#PART 11

[babesway22]

“In Too Deep” part 11

Vox x fem!reader// NSFW 18+ // 🔞minors do not enter 🔞

Summary: After a strange week you get offered a job working for hell's biggest asshole but does he have a soft spot for you? Or is he just using you?

You stood before the grand full-length mirror and carefully smoothed out any imperceptible creases, hoping to alleviate your nervousness. Your eyes narrowed and scanned your form, taking in your soft makeup and long hair that cascaded around your face. The dress was breathtaking, made of a fragile, flowing black fabric that gracefully fell onto the floor, accentuating your soft curves in all the right places, and secretly concealed beneath was an irresistible combination of black and royal blue lingerie. You glanced at the clock again, the time reading 7:45. Vox had promised to pick you up at 8, leaving you just enough time to potentially succumb to a nervous breakdown. Your inexplicable anxiety puzzled you; where was he taking you? Why a date now after everything? Admittedly, any romantic gesture from him had the power to plunge you into a frenzy, with a telltale deep blush unfailingly betraying your genuine emotions without fail. Perhaps that was the reason for your turmoil? You laughed at your talent for exacerbating any situation and settled onto the couch, leaning forward gracefully to slip your feet into sophisticated heels. Despite the added height they provided, you knew that they would never make you taller than him, something you always found incredibly attractive, his towering height over you and others creating a sense of admiration and allure whenever you stared up at him. As you hoisted yourself up from the couch, you gave everything one last once-over before making your way to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine, hoping it would calm your nerves. Just as you began to fill a glass, a sudden knocking at the door startled you, causing the wine to spill over the rim.

“Fuck,” you groaned, grabbing a nearby towel and cleaning the mess. “Come in!" you eagerly yelled from the floor. Cor carefully turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, his figure concealed behind an extravagant bouquet that seemed larger than life. "Miss?" he called out tentatively, his voice conveying uncertainty as he scanned the room, unable to locate you immediately. Upon hearing his familiar voice, you swiftly sprang up from the floor, hastily discarding the towel as you moved to greet him. You started to speak, but a gasp of astonishment overcame you. Before you lay a mesmerizing sight – a bouquet filled with otherworldly flowers of the most vibrant and intriguing colors. Shades of blue, red, and violet intertwined in a symphony of hues, each blossom and bud displaying an enigmatic beauty you had never encountered before. Cor placed the flowers on the counter and glanced at the intricate details of each small petal. "He's finishing up a meeting at the moment, miss," Cor informed, his voice tinged with anticipation and respect.

As you gazed in awe, you whispered, "They're stunning," while delicately running your fingers over the velvety petals of a particularly striking and unusual blossom. With a playful glint in his eye, Cor responded, "He certainly knows how to impress," accompanied by a knowing wink.

"Tell me, Cor, where is he taking me?" you turned to him with a mischievous smirk, the corners of your lips curling upward. The dimming sunlight danced across your face, highlighting the flecks of mischief in your eyes.

"My lips are sealed," he chuckled, a warm glint in his eyes as he gestured with his hand, mimicking the action of zipping his mouth closed. The playful sparkle in his eyes matched the infectious energy in his voice, creating an atmosphere of lighthearted secrecy.

“Mmm, thought you'd say that," you hummed, turning back to the vibrant bouquet, absently rearranging them. A long pause blanketed the room, the silence heavy with anticipation before you spoke again. "I'm quite nervous, and I don't know why," you laughed softly, a nervous tinge underlying your words. "I mean, he's terrifying, an overlord feared by so many souls, but with me, he's surprisingly gentle. It's just hard to believe that he actually cares for me," you finished, your voice trailing off as you pondered the complexities of your situation.

"Are you starting to doubt his affection?" Cor asked, his voice betraying a hint of shock.

"No, no," you replied, meeting his gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and reassurance. “he's just.-”

“Unpredictable?” Cor finished, walking over to where you stood and placing a hand on your arm. “Vox has been a part of my life for a long time, and I've realized that he can be quite enigmatic and challenging to know truly. However, I can assure you that he holds deep feelings for you," he expressed with a heartfelt shake of his head.

"Cor, your insights are always so enlightening. I think my self-doubt is just getting the best of me. I've never experienced this kind of love before, and it feels almost surreal," you whispered softly, gently placing your hand over his and forcing a tight smile.

“You deserve this love; believe in it and give him time to show himself to you; the combination of Vox and emotions has never been a natural fit, but I can't help but notice a transformation whenever he's in your presence. It's as if a new side of him emerges, revealing a depth of emotion and vulnerability that is rarely seen. Ah, but I digress,” he sighed, glancing at his watch. "He'll be here soon. He looks quite dashing tonight if I do say so myself." His hearty laughter filled the room as he departed, the door closing gently behind him.

You peered around the corner, making sure he was gone, and let out a huge huff of air, running to the bathroom to tidy yourself up for the third time before Vox got here. It was like you were in high school again, waiting for your crush to pick you up for prom. “Fuuuuuck,” you whined, pacing in front of the mirror and fanning your face. “Okay, it's fine. He's my boyfriend; we've fucked like 100 times, get it together, but he's super hot,” you groaned, frustratingly sweeping a piece of hair behind your ear and re-applying your lipstick. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn't help but scowl at the uneasiness creeping into your mind. "Why am I giving myself a pep talk?" you muttered, trying to shake off the self-doubt. With a deep breath, you turned away from the mirror and made your way into the kitchen. Your hand reached for the half-empty wine glass left on the counter, and you downed the remaining contents in one swift motion. The cool liquid provided a momentary escape as you poured yourself another glass, the rich aroma filling the air. Lost in your thoughts, you were completely unaware of his quiet entrance into the room.

