saw Stone was also bandaged up and had fallen asleep in the nearby chair. The little drone had settled onto Stone's shoulder, seemingly watching over him as he slept.    Despite his own cracked ribs and concussion, Stone slipped easily into the role of caretaker and Robotnik was thankful for it considering his own injuries were worse than he originally realized. Many ribs were cracked or broken, and his ankle had a sizable crack in it, making him wonder how he'd walked as much as he had. Confused and feeling discouraged, the doctor slipped into depression, ignoring things around him including his own appearance, something he normally took some pride in.    It wasn't until Stone spoke up about it that he realized just how much he'd let himself go.      "Doctor, I was thinking, would you like a spa day?" the agent offered.      "A spa day? What am I, sycophant, a tittering bridesmaid?"    Stone could barely hide his smile at the other's deadpan comment. "No, sir. But you are a brilliant mind, and you deserve to be comfortable." The flattery hit the mark. "Very well. What do you propose this 'spa day' consist of?"    Stone was already on the move. "First thing's first, a shave and a haircut. This way, doctor." He led the way to the kitchen. There was an exam chair set up in the center of the floor along with the portable sink that was usually set up in the med bay. Taking his seat, Robotnik felt himself melting into Stone's touch as the agent-turned-stylist poured warm water over his hair. Music played, an unfamiliar melody that Stone sang along to.      "You have a decent voice, agent." Robotnik noted. He'd not heard his agent sing before now, and the sound tickled his ears.      "And you have stunning red hair, sir."      "Really, Stone?" Robotnik kept his eyes closed as Stone began to rinse out the shampoo. "I kept it black for a reason. Most people despise red hair, it seems."    Another soft laugh that danced over him. "I think they're fools, sir." he said as he wrapped an extra sheet around the doctor's neck to act as a cover before fetching a towel. Sitting upright, Robotnik kept his eyes closed, the lion allowing the wolf to care for him. He slipped into a meditative state, taking in the feel of his agent's fingers as Stone brushed out the long locks. There was movement and he felt Stone begin parting his hair.      "Agent, are you braiding my hair?" his tone held amusement.      "Just trying something, doctor. I believe you'll like it, and if not, I can shave it off or pick up some hair dye in town for you."

   Once it was done, Robotnik found himself with most of his head shaved save for the top, which was pulled back and braided. Stone had called it a warrior's braid.

   Robotnik called it 'perfection'.

To be continued...

[ejzah]

Blunt Force, Part 10

***

“Alright, now follow the light. Look to the left and then the right.”

Deeks followed Dr. Lesley’s instructions, relieved when the brightness of the pen light didn’t result in shooting pain. A full week had passed since he’d been released from the hospital and while he saw little improvements every day, it felt excruciatingly slow.

Dr. Lesley stepped back and clicked off the light, reattaching it to her lanyard and wrote on her clipboard. She’d already run through several cognitive screenings, tested his reflexes, attention (Deeks had joked that was never an area he excelled in), processing speed, and short memory, among other things.

“So, did I pass?” he asked, playing it off as yet another joke.

“Your pupil response appears normal and your tracking speed is much better than it was last week. So, yes,” she replied, offering him a smile. “I’m really impressed with your progress in such a short time.”

“I’d say thanks, but, uh, all I’ve done most days is eat, sleep, and listen to audio books when it’s not too overstimulating.”

“Which is exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.” Pulling a rolling stool over with one foot, she sat, and faced him. “You don’t know how many people ignore medical advice and watch TV all day or try to start working out before they’re ready.”

“Well, I probably would be doing those things if they didn’t hurt,” he replied with a self-deprecating smile. He’d never been great at following doctor’s orders.

“I’m glad you’re listening to your body. Speaking of, are you still experiencing frequent nausea, headaches, or dizziness?” she asked.

“The nausea’s a lot better.” At least compared to the first few days. “Most of the time, I only experience nausea when I’m really tired or early in the morning. The headaches are still pretty frequent, but not as bad and the dizziness happens mostly when I move too fast.”

“Good. That just leaves your memory. Obviously, your short term and long term memory pre-2006 are excellent, but have you remembered anything from that six year gap?”

“The other night I had a weird dream about playing laser tag with my partner, Kensi,” he said with a shrug. “Halfway through, the other team suddenly had real guns and Russian accents. So, I guess it could be a memory. Or the produce of the murder mystery I’ve been listening to.”

Dr. Lesley’s eyebrows rose, and brief amusement crossed her face. “That is an interesting dream. There’s always the possibility it’s rooted in some part of reality.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, focusing on a diagram of the spinal column and its accompanying nerves instead in an attempt to control the anxiety that filled him. Brushing at his bangs, he exhaled loudly and admitted. “I haven’t remembered anything. Sometimes I try to convince myself I remember the things Kensi tells me or recognize the pictures in my apartment, but I’m, uh, I’m just lying to myself.”

Reaching out, Dr. Lesley placed her hand over his. The unexpected contact had Deeks blinking back tears; outside of Kensi he’d had very little human contact and even less comfort. Thankfully, she didn’t say a word until he’d mostly gathered himself and wasn’t in danger of openly crying.

“I know it’s disconcerting and frustrating, but you are making progress. Just like with everything else, you need to give yourself time to heal and recover,” she said, and he nodded quickly.

“Right. Thank you.”

“I have faith in you, Marty Deeks.”

“Now that’s not something I hear often,” he joked, clearing his throat a couple times as she lifted her hand and made a few more notes. “So, what are your recommendations for me?”

“I’d like you to hold off on driving for another few weeks at least. We’ll reevaluate after your next appointment in two weeks. Other than that, limit your screen time, keep to light activity, and continue talking with your coworkers and other people you’re close to. It can help stimulate some of those memories.”

“Right.” He didn’t love the continued restrictions, but reminded himself once again that he’d been in the hospital a week ago. “Thank you,” he added belatedly. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“Of course. And if you have any questions or need anything, feel free to call me.” She scrawled something on a notepad, tore off the slip of paper, and handed it to me. “That’s my cell number. I trust you won’t abuse it.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, Kensi’s picking me up,” he said.

“Alright. If you don’t have anymore questions today, I’ll see you in two weeks,” she told him, standing. “Make sure you stop in the office to schedule your follow up appointment.”

[thevoidstaredback]

Okay, so maybe insinuating to the Justice League that war might be on the horizon was an exaggeration, but it got the point across, damnit! Besides, it’s a very real possibility that Constantine has to bump up on his list of worries, right between comforting Phantom and figuring out what the fuck to do anymore.

He doesn’t get paid nearly enough for this. Is he brave enough to ask mister Battison himself for a pay raise? No. He’d rather face Phantom at full strength with one hand tied behind his back.