“Nervous?” Vox's deep voice reverberated through the kitchen, causing you to let out a startled scream. You spun around to face him, clutching your chest. "Vox, you-” your voice trailed off; you couldn't help but notice the way he stood before you. Hot, he was so hot, you reminded yourself. Completely unashamed, your eyes leisurely trailed up and down his slender form, taking in every detail. He was dressed in a black button-up shirt of the highest quality, with the first few buttons open, revealing a glimpse of his neck and a hint of his chest. The fabric on his arms was rolled up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms, which were tucked behind his back, and dark slacks that fit his hips and legs perfectly, accentuating his every movement and making your mouth hang open in admiration. “Yes," you squeaked finally, the words barely escaping your lips as you summoned the courage to meet his intense crimson eyes, and that did it, the nail in your figurative coffin. A rush of emotions swept over you, causing your knees to suddenly feel weak and a deep, embarrassing blush to spread across your face, betraying the effect he had on you.

His deep hum filled the air as he sauntered over to you, his slender fingers reaching out and toying with the delicate strap of your dress, eliciting a breathy sigh of desire from your lips. "Do you like the flowers?" he murmured, his intense gaze fixed on your mouth, causing you to quiver under the weight of his stare. “Very much,” you looked up at him with a subtle tilt of your head, your eyes veiled by long, dark lashes. The air crackled with palpable tension, weighing heavily on the space between you, making it feel like it might stifle any movement or sound.

“Good, good,” he grabbed the wine from you and set it on the counter, backing you into the nearby wall and making you gasp. “Tonights special sweetheart, I can't ruin this dress and your pretty make up before our date, but boy, do I want to,” he growled, tilting your head back and bending down to place hot kisses on your neck, a breathy moan leaving you. “Vox, please,” you pleaded, pouting as he reluctantly disentangled himself from you and straightened up to his full height. "No, no, no," he scolded gently, holding your hand and drawing you close to his chest. "Ready?" He inquired, his self-assured grin eliciting a giggle from you.

"Ready," you smiled, holding onto him tightly. Although it hadn't been explicitly mentioned, you both knew that teleportation was the safest mode of travel. Your body slowly acclimated to the sensation of tearing through the air, propelled by crackling electricity.

*********

You stumbled into the dimly lit street from a nearby alleyway; your heels scraping against the rough concrete echoed in the still night air. You felt a strong arm belonging to Vox wrap tightly around your waist, providing much-needed support as you struggled to regain your balance. “I'm sorry, doll," Vox murmured softly, his deep voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the city. He allowed you to lean into his arm, giving you the stability to adjust yourself and catch your breath. As you gazed out at the city, his eyes were fixed on you, observing your reaction to the urban landscape. There was little hustle and bustle in the area where you stood, with only occasional glimpses of demons and neglected, aging buildings. Your inquisitive nature was piqued, and you couldn't help but wonder why you were in this particular location, especially since you seemed to be dressed more formally than necessary.

"It's just a few blocks down the street where we'll be heading. I was thinking we could walk," he said, clearing his throat nervously. His eyes concealed an emotion that seemed just out of reach, leaving you with a sense of unease, but without hesitation, you smiled—allowing him to gently tuck you under his arm, his hand finding its place on your waist. "You're so protective," you said softly, your gaze following his sharp eyes as they tracked a demon walking on the opposite side of the street.

"I don't enjoy parting with what belongs to me," he uttered with a dark intensity, his gaze unwavering from the demon. It always stirred a sense of admiration within you whenever you were reminded of his formidable strength, having heard stories of him ripping souls in half when he was on a rampage. His gaze returned to you, and a gentle, lopsided smile graced his face. "You look stunning," he whispered, his voice brimming with affection. In that moment, you felt a sense of security and comfort, knowing that he was there for you as your protector.

“Thank you, though I feel a bit too formally dressed," you chuckled, glancing down at your attire's delicate, thin fabric.

"You're not overdressed. We're almost there," his voice took on that enigmatic tone again, causing a mysterious swirl of emotions in your stomach. You suddenly found your mind flooded with so many possibilities. What if he was taking you to this particular place to break up with you? The thought of him telling you things weren't working out made you anxious. You made a conscious effort to push these thoughts down, not wanting them to ruin your evening. “Can I cover your eyes?" he inquired, gazing at you anxiously.

"Alright," you agreed, placing your complete trust in the man you adored. His large hand gently shielded your eyes, enveloping you in its comforting warmth.

“Be careful, baby. You seem a bit clumsy. I can hardly imagine you were once a dancer," he remarked, laughing as you attempted to playfully swat at him. “I was actually a fantastic dancer, thank you very much," you playfully scolded back, then gasped as your feet landed on unfamiliar ground—was it dirt or grass? It was hard to tell.

“Nearly there," he said, steadying you with a gentle touch on your shoulders. "Okay," he murmured, removing his hand from your eyes. As you blinked and acclimated to the subdued light, a gasp escaped your lips as you beheld the scene around you. You whirled around to gaze at Vox; his arms were folded behind his back, his eyes fixed on the heavens.

"Vox, did you do all of this?" you asked in disbelief, your voice trembling with shock.

"I did, yeah," he replied, his demeanor unusually quiet and guarded, his eyes avoiding yours as if concealing a deeper truth. You whirled back around, allowing yourself to fully absorb the surroundings again. Before you lay a breathtaking, enchanting forest, brimming with the same flowers that adorned your bouquet at V towers. Lofty, majestic trees enclosed you from all sides, and in the center stood a quaint gazebo adorned with a cozy arrangement of candles, flowers, and wine.