Slumping against the door, he allowed himself exactly two minutes to stew before straightening up and making his way to the basement, where he was pretty sure Phantom had taken refuge.

The House seemed to know his intentions, making the trip to the basement stairs much faster than it had been before. All too soon, but also not soon enough, he was knocking on the door and entering. “Phantom?” he called into the pitch dark. Why were the lights all off?

A sniffle from somewhere. “Y-yeah?”

“Can I turn on the light?”

It was quiet for a moment before, “Sure.”

Slowly, Constantine reached for the lightswitch beside the door. Once he found it, he flipped it on. The room was, as expected, organized chaos like the rest of the mansion. Nothing cluttering the floor, but only just enough space between shelves and tables and standing artifacts for him to walk through sideways.

Despite having a room on the upper floors of the House, Phantom had chosen to make a nest in the very back corner of the open basement. A large pile of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals spread out about seven feet from the corner, leaving three feet of clear space between it and the shelves.

Peeking up from the center of the nest/pillow fort was a head of black hair. Now, Constantine may sometimes be a heavy drunk, but he knows for damn certain that his memory is more reliable than his own magic. Phantom has impossibly white hair that moves on its own and glows very faintly.

“Phantom?”

The head shifted, the pillows and blankets following it, turning to face the occultist, revealing ocean blue eyes and a tan face that was splotched red with tears. “Hi.”

“Your, uh, hair is black.”

“...I know.”

“Is this your civilian identity that you don’t want anyone to know about?”

“Yeah.”

“You know I can see you, right?”

“..yep.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Danny’s hand reached out quickly, throwing three blankets and a pillow to the side, and he grabbed the man’s wrist tightly, but not painfully. “No, um, you can- you can stay. Please.”

Hesitating for a second in case of a change of mind, Constantine lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. “Alright.”

Danny sighed, letting go of his wrist and hiding back under the blankets, quietly offering one to his companion. He wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. “How did the meeting with the Justice League go?”

A smirk. “I think I got my point across.”

“And that was..?”

He ruffled Danny’s hair a bit before leaning back on his hands. “Don’t worry about it. They shouldn’t be bothering you anymore, though.”

“Oh. You left the Captain out of it, right?”

“Captain Marvel? Yeah. Didn’t even call him up.”

“Good.” Danny nodded, “He’s my friend now.”

“Has he seen your, uh,” he waved vaguely at Danny.

He tilted his head. “Civilian form?” He chuckled, “Yeah, yeah he has.”

“Ah.”

“We actually met as civilians.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I went to get coffee and he saw me open a door. He made me buy his silence. I didn’t know it was him until I was leaving, though.”

“I repeat: Oh?”

Danny nodded again, a small smile on his face. “Yeah. I gave him my calling card and, well, it was kinda hard not to notice that the Captain had the card I’d given a civilian.”

Constantine nodded his head wisely in agreement before pausing. “You have a calling card?”

“Yep!” He reached into the pocket of the jacket that was thrown to the outskirts of the pile, pulled a small white card out, and handed it to the Brit. “It’s my sigil!”

Taking the card, Constantine regarded it with a trained eye, picking it apart and analyzing every piece. “That’s a lot of Protection Runes.” A beat. “And Healing, and Health, and Good Fortune. All written to form a symbol of infinity?” He moved to hand the card back. “Impressive. How’d you get so many titles?”

Danny shook his head. “Keep it. And, it was mostly an accident.”

He tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat. “An accident?”

“Yep.”

“Mostly?”

“Mhmm.”

“Care to explain?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, um, it’s kind of a long story.”

Constantine shifted to get more comfortable. “I’ve got time.”

Chuckling, Danny also shifted. “Well, I started out as a small-time hero when I was fourteen, just after the accident. But, because of the portal - that is now locked down, so you don’t have to worry about it - opening up, a lot of ghosts started to come into this Realm. I was the only one able to stop them and send them home, so that’s what I ended up doing.”

“Resulting in Protection Runes.”

“Right. The Health Runes are because of one of my former mentors. He taught me a lot about how to be a healthy ghost, as well as how to keep other ghosts healthy. When I got the Crown, he taught me how to keep all the other Realms’ denizens healthy.

“The Healing Runes are also because of the Crown. As you know, the Infinite Realms were under the rule of a tyrant for a long time. And tyrants don’t rule over healthy kingdoms. The Realms were hurting under Pariah Dark’s reign. According to everyone, as well as my own observations, the Realms have been healing since I took over. More people are able to cross over, resulting in less hauntings in the Living Reams; There are more and better ways to fulfill Obsessions; And, despite the Realms being infinite and a lot of empty space, the communities and cultures are closer together than ever before!”

Constantine met Danny’s grin with a smile of his own. “That’s quite the accomplishment, kid. When did you take the Crown?”

Sheepishly, Danny turned away. “...when I was fifteen.”

Constantine spluttered. “Fifteen?!”

“Yeah…I didn’t want it at first, but, well, the Observants were very convincing.”

“Oh? And what was their argument?”

“‘Take the Crown or lose your Fraid.’” Danny quoted with a haughty tone. He scowled at the wall. “I knew what would’ve happened if they ended up killing my family and friends, so I took the Crown.”

Constantine also scowled. “Well that was a shitty ultimatum.”

“Yeah,” A shrug. “But it all worked out in the end. Everyone’s happy, and my friends and family all got to live their lives.”

“Where are they now?”

Danny got a sad look in his eye. “Not here.”

“‘Not’..? Oh, kid. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay, really. It was a long time ago. I’ve come to peace with them not being here.”

There was a few minutes of silence. Soon, though, Constantine said, “Wait. How did they die, if you don’t mind my asking.”

Danny shrunk in on himself slightly, playing with the corner of a blanket. “Old age.”

“But you said that you’re thirty eight.”

“I am.”

“They couldn’t have died of old age, then. The numbers don’t match up.”

Danny pulled his knees to his chest. “Time isn’t linear across Realms.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a few beats of silence. “Time in the Realms is funny, it doesn’t flow linearly. One year in the Far Frozen is about ten years in Ancient Greece and four years in the Middle Ages. The Clock Tower, Walker’s Prison, and Phantom’s Keep all sit outside of Time. And each Realm Runs along its own Time, too.”

A beat, and then another. “You said you’re thirty-eight.”

A deep breath. “I am.” A sigh. “I have existed in Time for thirty-eight years.”

“And your Fraid?”

“...have existed in Time for a hundred-thirty-eight years.”

“Oh, kid.”

Danny sniffled. “No, don’t. It’s okay. Like I said, I’ve made peace with it.” He sat up, “Did you come all the way down here just to check on me?”

Letting the matter drop, Constantine moved to stand. “And offer ya food. I’m sure if you ask really nicely, the House will put something in the kitchen for us.”

Danny stood with him, letting his transformation wash over him. “Why don’t you ask?”

“Because you’re the House’s favorite.

Phantom laughed, following the occultist up the stairs. Food sounded good.

Part 9 Part 11

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 10

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,300 Tags/Warnings: **Sexual harassment, angst, perilous situations, hurt/comfort

Part 10: “Toil and Trouble”

After visiting his father, Dean spent the rest of his day unsettled. He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly, but he had a gut feeling that John knew more than he was saying.

He understood that his dad was looking out for him, trying to protect him, but Dean had a problem.

He didn’t like being left in the dark.

You were working later than usual that afternoon, so he had more than one reason to invite Sam and Cas out for a drink. They met at the Roadhouse and sat in their usual corner. Unfortunately, they were getting drinks and a show.

Jo stormed out of the back room behind the bar with her mother hot on her heels.

“You stop right there, Joanna Beth—”

“Mom, you’re not going to talk me out of it! I’m taking the damn test and I’m going to get in and I’m going to the Police Academy!”

“And all the money I shelled out for you to go to college, to get your degree, something I never got, by the way.”

“I know. And I’m grateful for that, but I did the college thing for you and Dad,” Jo said.“I don’t want to go into business. I never did.”

“No, because owning your own business ain’t respectable,” Ellen said, with all due sarcasm as she crossed her arms. “Never mind that I thought I could leave this place to you someday. Never mind that you’d rather be walking these streets with a gun than take care of the last thing your father left us.”

Jo finally stopped at that. She turned on her heel and withered slightly.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she said. “I just don’t want to serve at a bar my whole life, Mom. I want to help people.”

Ellen’s brows shot up at that. She leaned back on her heels, as if she’d been delt a blow. Dean looked over and saw the guilt that set over Jo’s features, but neither Harvelle woman backed down.

“So you don’t want to end up like me,” said Ellen, clicking her tongue. “Okay. That’s fine.”

“Mom, that’s not what I meant,” Jo tried, but her mother waved her off.

“No,” Ellen’s voice came out sharp as she went for a hand towel. “You do what you want, Jo. You’re grown, I suppose.”

She wiped down a few droplets by Cas’s hand before whipping the damp towel over her shoulder. And she walked down the line to continue serving her customers, leaving Jo standing at the other end, disheartened.

Sam and Dean shared a glance with each other, then with Cas, though they tried to keep their heads down and their noses out of the family business. Frankly, they were relieved when Jo left the bar.

Still, Dean couldn’t help but glance up at Ellen when she came back their way. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

“Don’t you ask me if I’m okay, Dean Winchester,” she said. Her voice was quieter, tired, but it still cut like a whip.

He bobbed his head and looked down at his beer. “Yes, ma’am.”

But after a moment, his eyes raised to find Ellen’s face.

“You want another?” she asked, pointing to his drink. It was still half full, but Dean nodded with a smile, just to help her out. She seemed to want to distract herself with work. He was liable to do the same thing when he was stressed. 

She nodded with a slight smile. After she left to go grab it for him, he raised his brows and looked over at his brother and his friend, whistling lowly.

“And we thought our family had issues,” Sam remarked. Dean huffed at that.

“Speaking of.” Dean turned to Cas on his left. “Dad told me you guys are making headway on this crime boss-turned-arsonist.”

Cas met him with a shrewd brow raise. “What did John tell you?”

Dean frowned, his brows knitting together. “I hate it when you do that.”

“What?”

“Cover his ass,” Dean replied. He lowered his voice to ask, “Have you figured out what’s connecting all the vics? What ties them to Azazel, besides the brand marks?”

Cas sighed, running a hand over his face. Meanwhile, Sam watched the exchange with tight lips.

“Dean, you know I can’t tell you that,” said Cas.

“Hey, this guy’s starting fires in my neck of the woods. I can help,” Dean said.

“We’re already working with Arson—”

“Oh yeah. Sounds like Dad’s party line.”

“Dean,” Sam interjected, but Dean shook his head stubbornly.

“No, Sam. This isn’t just about fires, or some random nut job offing people,” Dean said. He tried his best to keep his voice quiet, despite the frustration coursing through his blood. “This is about Mom, no matter how much you wish it wasn’t.”

The brothers stared at each other for a moment, their silence charged with unspoken confrontation.

Eventually, Sam relented with a shallow breath through his nose. He turned to Cas, as did Dean. With the weight of both Winchesters on him, Cas finally had to sigh as well. He set down his whiskey on the countertop.

“Jerry Stillwell, the CPA,” he began. “We traced a secondary bank account in his name. It showed several ‘consultant invoices,’ for tens of thousands of dollars. The payments were wired from a company called Edlund Emporium.”

“Okay,” Sam nodded. “What does it lead back to?” 

“By all accounts, it’s just a wholesaler of antiques,” Cas explained. “But we believe it might be a shadow company for a larger enterprise. Drug runners are known to hide their product within secret compartments in furniture, in the frames behind paintings, etcetera.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen Narcos,” Dean quipped.

“Who owns the Emporium?” Sam asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Cas admitted. “Its records are proving difficult to trace. However, the one relevant thing we were able to retrieve from Stillwell’s home files was an old audit of Edlund Emporium from 1996. It showed some old statements of the company using a storage facility downtown: Stull Storage.”

Stull Storage. Dean’s head tilted in thought. Why did that name sound familiar?

Cas noted his recognition with another nod.

“That particular storage facility was also linked to a money laundering scheme. You’re thinking of Paul Richardson, the father of two, who was killed in last month’s fire,” said Cas. “Well, as it turns out, he was a defense attorney who failed to get his client acquitted for that case. His client was a known drug runner, decades ago. And he actually pushed product for Azazel.”

“How do you know that?” Dean asked.

Cas sighed. “Your father remembered him from his time in Narcotics.”

Shit, Dean thought. He looked over at his brother, and by now, Sam’s gears were turning at Mach speed.

“Who owns Stull Storage then?” Sam asked. 

“A company called Savage & Co.,” Cas said. He looked over more pointedly at Dean, whose eyes widened in realization. 

“My girlfriend’s company?”

You hated having to work late. Not because of the working, but because the office was much quieter after 5:00 p.m. Too quiet.

Your desk phone rang, making you jolt in your seat. Once you saw the extension calling, you exhaled loudly and resigned yourself to answering the phone.

“Yes?”