“What is this place? All my years in hell, and I've never heard of it,” you asked, walking to stand before him.

“Not many do. When I first arrived in hell, I was utterly bewildered and frightened, of course. Sure, I had committed some heinous acts, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that such a place could exist. I mean, the concept of God, Lucifer, Heaven, and Hell - none of it ever resonated with me when I was alive," he explained, his eyes reflecting a mix of disbelief and contemplation as he gazed out into the seemingly infinite expanse of the forest. "But, uh. I used to visit this place frequently during those initial years. The surroundings somehow evoked memories of home for me. I would find a quiet spot in the grass and sit there, lost in my thoughts..." His voice trailed off into a reflective silence as he looked down at you. At that moment, a profound and tranquil silence wrapped around both of you, creating a sense of deep connection and understanding. "It's truly beautiful, thank you," you said warmly, picking up on his uneasiness in expressing his emotions.

"Anything for you, doll," he whispered in a low, husky voice, his eyes gleaming with an obsessive intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. The dim light caught the glint in his eyes, casting eerie shadows across his face, adding an unsettling edge to his demeanor. He extended his long arm, gesturing to the intimate setting, "I got your favorite wine. Would you like some?"

"Please," you whispered, feeling that dammed blush spread across your cheeks as he guided you and pulled out the chair for you.

“So," he cleared his throat, eyes scanning the forest for any sign of danger as he spoke. His typically cocky and arrogant manner had been replaced by something else, something you were still trying to decipher. "Feel free to ask me anything about my past or present.”

“Anything?" you asked playfully, reaching for the elegant crystal glass of rich, velvety red wine. As you brought it to your lips, the bold and complex flavors danced on your tongue, eliciting a contented hum of appreciation.

"Go ahead, show me what you've got," he replied with a sly smile, his eyebrow arching as he awaited your questions.

“Um, okay. You mentioned that you were never married. Did you have any romantic relationships while you were on Earth or here? Or why did you choose not to marry? You mentioned that you were older when you passed, so,” you asked, your knee bouncing nervously beneath the table.

“I was always preoccupied with work and couldn't commit to any serious relationships. I did have a few casual girlfriends over the years, but nothing ever lasted. Looking back, I know I wasn't the best version of myself, so I can't blame them for not wanting to stick around. As for here," he paused to take a long sip of his wine, "it's just been a series of meaningless hookups.”

“Oh,” you muttered as you mindlessly stared into the field; the words "meaningless hookups" stung slightly, leaving you wondering if that was all you meant to him. Finally summoning the courage, you glanced back at him and gestured toward the sky with a subtle chin movement. "Did you take many lives up there?" He replied in a curt and dangerous tone, "A few.” You paused briefly, allowing the question to marinate in your mind before deciding whether to ask it. "Will you grow tired of me, just like you did with them? Too busy with work?” you asked, the firmness in your voice unintentionally revealing your inner turmoil. As the words left your lips, you pinched your knee, almost as if to physically reprimand yourself for posing such a challenging and self-sabotaging question. His response was a firm “no,” accompanied by a quizzical furrowing of his eyebrows, clearly indicating his confusion at where the conversation was headed.

“I have this fear, Vox-,” you sighed, gripping your glass tightly, “that I'm not worthy of love but only deserving of pain and hatred because it's all I had ever known. When he was beating me towards the end, I screamed ‘I love you’ at the top of my lungs until I couldn't anymore. Because surely love would have saved me, right? But, I was mistaken, and my perspective on love changed drastically," you gazed into Vox's eyes, witnessing the anguish that clouded his handsome features. "Until I encountered you and plunged into an overwhelming affection, but I'm scared, Vox. I'm so scared that you'll hurt me too," you held back tears, taking a large sip of wine to temporarily quell the emotions, and cast your eyes downward, feeling a sense of shame as you made your confession.

You heard him shift in his seat, the old wooden chair groaning as he leaned in closer, the sound echoing in the small space. "What do you need from me? What words can I utter to convey the depth of my love for you?" he implored, his voice resonating with a desperate sense of urgency as if his entire being hinged on your understanding.

"Vox," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat as you met his intense gaze again. Goosebumps rose on your skin, sending a shudder through your body at the sheer intensity of his presence. Suddenly, he stood up, his eyes never leaving yours, and made his way over to you. Dropping to his knees in front of you.

“I can't, I can't do this without you; what do you need from me?” his voice distorting, making him growl in frustration. You watched as metallic-colored tears began to cascade down his screen, trickling onto his crisp dress shirt. His trembling fingers hastily brushed them away, leaving behind a mysterious fluid that stained the back of his hand. "No," he gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts then, as if a sudden realization had dawned on him, a gut-wrenching sob erupted from his throat, his red eyes locking onto yours, desperately searching your face.

“Vox," your melodious voice gently beckoned to him as you knelt on the ground to meet him. “You're crying," you whispered, a delicate hand reaching out to catch the shimmering droplets. His intense gaze bore down on you; his eyebrows knit together in a deep furrow of concern. He was acutely aware of the discomfort the unyielding concrete must be inflicting on your knees, yet here you were, unwavering, embodying a picture of resolute perfection. His emotions had always been unpredictable, and he understood the challenge it must have presented for you, but you never faltered. You were a steady presence amid his turbulent emotions, a beacon of strength in his most tumultuous moments.

“Fuck,” He shook his head, his mind swirling with a tumultuous mix of emotions. Desperation clawed at his chest as he struggled to remove the overwhelming intensity of his feelings. "I have no idea what I'm doing," he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "But I can only hope that this will help you understand how much I love you,” he reached into his pocket and carefully extracted a small, elegant black box, its smooth surface catching the soft glow of the lamps. As he tightly squeezed it in his hand, you watched with wide eyes. When he looked back up at you, you realized what was happening, and your chest rose and fell as you struggled to draw in enough air. “Vox- you began, but he cut you off.

“No, no, let me talk. Please. When you do this to me, it's like a surge of life coursing through my veins, awakening emotions I never knew existed within me. I mean, I just cried; I can't remember the last time I did, and I know I may not fully comprehend these feelings, but I'm trying, baby, I'm trying. Let me give you everything I have to offer to shield you from any harm and to prove you're deserving of love, and fuck, I know I have a skewed idea of love, but teach me, mold me for you,” he pleaded, then looked down to carefully

open the box, revealing a breathtaking diamond ring with intricate details on the band. "Will you marry me?" he asked, his voice filled with emotion. You stared at him momentarily, a single tear sliding down your face. As he noticed your lack of response, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, and you could see the panic set in, his eyes searching yours desperately for any sign of understanding or reassurance. But before he could second-guess your reaction any longer, you took a deep breath and boldly jumped into his lap, feeling the warmth of his body as he instinctively wrapped his arms around you protectively. The sudden movement caused him to fall onto his back with a loud groan, but his hold on you remained firm and secure.

"Yes, Vox, yes," you whispered into his neck, punctuating each word with a tender kiss. "Yes," you repeated, a genuine grin spreading across your face as you sat up and straddled his lap. Looking down at him, you extended your hand in an inviting gesture.

“Do you like it?" he asked quietly, his voice filled with hopeful anticipation. After carefully slipping the ring onto your finger, you couldn't help but wonder briefly how he knew your ring size, but you decided to save that question for another day. As you extended your hand towards the light, the diamonds embedded in the delicate band shimmered brilliantly, reflecting the gentle glow and casting tiny prisms of color onto your skin. The way the light played off the facets of the diamonds made them seem to come alive, creating a mesmerizing dance of sparkle and shine that captivated your gaze.

"It's stunning, Vox," you whispered, your breath catching in your throat as you leaned in closer, resting your head against his chest. The soft fabric of his shirt brushed against your cheek, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. His fingertips tenderly traced the contours of your long hair, each stroke sending a delightful tingle down your spine as you surrendered to the comforting warmth of his embrace.

"I have a little surprise for you, too, although I don't think it can top this," you giggled, feeling the lightness of the moment as you sat back up, your hands finding their place on his chest. His eyebrow arched inquisitively as he raised his head from the ground.

"Would you mind taking me home?" you asked playfully, feeling a warmth spread across your cheeks and nose

“Whatever you want, Mrs.,” he flashed his sharp teeth and sat up, shifting you onto his lap and standing, the strength of his thighs pushing onto the back of yours as he stood, making you needy.

*********

“Sit riiiiight there," you giggled nervously, your heart racing as you gently guided him down onto the plush couch in the cozy living area of your shared suite. The evening had been filled with a palpable tension, and you couldn't wait any longer to be back home. The urgency of the moment spurred you to make swift work of getting back, eager to be alone together in the comfort of your own space.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mused, his eyes growing dark.

“Your turn to cover your eyes,” you said shyly, smiling as he did so.

“Should I be worried? It's not a pet, is it?" he said, his voice tinged with disgust at the mere thought of a furry creature stealing your attention away from him.

“Not a pet, but now that you mention it,” you called out playfully over your shoulder, heading to the bathroom

"Not gonna happen," you heard him grumble, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. You couldn't help but watch as he leaned back onto the couch, stretching his lean body, his legs spreading open in a relaxed manner that always caught your attention. As he did so, you found yourself biting your lip, unable to tear your gaze away. He always exuded a magnetic charm, making you squeeze your thighs together needily.

When the bathroom door closed, you whirled around and gazed at your reflection in the mirror. A mischievous grin spread across your face as you contemplated marrying the most alluring overlord in hell. You couldn't help but revel in the thought of the other girls and demons who had been eagerly vying for his attention. Eat your hearts out, you thought as you slipped the dress off. You tilted your head, marveling at the intricate beauty of the lingerie Velvette had created, always entrancing you with her craftsmanship. After making minor adjustments, you pinched your cheeks for a rosy hue and cautiously opened the door to check if his eyes were still concealed. As soon as he heard the sound of your heels tapping against the floor, he subtly tensed up. You couldn't help but chuckle at the idea of him imagining that you were keeping something mysterious from him.

“You're making me nervous,” he bemused, his foot beginning to tap impatiently. Your eyes followed the movement as you took a moment to admire him.

“It's nothing like that,” you said, your voice soft yet tempting as you came to stand between his open legs. “You can open them,” you said bashfully, crossing your legs over each other and placing your arms behind your back.

“Yeah, well, with you, I can never be sure what you're…. up to,” he trailed off as soon as he removed his hand, his crimson eyes intense as they trailed over your body.

“Do you like it?” you asked, and at his lack of response, you began fidgeting with the lace garter.

“Fuu-ccc-kkkkk,” his screen and voice distorted, a blue screen displaying momentarily. “My soon-to-be wife, holy shiiiiit,” he shook his head in disbelief and grabbed onto your hips, immediately pulling you down onto his lap. His hands trailed over your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps. “All mine,” he said possessively and yanked your head back, pushing your breast into his face and exposing your graceful neck to him. You felt his breath on your skin, making you moan loudly.