“Come up to my office for a sec. I wanna discuss something with you,” said Nick.

And that. You really hated that.

Your eyes closed as you took in a breath.

“I’m working on an upsell for the Greenway account. Can we meet in the morning?” you asked.

“This is important,” he insisted.

You held in a sigh, but you agreed and hung up. You steeled yourself and took your phone with you as you decided to take the elevator up to the 30th floor. At least if it got stuck, it would get you out of this impromptu meeting with your boss.

Unfortunately for you, Betsy ran like clockwork. You were at Nick’s office within minutes—the penthouse suite of the building. Lavishly furnished, complete with a full leather couch set and coffee table for entertaining corporate big wigs, a large desk for Nick to pretend to work, and a fully stocked bar, where he did most of his “actual” work.

An expensive looking set of gold clubs were leaned against the wall, next to the bar. You knew it was his pride and joy, and he often brought it up in conversation when he was “networking.”

Just now, the sun was setting through the large windows overlooking his desk. The view was quite picturesque; the only thing that marred it was Nick Savage himself. He smiled and beckoned you into the room when he noticed you. You left the door open when you entered.

He got up from his desk and gestured over to the lounge area. He hinted at you taking a seat beside him on the same couch, but you sat on the opposite one, leaving the coffee table between you. His smile lessened a pinch. But he got up, as if he was just remembering something. He made his way to the bar.

“Want a drink?” he asked you over his shoulder.

“No, thank you,” you flatly replied. “Nick, I told Mr. Greenway that I would have that paperwork into processing by end-of-day today.”

“Yep, you are working hard,” Nick nodded. “Miss Busy Bee.”

He filled a tumbler three quarters of the way with bourbon and took it back with him to the couch where you sat. You crossed your legs and subtly shifted backwards. It left a foot or so of distance in between.  

“That’s what I like about you,” he continued. “You do what it takes to get the job done.”

“I take my work seriously,” you said, in a pointed tone.

Nick inclined his head.

“You sure do. And you’re doing very well. In just a few years, you’ve racked up more accounts and upsells under your belt than anyone else on the team right now. Even Josh,” he said. “In fact, I’m considering you two as my top candidates for the Senior Sales Manager position. Adam’s leaving us for another company next month.”

That compliment surprised you, as well as the potential promotion. You’d heard that Adam Milligan was interviewing with other companies, but you hadn’t known that he was leaving. You blinked, nodding slowly.

“Thank you,” you said. “I appreciate the consideration…and I would look forward to the opportunity to grow in the company.” 

Nick smiled. “Good! And while I believe in you, I just need to know that you’d be willing to do what it takes in this new role.”

That had a subtle alarm trembling up your spine.

“How so?” you asked. “Like you said, I think my margins speak for themselves, along with my ability to manage projects. I think that’ll translate well with managing the team.”

“But you’ve never managed people,” Nick pointed out. He leaned an arm on the back of the couch, his fingers drawing near to your arm. “Tell you what. I want to keep chatting about this, but I’m getting hungry. Why don’t I order some dinner, and we’ll keep pow-wowing.”

“Actually,” you said, leaning away from his hand. “I have plans this evening.”

He raised a brow. “Oh, yeah? What’re you up to?”

You didn’t feel you had to give him any details about your personal life, let alone that you didn’t actually have plans tonight (except for watching The Princess Bride with George. It was your favorite movie to watch together).

“I’m having dinner with my boyfriend,” you answered with a tight smile.

Your womanly pride hated that you had to use Dean as an excuse, but maybe then your boss would get the hint.

Nick’s lips thinned a bit as he leaned back in his seat. “Hmm, didn’t know you had one of those.”

“You met him,” you replied, arching a brow. “He’s a firefighter, remember?”

Nick nodded, though he made a non-committal sound.

“All right, well, I should go actually. He’s picking me up,” you said.

Though when you moved to stand, Nick’s hand wrapped around your wrist. His eyes met yours meaningfully, edged with interest as he eyed you.

“You sure you can’t stick around?” he asked.

His hold was firm enough to scare you, a subtle gasp catching in your throat when your eyes flicked up to his in warning. You instinctively jerked your hand back.

“Don’t touch me,” you said, even as you hated the slight tremor in your voice. “I’m warning you, Nick. I will go to HR. I don’t care how many lawyers you threaten me with. I’m not interested.”

Nick’s head tilted as he watched you with a frown.

“I hope you think hard, sweetheart.” He relaxed against the couch with arrogance, and it was beginning to make you sick. He crossed his arms as you stood and began to storm out of the office. All the while, his words followed you.

“Think about where you want to end up in this company, and who’s gonna get you there.”

You still had work to do, but you weren’t taking any chances. After you made it back to your office, you grabbed your work laptop and left for home. You had to take several calming breaths as you got into your car and turned the key into the ignition, but your hands still shook.

Then the car spluttered, refusing to start. You blinked, tried it again.

Still, the engine struggled and the dashboard shook.

Damn it, damn it! Don’t do this to me, you silently begged. You knew you should’ve had Dean look the old car over weeks ago. He’d offered more than once, but you kept forgetting. You bit your lip.

“Please,” you whispered. You just wanted to get the hell out of here. You glanced up and around the parking lot to make sure it was still empty, that no one was approaching.

After another painfully long moment of puttering, the car finally grumbled to life. A relieved breath rushed out of your body, and you began to peel out of the parking lot. 

I can’t take much more of this, you thought as you drove home.

You also thought about calling Andréa. She still didn’t know all the details about what you were dealing with at the office. In fact, she knew little more than Dean.

And you really wanted to tell Dean. He had a way of calming your nerves and reassuring you when you felt out of sorts…and making you feel safe.

But you also knew how both your best friend and your boyfriend would react. Andréa would force you to go to HR, and then it would undoubtedly get messy. She could even get fired, if Nick was petty about it (and he usually was). You couldn’t afford to lose your job either.

Whereas Dean…

God, he’ll be so pissed, you thought. You had seen just a flash of his jealous side before, with Gordon. And that was one of his friends.

This would be infinitely worse.

Dean was protective. It was literally in his job description, but it was also just who he was as a person, you’d come to find. While you loved that about him, you also couldn’t have him storming your office building to wring Nick’s neck.

You needed your job. And even though you had updated your resume, with how hard you’d been working, you hadn’t had time to start scouring the online job boards…

You blew out a long breath. Your eyes were beginning to burn with frustrated tears. You sniffed and wiped under your eyes in vain.

Damn it, what the hell am I gonna do?

The question burned through your mind over and over, even when you got home. Your grandfather looked up from the show he was watching in the living room when you came in.

“Hey there, stranger,” he said. “Workin’ late?”