“Pretty girl, and pretty sounds. Just for me,” he whispered into your skin, followed by hot kisses that trailed down your neck to the swell of your breast. “I need you to be a good girl and cum for me as many times as I want, do you understand? Nod, yes or no,” he demanded, his voice laced with darkness as his grip on your hair tightened to a painful sting. You nodded yes as much as you could while held in the position. “Good girl”. You loved when he was dominant like this, the only man, in fact, that you allowed to assert his dominance on you, your trust in him unwavering. Besides, he had bared his emotions to you tonight like never before; he needed this. He needed control. And you were all too willing to give it to him.

“Stand up and turn around,” he said sharply, a resounding slap filling your ears, the pain coming next as a red mark marred the skin on your ass. “I said, stand up,” he hissed. You jumped from his lap this time, obeying. His hands found your ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, making you whine, “I bet you're wet already, hm? I've hardly touched you. You're filthy, you know that? I remember when you were a meek office assistant at that low-end job, wearing that slutty little skirt,” he seethed as his fingers sank into your entrance, soaking his two digits thoroughly, a breathy moan spilling from your lips.

“Vox, fuck me,” you mewled, back arching inward as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, the lace

of your thong rubbing against your clit.

“Beg,” he spoke. It was one word, but it held so much power.

“Please, please, fuck me,” you pleaded pathetically, but you'd do it again, all for him.

“I'm not convinced,” he growled and spun you around, pushing you to the floor, your knees hitting the ground for him the second time tonight but for entirely different reasons. You stared up at him, his pupils blown out and lips pulled into a snarl, exposing his sharp teeth. He was hot like this, unhinged and manic. It made you want to do bad things for him, to please him.

“Please, I’ll do anything, anything,” the last word hardly above a whisper, your hands reaching for his lap, plaming his impressive length through his pants.

“Who do you belong to?” he snarled, grabbing a fistful of your hair again, the other freeing himself. His hand ran up and down the length a few times, making your mouth water. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips in anticipation.

“I said, WHO DO YOU BELONG TO?” he hissed impatiently, but as you began to answer, he grabbed your jaw and squeezed until your mouth fell open, and shoved his dick in, making you gag as it hit the back of your throat. You greedily lapped your tongue on the underside, urging him to push your head deeper until spit spilled from the corners of your mouth.

“What a good girl,” he said, fisting your hair and removing you off his dick. “Now, who do you belong to?” he raised his brows expectantly as you caught your breath.

“You Vox, you,” you panted. You wanted to rub your clit to release the painful pressure building, but you knew better. You wanted him to be in control. His dominance was smothering, but you craved it and would shamelessly beg for him to be this way if he asked.

“I have you for internity now, pretty girl,” he said, lowering his face down to you, “sit on my dick and use it until you cum,” he whispered, releasing your hair, making you fall backward slightly. He sat back and stared down at you, his crimson eyes lidded with power and lust, a lethal concoction. He smiled deviously, his head following you as you rose from the floor, watching as you placed your hands on either side of his broad shoulders and straddled him, your hips slowly lowering onto his throbbing dick. You threw your head back to the heavens as the tip entered you; although wet, he was still a tight squeeze, the biggest you've ever had.

“Fuck,” you whined as you started a steady pace, using his shoulders as leverage. The wet squelches damning, and fithly but he loved it.

“Fuck me harder,” he growled, grabbing your throat into one large hand. You did as he asked, slamming your hips down onto him until that familiar pressure began to build in your stomach, the need for release almost painful.

“Cum,” he whispered hotly into your ear, and as if he was the conductor to your body, you screamed, the orgasm wrecking through you. The squeeze and release of the muscles inside you was euphoric and powerful, leaving you slummed over as it wracked through you, his hand on your throat the only thing holding you up.

“Filthy. Look at you now, begging for my dick. Cumming when I say,” he clicked his tongue at you a few times in mock disappointment.

“I love you,” you managed through hot pants, the blissful high of the orgasm still lingering.

“I love you, pretty girl. I'm going to fuck you so hard you’ll think of me every time you take a step, do you understand. Can you take that?” he asked, eyes staring at you intensely, pupils still blown out, “Nod, yes or no, baby. I need to know.” You nodded, your fate sealed. You yelped when he stood up, your fingers interlocking together behind his neck for support as he carried you, setting you down on the kitchen island, the perfect height for him to destroy you.

“You're incredibly beautiful," he said, his voice carrying a hint of tenderness that contrasted with the intense energy exuding from the man standing before you. His hands ran up your sides and down your back, unlatching the lace bra, allowing your breast to spill out freely as it dropped to the floor. He cupped them in his hands, squeezing the soft flesh and rolling the nipples into buds in his fingers until they were hardened peaks. You whimpered his name, eliciting a throaty growl from him. He lined up his cock at your entrance and pushed in, his eyes rolling closed at the velvety warm hug of your walls. “Don't cum until I say, if you do, I'll stop. Do you understand” You nodded eagerly, although you weren't sure if it was possible; he had always made you cum quickly, but you faced the challenge nonetheless. His fingers bruised your hips as he pulled you down onto each brutal thrust upward, the snap and angle of his hips percise to do as much damage as possible, the hieght of the counter perfect. You reached out to him, needing some source of leverage not to fall backward, finding solace in his biceps, the muscles tightening under the tortuous rhythm he was setting.

“I need to cum. Vox, please,” you whined, each word broken as the air left your lungs.

“NO,” he barked, clenching his teeth together. You tried to focus on anything else; Lucifer forbid he stop because of your climax. A hand moved to your throat and began to squeeze, a welcome distraction for the time being. “Look at you, baby. Covered in sweat, taking my cock. What a good girl,” he praised, making you swell with pride.