“Yeah,” you replied dully. You dumped your purse and workbag on the dining table and continued into the kitchen, not seeing how George frowned.

He slowly got up, wincing and at his aching joints and stifling a wet cough. He paused for a moment as a bout of nausea threatened to bowl him over.

When it passed, after a moment, he straightened. And he followed you into the kitchen, where you were peering into a near empty fridge.

“We barely have anything here,” you said with a sigh. “Okay, guess I’m going to the store. I can pick up something for dinner on the way home.”

“I’ll go with you,” George said. “I’ve been cooped up here all day.”

You shook your head without looking back at him, still making a mental note of everything you needed to buy.

“I heard you coughing. It doesn’t sound like your asthma,” you said, letting out a breath. Add a dash of worry for your grandfather’s health to spruce up your evening.

George sighed.

“Honey,” he tried. You were already shaking your head as you closed the fridge and turned to him with a frown.

“That primary doctor’s an idiot,” you said. “I’m calling your oncologist tomorrow morning.”

 You went to grab your phone to set a reminder for yourself, but George stopped you with a hand on your arm.

“Would you stop?” he barked. “Just stop it!”

You blinked wide, and both literally and figurately, you took a step back. He wasn’t one to raise his voice, even when you were a child. But your earlier frustrations already had you on edge, and frankly, this was the last thing you needed.

“What?” you snapped back. “Clearly you need to see the doctor, and I’m not going to let you dismiss whatever it is you’re hiding and don’t want to tell me about! I’m sick of it.”

“Let me?” he said. “That right there is our problem. I’m not a goddamn kid. Damn well ain’t your kid or your responsibility. And I’m sick of you treating me like I already got one foot in the grave!”

You flinched as if he’d physically hurt you. Your eyes inevitably flooded with tears.

George relented when he saw it. He leaned a hand on the kitchen counter to steady himself.

“Look, hun. I’m 82. Every day, I take a stack of pills that sometimes make me feel worse than the damn cancer did. I got no illusions, and I do appreciate everything you do for me,” he said. “But you’re not my caretaker. You’re not my nurse. You’re my granddaughter.”

He grasped your hand with a warm squeeze. You sniffed and shook your head.

“I understand what you’re saying. And maybe…okay, I know I can be overbearing sometimes. But there’s a reality here that you don’t want to face,” you began. Though it was hard, you met his eyes.

“I’m not just your granddaughter,” you said. “I haven’t been since Grandma died. Because I’ve had to be more. Because you’re the only family I have, and I’ll make that choice every time.”

You let go of his hand and took up your purse, wiping at your eyes.

“But if you really want to come to the store, let’s go,” you said.

George stared back at you at a loss. Deep down, he knew there was a good deal of truth in your words, but he still felt like you weren’t quite hearing him.

Still, he followed you to the car.

You got into the driver’s seat of your Camry and briefly closed your eyes in a silent prayer. Then you turned the key in the ignition. The car turned on, to your surprise and relief.

You started the short drive out of your suburban neighborhood and down to the nearest grocery store. It was only 20 minutes away, and traffic wasn’t bad, but somehow the drive seemed to take an eternity on the two-way street. There was grass and forest on the passenger side, and the rest of the city approaching on the other. 

Unbidden, your mind kept drifting back to this afternoon in Nick’s office. His words were like tendrils of black, oily ink coiling through your mind.

“I hope you think hard, sweetheart.”

Your hand tightened on the steering wheel, your teeth clenching. You could picture his lazy, arrogant smirk as he leaned back into the couch.

“Think about where you want to end up in this company, and who’s gonna get you there.”

You wanted to take one of his precious golf clubs and take a few swings at the man’s head.

“Something wrong with the car?” George asked.

“What?” you asked, flinching in your seat. But you realized then what he was saying. Your car was shaking, like it was about to stall. What the hell?

None of the service lights on the car were on, but this was a warning sign you couldn’t ignore.

George looked up as you approached a curve. “Slow down!”

Your gaze lifted just in time to see how an SUV from the opposite lane of oncoming traffic was drifting too far into your lane, on the curve. You corrected quickly with a jerk of the steering wheel, but your car jolted and stuck on the wheels’ position, and you couldn’t force it straight again.

It sent the car veering off the road and onto the grass, then tumbling down the hill into a sharp decline. You didn’t see the tree until you were feeling the impact of it hitting the front of the car, and nothing more.

You blinked awake, slowly. The side of your face felt numb as you manage to raise it from the airbag. Blood dripped down your nose over your lips, which you only realized after tasting copper on your tongue. You raised a trembling hand to your mouth and wiped some of it away.

Sucking in a breath, you turned your head. Fuck, that hurt.

“Grandpa? …Grandpa!”

George was still unconscious, though he didn’t look like he was bleeding. His airbag thankfully deployed as well. You looked around for your phone…if you remembered right, it had been in your purse. You looked over, and you saw it by his feet.

Though you were held back by your seatbelt and the airbag, and your whole body felt stiff and aching, you reached over and grabbed the purse’s strap. From there you pulled it towards you, with pained grunts, and whimpers, and shallow breaths.

When you were able to fish out your cell, your blood-stained thumb shook while swiping through your contacts.

You knew you should call 911 first, but your instincts took hold. There was only one person you could call. Your eyes began to burn the longer the line rang. By the time it finally connected, the first tears welled up.

“Hey, baby. Good timing,” Dean answered. He sounded tired. “Was just thinking about calling you.”

Your heart had traveled up into your throat to hear his voice. But now, it was hard to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth.

“Dean,” you managed, though your throat became clogged with emotion. Your tears blurred your vision and finally slid down your cheeks.

You tried to push at your seatbelt; it felt like it was cutting your circulation across your chest. But that proved to be a mistake, as the tight fabric just pressed into the bruising you already felt forming against your skin. You couldn’t contain a small whimper.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His tone was more alert now, changed with the distress he likely heard in your voice.

You took in a shuddering breath as more tears rolled down your face.

“I need help.”

Dean had already been home from the bar when you called. But when he heard your voice, full of pain, your plea for help—it was like a stone dropping into his stomach.

“What happened? Where are you?” he asked. Already he was off the couch and looking for his wallet and keys. Sam was crashing at Eileen’s tonight. Dean would have to call him later. He locked the apartment and hastened down the stairs.

You were eventually able to tell him that your car had swerved after locking up on you. That you’d crashed into a ditch, against a tree.

“Grandpa’s with me. He still hasn’t woken up,” you said through tears. “I can’t move—”

“Don’t!” Dean interrupted, another lance of panic running through him. But he gentled, hearing your soft crying. “Don’t move. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m comin’ to get you. Did you call 911?”

“No…not yet,” you admitted with a sniff.

He nodded to himself. “All right. I’m gonna call this in, make sure they’re on the way.”

“Don’t hang up, please,” you begged.

Dean was torn. He wanted to comfort you, but he knew he needed to get the fire department there as soon as possible.

“I won’t, I promise. Just hold on while I make the call,” he said as he climbed into his car. “I’m going to get the team out to you, okay?”

You sniffled again, but you finally agreed. Dean put you on hold while he called 911. All the while he was driving out of his neighborhood and onto the main road. He gave them his badge number to make sure they knew who he was, and that his girlfriend and her grandfather needed help on 32nd Street and Parker.

After he hung up with the operator, he got back on the line with you and kept you company while he drove. He gave you reassuring words, tried to keep you calm with a few wise cracks to lighten you up. Some of them you seemed to appreciate (others you didn’t).

When he pulled up to the right location, he didn’t see your car at first. That is, until he pulled over to the side of the road. He saw the edge of your bumper just over the slope, and then the rest of your Camry in the ditch. The hood was crumpled like an accordion into a tree, but at least it wasn’t smoking too bad (or on fire).

His heart clenched, but he forced himself to act—with the same fight or flight response he had to overpower with every call he responded to on the job.

Dean climbed out of his car and quickly grabbed the steel Halligan he kept in the trunk. It was essentially a more professional crowbar.

Then he jogged down into the ditch.

He went to the driver’s side first. He saw your tear-streaked face through the window, could hear your muffled voice call his name. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Can you unlock it?” he asked.

“I tried earlier,” you said. “It won’t open.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, no problem. Lean back.” 

You obliged him, and once he was sure you were ready, Dean used the Halligan to pry the door open. He could’ve busted open the window, but this was safer.

Once the door was cracked open enough, he pushed it the rest of the way so he could get to you. He punctured through the air bag with the sharp end of the Halligan and pushed it down to deflate it a bit. It allowed you to grab onto his arm, and he reached for you, cupping your cheek and wiping at your tears with his thumb.

“Dean…”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he said, when you tearfully squeezed his arm. He noticed the drying blood around your nose and stained down your blouse. You were still dressed for work.

“Dean-o, hey,” said George from the passenger side. He was awake, but his eyes were half-lidded.

“Hey, George,” Dean nodded with a smile, to hide his concern. “How’re you doin’ over there?”

“Okay,” George tried, but it ended on a wet cough.

“Check on him. Please,” you asked. Dean nodded, but first, he leaned in a pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting out a subtle breath of relief. You closed your eyes, and a couple more tears slipped down. You squeezed his hand gratefully.

“Stay put for me,” he said. You hummed in agreement. And by now he could hear the sirens of an ambulance nearby.

Good, he thought, especially when he went over to the passenger side and wrenched the door open. He leaned George back in his seat, away from the airbag, and measured his pulse at his clammy wrist. It was a bit too fast for Dean’s liking.

“I’m good, right?” George asked. He was pale and sweating.  

“That’s right. You’re gonna be hittin’ the roller disco in no time,” Dean said. George smiled in amusement, letting out a huff.

Dean smirked, then gave you a reassuring look. “The paramedic’s coming now. Just keep taking even breaths for me.”

A couple of minutes later, two paramedics came with a board and a neck brace to carry someone out. Dean recognized them from the shift opposite to his: Ed and Harry. They were a couple of chuckle brothers, but they did their job well. Dean instructed them to get George out first, and he helped them do it.

“We’re going to get to you next, ma’am,” Ed told you.

“Is he okay?” you asked. Worry for your grandfather was steeped in your watery eyes.

“They’re taking him up to the ambulance now. Another one’s coming for you,” Dean said. He was on his way back over to your side of the car, but he hurried when he saw you trying to get out. Apparently you’d managed to unclip your seatbelt when he wasn’t looking.

“Whoa, hey! What’re you doing?” Dean said. You gave him a small heart attack when you nearly fell out of the car on your shaky legs. He guided you back to sit, but you were adamant about getting out.

“I don’t want to wait,” you said sternly, though the effect was hampered by the way your voice also trembled.

“Okay, okay. I gotcha,” Dean nodded, but he urged you to let him help. He was careful in how he slipped his arms behind your back and under your knees. “Any sharp pain? In your neck, anywhere else?”

Truthfully, your neck did hurt. But it wasn’t that bad, you reasoned. The rest was just aches and bruises you were sure you would have later. You rested against his chest.

“I’m okay,” you said. Your arm curled around his shoulder while your free hand laid against his chest. “Thank you.”

Dean sighed and pressed another kiss to your hair, and then your forehead before he made his way up the slope with you in his arms. Once he got back onto the road, he spoke to Donna Hanscum, the police officer who’d arrived at the scene. She worked in the same precinct as his father and Jody.

You briefly explained what happened to cause the crash—the SUV drifting and your car locking up out of your control. Donna took notes all the while. Dean then let her know that he was taking you to the hospital.

“She really should wait for the ambulance,” Donna said, though her eyes were kind, taking in your tear-streaked face and the way you clung to Dean. She might have to visit you later for a more detailed statement, but she knew an honest mistake when she saw one.

“Eh, I’m saving them a trip,” Dean said. “That’s gas and labor cuttin’ costs right there.”

Donna shook her head, despite a smile.

“All right, Dean. Just go.” She gave you one last look of sympathy. “Feel better, hun. Looks like you’re in good hands.”

You nodded with a small smile. Letting out a breath, you closed your eyes and relaxed against Dean.

Dean stayed with you in the Emergency Department while a nurse cleaned the blood from your face, took your vitals, and tested your vision and hearing.

Your blood pressure was high, but that was to be expected. All else fell into the realm of normal, considering. Though when the nurse checked your neck, you grimaced a little when she slowly turned your head from side to side.

“Hmm. Scale of 1 to 10 on the pain?” she asked.

You glanced at Dean, who raised his brows at you expectantly. That look said, Tell the truth.

“I don’t know…4,” you replied.

The nurse gave you a knowing glance. “You can be honest. Is it a 4, or more like a 6?”

You bit your lip. “Okay, a 5.”

“All right. That’s understandable,” she said. The nurse then grabbed a brace to set around your neck. “The doctor will be in shortly to check you out, but likely she’ll order some X-rays, and possibly prescribe you something short-term for the pain.”

You sighed in annoyance. “How long will that take? I need to see my grandfather.”

“Want me to check on him again?” Dean asked. Now that the nurse was done, he came over to where you were sitting on the edge of the examining bed to rest a hand on your back.