“No, no, I'm gonna cum,” you began to chant over and over, your eyes rolling closed, your grip on his arms becoming intense.

“Yeah? You gonna cum?” he taunted, and just as your walls began to tighten, he slowed to a sloppy pace, smothering the orgasm from existence.

“You asshole,” you seethed, eyes shooting open to glare up at him, nails gripping into his arms. You had hoped they were leaving marks.

“Watch your mouth,” he growled, the hand around your throat tightening in warning. “Look at that,” he hissed through his teeth, staring between your bodies as he slowly pulled all the way out and pushed back in, your arousal dripping off his dick onto the counter.

“I can't last, Vox-” you began to whimper, tears stinging the corner of your eyes. “I need to cum”

“Poor girl,” he mocked, “oh fuck, you weren't kidding,” he laughed maniacally, your hot walls beginning to squeeze him again. His thumb started a tortuous assault on your clit, rubbing tight circles on the bundle of nerves slipping off every second or so because of how soaked you were.

“Pleaseeeeeee, please, baby,” you cried out, tears streaming down your face now.

“Oh, I never hear you call me that; I like it,” he whispered into your ear, “more,” he growled demonically, making you shudder.

“Baby, I’ll do anything you want, ANYTHING,” you whined as he picked his pace back up, the head of his cock bruising your cervix. “Baby,” you began to repeat, your eyes rolling closed and your body lifting off the counter. Your mind had gone blank, his body the only thing consuming you.

“Oh, fuuuuuck. I love when you go dumb on my cock. It's been a while, hasn't it, sweetheart? What’s your name, huh?” he asked, his arrogant voice making you clench around him.

“I-I don't. I don't know,” you mumbled, hardly coherent.

“Cum, you filthy girl. Soak me,” he breathed into your ear, and that was it. Your body arched off the counter, his arms encircling your waist to hold you in place as the most intense orgasm of your existence tore you in two, a series of loud moans leaving you as the pulsating muscles inside you gripped him so hard that he choked, and studdered, words failing him as he spilled into you. Your orgasms intertwined with each other, a euphoric soul bond. As they subsided, nothing could be heard but your combined pants, your head dropped, resting on his chest, his heartbeat strong against your ear, calming you.

“I love you,” he panted, his fingers drawing small circles onto your back.

“I love you,” you hummed.

“For eternity?” he asked, his tenderness pulling at your heart

“For eternity,” you replied, safe in his arms as you would always be.

Here we are, guys, at the end. Whew, this was my first ever fic, and I cannot express how much I appreciate every interaction with it. Vox has been so fun to write, as has my sassy OC. I may do some kind of epilogue for these guys after they've been married sometime, but I have no planned time frame for that. I would absolutely love recommendations for future works.

Thank you to @redfoxwritesstuff for supporting a new writer; it means a lot. Of course, thank you to @annakade , @vvzhyxx , @lil-glum @cimadreamer and any other wonderful people I may be forgetting.

[dcxdpdabbles]

I really want to see what happens next in cave boy. How fast do they build a ship to take Danny home, and how embarrassed is Connie about his mistake

"Take care of yourself," Bruce says, smiling down at him. Danny offers back a grin, making sure to include all of the other Waynes. They surround the ship that has pre-program coordination to his home dimension.

All he would need to do was turn it on and fly it through the portal the Justice League had brought to the Batcave for him. Apparently, it was built a few missions ago for other dimension traveling allies.

The magic users have formed some kind of cult in Bruce's front yard but that wasn't Danny's problem. He got tired to explaining that he was plain old Danny Fenton, a halfa that got lost.

Apparently, a few demi-gods, Wonder Something and Captain Something (Danny stayed true to what he told the Bats. He doesn't want to be involved in their heroes' business. He wasn't paying attention when they introduced themselves) had gone around telling people that he was a god and to show him proper resepct. That just drove even more colorful charaters to camp out in Bruce's yard.

It looked like a music festival out there—the ones his parents claim they couldn't remember despite spending an entire weekend at. Sometimes, Danny is violently reminded that his parents were a lot more party animals than Dan, Jazz, Dani, or he turned out to be.

Thankfully, not everyone was acting weird around him; many heroes coming and going to help set up the final steps. Tim spearheaded the effort, and after building the ship for him, everything was finally ready.

Danny was finally going home.

All his things were packed and on board, waiting for Danny to take off. He was surprised the Waynes were willing to let him take everything they had bought or sent to him by fans. It wasn't worth millions, but it was a generous amount.

He will miss them after all the lies and theft that he done, Danny had spent a long time with the Waynes. He still wasn't entirely sure he and Bruce were the same person just a counter part of one another but they were so sure he was willing to let them think that.

"Thank you for everything," Danny tells the group, allowing Dick and Steph to step in for a hug.

"Thank you for allowing us to see Bruce as a child," Cass counters patting Danny's head around Dick's body. "You were entertaining."

Tim clears his throat, stepping forward with a binder. Dick and Steph detach themselves from Danny but not before giving him michvious smiles that make him slightly worried. If they were ghosts, Danny would think that they were planning on attacking him in the middle of class on purpose.

"I'm sorry about the way I treated you, Brucie." Tim starts twisting the binder a little before holding it out. "I figured you should have this."

"What is it?"

"The contingency plans I wrote about you. In case I had to neutralize you. All ninety-seven of them," Tim says, if that's even remotely normal. Danny is even more unsettled at Jason's smile of approval or Babarba's little coo as if she were watching toddlers play make-believe.