He’d made sure George was stable and comfortable in his own room. The ED doctor had ordered blood tests, among other things, since he was a former cancer patient. But also because he had a fever and an elevated blood pressure that didn’t seem to just be related to the crash. He was now sleeping while the hospital ran the rest of their tests.

You turned to Dean with red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes. “I want to see him.” 

Dean slipped an arm around you and tucked you against him more securely.

“You will, sweetheart. You just need to get checked out first,” he said. He was worried about you. You seemed all right, but he didn’t like your tendency to forget about yourself. Sometimes, you were a bit too much like him.

You sighed in defeat (for now). But after a moment, your small voice broke through the quiet.

“I should’ve let you look at the car,” you said.

Dean glanced down at you and caught the guilt written across your face. His brows knit together as his heart clenched again.

“Don’t do that,” he said with a sigh. “It’s not your fault.”

“My car, my goddamn fault,” you said through tears.

“Stop, baby,” Dean said. He held you closer, laying a kiss on the top of your head while you tried to stifle your tears.

He waited with you until the doctor finally arrived to examine you. She spotted the same things as the nurse, and after another hour of X-rays (clean of any breaks) and tests (all ultimately fine), she prescribed you an anti-inflammatory pain killer, as well as rest. And of course, if your pain worsened, you were to come back to the ED.

After the doctor left for the last time, Dean agreed to walk you down to your grandfather’s hospital room. George was awake, though he seemed groggy with the pain medication they had him on through the IV. He greeted you and Dean with an attempt at a smile.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he said. His hand turned over to welcome yours, and he squeezed, seeing the tears in your eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, sniffling. “I’m good. How’re you feeling?”

Your gaze drifted to his chart, to the medications and fluids they had him on, what tests were listed…

George’s hand tugged on yours, pulling your attention back to him.

“They’ve got it in hand. Don’t you worry about me,” he said.

You flickered at a smile, as you both knew that wasn’t in the cards. In fact, you’d barely been sitting down on the edge of his bed for a couple of minutes before you were asking if the recline of his bed was comfortable. If he needed more water, or another blanket.

George responded negatively to most of your questions, though he shot Dean an imploring look over your head. The other man nodded and gently grasped your shoulders.

Dean could see why you were blustering around—so you wouldn’t crack from anxiety and exhaustion. But he needed to stop you before you hurt yourself. (Not to mention, before you drove George crazy.)

“Hey, come ‘ere a sec,” said Dean. He guided you into a nearby chair and soothed a hand over your hair. He kneeled down next to you and grabbed your hand. You let out a breath and held onto him back. 

“You need to take it easy, okay? Need to,” Dean said, in a quiet but firm tone he didn’t often use with you. He reached for the slip of paper the doctor gave you, now stuffed in your purse. “Everything’s gonna get taken care of. You just relax here, and I’m going to go fill out your prescription.”

Dean waited for you to meet his eyes; he was only satisfied when you nodded in acceptance. He gave you a smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. It was comfort and relief, for both of you.

You held him there for a moment with a hand on his cheek. Your fingers traced across his brow, and down his jawline. If it were even possible, after everything he’d done today, you were never more grateful for him than in this moment.

George watched the little scene from his bed with a soft smile.

Finally, he thought. And it meant many things.

After Dean reluctantly pulled away, he promised he’d be back soon. He then left to take your prescription to the closest pharmacy, also fishing out his phone to call Sam and let him know what was going on at the hospital.

Dean had a feeling you all were going to be here for a while.

AN: *exhales* Okay. 😅 A lot going on in this chapter. Another piece of the puzzle, more of why Nick needs his ass handed to him, and a dramatic save. Let me know what you thought!

And please forgive me for where we're going next...

Next Time:

Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

Keep Reading: PART 11

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

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[deteyshipper713]

Then the darkness took me. It was— (Petey’s voice cracks) —like drowning in ice. Every breath hurt. But I held onto Dogman’s hand like it was the only thing keeping me from dissolving. And I told him… ‘Remember. Remember Li’l Petey, and Sarah, and Chief and all your loved ones and all the stupid, happy things you guys did together. Remember how much joy they brought you. How much love. How full they made your world. You love them. And they love you. So hold onto that.’

And then-the light-It started in Dogman, this… this glow, bright enough to sear through the shadows. I couldn’t see him anymore, but I felt it. That warmth, that stupid, unshakable light inside him, flaring up like a sun. And for a second… I wasn’t afraid.

Murder used the machine so many times successfully that they forgot how it really works. I understood it though —Murder’s machine relied heavily on dark magic and I know that light and dark magic don’t like to mix. With me grabbing onto Dogman, the absorption process was being done to him as well. But Dogman? He is such a positive goofy pup that his soul was mostly made of light. And the brightest of this he had -Pure, stubborn, ridiculous hope. And when that light hit Murder’s core… (A slow exhale) Pop. Gone. Just like that.

[smileyallthetime77]

Yandere!Bruce Wayne x Reader

A Yandere Alphabet, Part 10/60 (In Alphabetical Order)

(The Songs Under The Yandere Characters Are The Songs That They Remind Me Of. They’re Strictly Going To Be From Taylor Swift.)(Hugeeee Swifty, If You Couldn’t Tell)

⚠️Warnings⚠️: Cursing, Kidnapping, Blood, And Mention Of Death

🇺🇸Word Count🇺🇸: 1,390

👾Characters👾: 8,826

𝔸 - 𝔸𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝔻𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕊𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝔸𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟? ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕀𝕥 𝔾𝕖𝕥?

Bruce isn’t the best with his emotions. When he wants something he isn’t use to having to ask, so if he wants to hug you, he’ll just do it. It gets pretty scary when he comes home bloody and bruised and he pulls you into a tight hug.

𝔹 - 𝔹𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕄𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕪 𝔸𝕣𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕠 𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕀𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘?

Bruce has a no killing rule. He wants to kill for you but he knows that if he does he won’t ever stop. You don’t deserve a brutal man like that.

ℂ - ℂ𝕣𝕦𝕖𝕝𝕥𝕪, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕋𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕆𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝔸𝕓𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕. 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕄𝕠𝕔𝕜 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕞?

Bruce would definitely make you stay near him at all times. If you wanna go do something else that’s too damn bad. He has multiple lives and hardly gets anytime with you. He needs some kind of relief.

𝔻 - 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝔸𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝔽𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝔸𝕓𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟, 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔻𝕠 𝔸𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔸𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕎𝕚𝕝𝕝?

He will always put you in front of cameras. He has the power and money to make sure that no one helps you try and escape from him. The worlds eyes will be on you forever and ever.

𝔼 - 𝔼𝕩𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕕, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕄𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕆𝕗 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝔻𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔹𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕋𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘? ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕍𝕦𝕝𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝔸𝕣𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕀𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘?

Bruce shares his personality through spending time. He doesn’t even realize he does it. Saying that, he super transparent when it comes to his thoughts. His feelings are a totally different thing for a totally different time.

𝔽 - 𝔽𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔽𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝕀𝕗 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝔹𝕒𝕔𝕜?

If you fought back Bruce understands. He took you away from the place you called ‘home’. He cuts you a lot of slack. He just feels like he needs to try harder to get you willingly stay with him.

𝔾 - 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖, 𝕀𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝔸 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕋𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕞? ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕄𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔼𝕟𝕛𝕠𝕪 𝕎𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕣𝕪 𝕋𝕠 𝔼𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕖?

He hates watching you try to escape him. He just wants to love you. There’s nothing funny about you trying to leave your one and only true love. Even if you don’t know he is.

ℍ - ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝, 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝔹𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘’𝕤 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝔼𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕞?

When you first found out he was Batman it was a total accident. He didn’t mean for you to find him bruised with bloody knuckles. You fainting definitely showed how traumatized you were in that moment.

𝕀 - 𝕀𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕤, 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕆𝕗 𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝔻𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕀𝕟 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕠𝕣/𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘?

He wants you both to have a biological child and help raise him or her with the rest of the batfam. He couldn’t imagine his life without any kids. Since you work oh so hard to raise your kids, you don’t need to work or anything. Why would you? He can easily provide for you a million different times.

𝕁 - 𝕁𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕪, 𝔻𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕁𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕤? 𝔻𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕃𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝕆𝕦𝕥 𝕆𝕣 𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝔸 𝕎𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕠 ℂ𝕠𝕡𝕖?

Bruce gets extremely jealous, especially because he allows you to associate with other people. If he is jealous he’ll just pull you away and whisk you off to the bathroom to angrily make out with you.

𝕂 - 𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝔻𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔸𝕔𝕥 𝔸𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕆𝕣 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘?

He will spoil you rotten! Anything you want. He’ll do whatever you want him to. If you want physical touch bell be all over you. You want gifts, he’ll bathe you in them. You want praise, he’ll praise you in every way.

𝕃 - 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔾𝕠 𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕆𝕣 𝔸𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘?

When he first meets you he’ll guilt trip you into telling him everything about yourself. Nothing goes unknown to him. He’ll also corner you with paparazzi to ‘motivate’ you to speak to him more.

𝕄 - 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕜, 𝔸𝕣𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕋𝕣𝕦𝕖 ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝔻𝕚𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝔽𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔸𝕔𝕥 𝔸𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝔼𝕝𝕤𝕖?

He’s always looking angry. He has an RBF after all. When it comes to fighting crime he’s a lot more intimating than when he’s around you or paparazzi. It’s a nice mix as long as you don’t anger him.

ℕ - ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 ℙ𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕤𝕙 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘?

Physical abuse is one hundred percent no go for him. Abusing you will only scare you off. He’s more mental about it. He’ll make you seem like your the one wrong when you try and leave him or refuse his love.

𝕆 - 𝕆𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕄𝕒𝕟𝕪 ℝ𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝔸𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝔽𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘?

He would take away your right of personal privacy. He can’t have you doing anything drastic, now can he?

ℙ - ℙ𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖, ℍ𝕠𝕨 ℙ𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝔸𝕣𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘?

He’s quite patience as long as you don’t try and leave him to suddenly. If your not ready for the eyes on you when he’s around you, that sucks because nothings changing.

ℚ - ℚ𝕦𝕚𝕥, 𝕀𝕗 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔻𝕚𝕖𝕤, 𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕤, 𝕆𝕣 𝕊𝕦𝕔𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝔼𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕖𝕤, 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝔹𝕖 𝔸𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕋𝕠 𝕄𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕆𝕟?

If you die he has millions of ties to bring you back over and over again. He just gets super nervous because he doesn’t want to scar you. If you leave he would through a fit while dragging you back here. He doesn’t deserve to be thrown in the gutter after all of the things he’s done for you. He wouldn’t ever let you leave him one way or another.

ℝ - ℝ𝕖𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕥, 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝔽𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝔾𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕥𝕪 𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝔸𝕓𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘? 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕃𝕖𝕥 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕠?

He can’t feel regret for ‘saving’ you. He won’t allow himself to. He’s just protecting you. Protecters don’t give up on the people they love. And in this case, he loves you!

𝕊 - 𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕘𝕞𝕒, 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕊𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕆𝕗 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕞 (ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕕, ℂ𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕪, 𝔼𝕥𝕔)?

Growing up, Bruce lost his parents. It’s still a fresh wound in his heart. It makes it worst that he’s lost a few of his sons and friends. He can’t let that happen to you.

𝕋 - 𝕋𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝔻𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔽𝕖𝕖𝕝 𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕊𝕖𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞, ℂ𝕣𝕪, 𝔸𝕟𝕕/𝕆𝕣 𝕀𝕤𝕠𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕤?

If you scream at him he’d understand. He took you after all. It may be wrong if him, but he comforts you and tells you that everything will be okay in the end. If you cry Bruce would be heart broken. Do you really hate him that much to cry? He’ll still obviously comforts you. If you isolate yourself Bruce won’t confront you about it, but he’ll make you go to more events that make you social.

𝕌 - 𝕌𝕟𝕚𝕢𝕦𝕖, 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔻𝕠 𝔸𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔻𝕚𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝔽𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕔 𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖?

He would actually allow you to go around without him! As I’ve said before, with the influence he has over people, you can’t leave him.

𝕍 -𝕍𝕚𝕔𝕖: 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕎𝕖𝕒𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 ℂ𝕒𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔼𝕩𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕚𝕥 𝕀𝕟 𝕆𝕣𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕠 𝔼𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕖?

You could always kill him or you could make a deal with one of his villains. Thai villain may help you be able to escape, but their in a rude awaken for what’s going to happen to them.

𝕎 - 𝕎𝕚𝕥’𝕤 𝔼𝕟𝕕, 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣 ℍ𝕦𝕣𝕥 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘?

He could never! Not emotionally or physically. It’s out of the question.

𝕏 - 𝕏𝕠𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕄𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 ℝ𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕆𝕣 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘? 𝕋𝕠 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕃𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕥𝕙 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔾𝕠 𝕋𝕠 𝕎𝕚𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣?

He is super insecure about himself. From his scars to the way people feel about him. Since he thinks the only way he’d be good enough for you is to buy you gifts or give you something you want, he would do anything to make you happy. If you want him to kiss the ground you walk on, than he’ll get on his hands and knees in a heartbeat.

𝕐 - 𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟, ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕃𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝔻𝕠 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 ℙ𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝔸𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔹𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕊𝕟𝕒𝕡?

It takes him a good month to plan everything out and take you for himself.

ℤ - ℤ𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕙, 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝔹𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘?

Absolutely not! He would make sure all of your needs are taken care of making it literally impossible to be broken in any type of way.

Written: Wednesday, September 20, 2023