Is showing each other contingency plans a form of love for these people? Ancients Danny enjoyed his time with them but can't wait to get home.

"Eh, thank you." Danny manages to say, curling the binder to his chest. Tim's face explodes into a beam of pure unadulterated joy.

"You're welcome! If you ever come back, we can compare notes. I honestly think plan number fifty-two will give you a run for your money."

".....I'm a civilian, remember? Punching me would be enough to beat me."

Tim waves his hand in dismisal, before leaning in for own farewell hug as Damian scoffs. "We both know that's a lie, even without your god-hood."

"Father, did he fight off suitors since he was a child," Damian raises his chin, standing up straighter in pride. He's not quite puffing out his chest, but it's a darn close thing. He doesn't seem to mind when Danny wraps one arm aorund his shoulder is a makeshift hug. "You like will have the same suitors."

"Okay."

"Goodbye, Young Master Danny," Alfred says next, straightening his hair and shirt with a bittersweet gleam in his eye. "I will forever cherish your time spent with us."

"Bye Alfred."

Jason clapped a hand on Danny's shoulder, giving it a rough push. "Don't forget about us brat. We may not be able to follow you to your dimension, but once our worlds' divide stabilizes, you better come over for dinner."

The halfa shurgs not committing to anything. The way the Flash explained their worlds was that due to how similar their two dimesions were, having someone from either place visting for two long was cutting away at the diviation that seperated them.

If that fell, the two worlds would collide and rip each other's realities apart.

They would need to allow it to heal before any visitation could be done. Sadly, the divide would have to be healed naturally. It could be days, or it could be decades.

This may be the last time Danny would see them for a long time. Stupidly, tears start to well up in his eyes, at the thought. Duke punches his shoulder gentely, not calling him out on them when the other also has some tears.

In fact, the only dry eye in the cave right now belongs to Alfred, Bruce, and Cass. What a strange little family this was.

Danny bites his lip while gesturing to the ship that hums with power. "I better get going."

"Yes," Bruce says. "You have family waiting for you. Remember to cherish them"

Danny freezes from where he climbs into the ship hatchet door. He looks over his shoulder at the gathered group and suddenly realizes something. He can see the similarities between Bruce and Dan even if he has doubts. "I will. And maybe in a few years, I'll met the versions of you and have a even bigger family. Cherish your children Bruce."

The man offers him the softest smile he has seen grace Bruce's face. "I already do."

His children swing wild, crazed eyes at him. Danny can practically see the fines in the white of their eyes, and Dick climbs over a table so he can lean into Bruce's personal space. Batman leans away from his eldest son, looking honestly stricken.

Danny laughs, closing the door. He quickly settles into the lush seats, feeling the material of the cushion creak under his weight. The familiar hum of advance technology welcomes him with open arms as he wraps his hands on the steering wheel.

For a still moment, Danny wonders what he will do if this false, and he stuck here forever. A familair ache grows in the center of his chest at the thought of never seeing his family- his real one- again but with one deep breath he forces himself to press the on switch.

The portal blares to life in front of him- white and bright, unlike the Fenton Portal- and with a loud woosh, it rips open. He can see the front of his house, and it's like a physcial blow of happniess.

He slams his foot on the gas, flying out of the cave with a wave of laughter, feeling light for the first time in over a year. The bight clear sky of Amity Park, rains sunshine down on him as he crashes against a few parked cars.

The Wayne Tech holds true not allowing him to get any damage as it stumbles to a stop in a ironic perfect parallel parking spot right in front of his house. Danny is laughing so hard, so utterly free, that he feels mad with it, as stares out the window of his home.

He is home.

The last thing he hears of the Waynes is Alfred's calm voice in the communicator as it loses connection. The portal seals shut, self-mending the air as if though it was never there.

"Thank you, Master Danny, for allowing this old man to relive a memory."

The front door of Fenton Works is thrown open, a teenager with long red hair stumbles out of it, staring at the ship. She makes eye contact with the driver and then a scream of glee fills the air.

"Danny!" She runs as fast as her legs can carry her down the driveway, and Danny quickly fumbles out of his seat, desperate to get outside. They met halfway, arms encasing each other in desperate hugs as the to sob.

"Danny! Danny! You're back" Jazz babbles through her tears. Behind her Jack and Maddie are running toward them yelling and crying, and so utterly despreate to hold their boy.

The teenagers fall to their knees from the impact of their parents, and first the frist time in over a year, Danny can fianlly breath easily.

"I'm home," He whispers, pressing himself against his family.

[yugogeer012]

Part 10

Part 12

[thevoidstaredback]

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

"Hey, Babs,"

"Dick? It's late, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!"

"I'm about to go on patrol, D, can this wait?"

A sigh. "No."

"What's wrong?"

"Blockbuster's after Oracle."

***

Gotham Proper is a thirty-three minute drive from Bludhaven. The drive to Bristol from Bludhaven is a fifty-one minute drive through Drescher, Burnside, Sumerset, Victoria Place, and Little Stockton before crossing the bridge over Gotham River into Bristol. Gotham Proper is made of four islands connected to each other and the mainland via several bridges. Technically, all of those cities and towns - as well as Charon and Brentwood - are sister cities like Bludhaven, but everyone counts them as a part of Gotham anyway.

Dick spent the entire drive alternating between sulking and panicking.

Danny would know. Ghosts, as he's come to understand, are beings made of emotion, meaning that he can sense emotions better than living beings. Though, he didn't need an empth ability to read the air around Dick.

'What if something happens while we're gone?" Dick asked for the nth time in the past few minutes, "What if Brutale decides to blow something up while I'm gone? What if Blockbuster starts something big?"

"Bigger than what he's already doing?" Danny didn't bother to look up from his conversation with Tim. "The fact that you can't even name specific examples proves that you're not actually worried about Blockbuster or Brutale."

"I'm worried about Brutale blowing something up, thank you very much."

"Yeah, 'something'. Who even is Brutale anyway? I don't think I know that name."

"No one you need to worry about." He moved into the right lane.

Danny turned his phone off and set it face down on his leg. "What are you really worried about, Dick? I've known you for five weeks now, and I've never seen you this worried about anything."

"You've known me for three weeks."

"No, you've known me for three weeks. I've known you for five weeks. And don't change the subject."

Dick sighed, running his left hand through his hair before dropping it back onto the steering wheel.

"Is it Bruce?"

"...yeah."

"You know he's at work, right?"

"Yeah, I- How do you know that?"

He waved his phone a bit. "I checked with Tim. So, it's just going to be Tim and Alfred at the Manor when we get there."

"You know Alfred?"

"I know of Alfred." Danny slapped his right shoulder, "Stop trying to change the subject!"

"I can't help it! Deflecting has worked pretty damn well for me up until this point!"

"Oh, yeah? Against who?"

"Literally everyone!"

"Everyone?"

A beat. "Okay, so maybe only most people, but that's not the point!"

"Doesn't matter what your point is because we're going back to talking about mine!" He huffed. "If you don't want to go straight to Wayne Manor, then stop by somewhere else. You had to have gained at least one friend in Gotham before you moved to Bludhaven."

Dick paused for a moment, eyeing the signs. They'd only been driving for twenty minutes. He could hang a right just before Sumerset to cross the New Trigate Bridge into Arkham Island, take another right onto Midtown and drive to Old Gotham to meet Babs/. Yeah, that'd be nice. But, the detour would increase the chance of running into Bruce later on in the day. Maybe he could have Bab's drive to the Manor?

"Is it too late to turn around?"

"Yes."

"Why are you even so insistent on going? You don't know anyone in Gotham!"

"I know Tim!" He argued. "Besides, healthy relationships are good in this kind of work."

Dick raised his eyebrow, glancing at Danny from the corner of his eye. "You wanna second to rethink that or..?"

Danny clicked his tongue. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to Bruce, and I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to apologize to Tim for snapping at him. If you end up with better relations here in Gotham, then that only works in your favor."

Dick groaned, ditching the turn onto New Trigate and continuing on through Sumerset. "Fine! But we're leaving before Bruce gets back. I can't stand him right now."

Danny smiled, a sad look in his eye. "Alright."

He knew very well that Dick's relationship was near irreparable. From what he'd gathered, from either overhearing or snooping, Bruce had been a pretty good dad and boss to Dick up until he'd turned seventeen. He hung up the Robin mantle when he was eighteen, appearing as Nightwing when he was nineteen. Bruce, apparently, hadn't taken this very well, but copped, adopint ong Jason Todd when Dick was twenty years old, giving him the Robin mantle a few months later.

According to Dick, when Jason was killed, he'd been off world. Bruce hadn't even called him to inform him, let alone tell him about the funeral. And, when Dick got back and heard what happened from Batgirl, he'd confronted Batman in the Batcave. Batman, apparently, though he's inclined to Dick's side, punched him the face and shifted the blame.

Danny doesn't blame Dick for being angry. Not for a second. He can't really relate, but he understands.

Entering Bristol, there was a shift in the air. Outside was stuffy and smelled like money. Inside the car, however, was tense. Dick's attitude shifted to his work smile. It was plastic.

This was going to be a long day.

He didn't say anything. Quietly, Danny messaged Tim, letting him know about the shift. Tim was quick to respond, letting Danny know that he was fully prepared for whatever was coming. Danny didn't think he was.

Danny knew that something was going to happen. The air was suddenly suffocating, the world fake manufactured to perfection.

"You alright there, bud?" Dick asked, his voice perfectly professional.

"Yeah, fine. I-I'm fine." Danny wanted this car to turn around.

Part 10 Part 12

[bobadila]

Getting ready to go on your date hang out

Part 11 I’m finally done with this!! I’ve been procrastinating for days and days and I finally finished it. I’m going to work on my radio apple week stuff next and then go back to this comic sooo. Let’s see how long it will take me!

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 11

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: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. 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.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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[feletida]

Fairytale

[forgers-therapist]

tiny PEOPLE (Part 11)

[harborpointeblvd]

Tan 🐶, episode 11

[icallhimjoey]

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It’s just that… you don’t really get along all that well, do you? At least, that’s what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers, slooow burn, language, rpf, fem!reader, smut, drinking

Author’s note: we made it girlies, it's time to get all the answers, but also time to say goodbye - it's been a JOURNEY and i apologise for how long this took me! Pls enjoy!

Wordcount: 6.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five- part six- part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

"You know I want to say it..." Joe said after a short silence.

"I know," you were well aware.

"Please let me say-"

"No."

It had been a week. Just a week. Joe wasn't allowed to say those words to you. He let them slip that night, had just blurted them out at the wedding, and you hadn't been able to swallow the words. Instead, they got lodged in your windpipe and had made you want to throw up.

"Please don't." you instructed, eyes trained on Joe's hand.

You felt Joe's eyes on you as he took a deep breath, settling on the understanding that you didn't want to hear them yet. You'd been playing with his hand for a little bit as you were both on your sides, heads buried into pillows and you'd already told Joe to go to sleep three times because you knew what time his alarm would go off the next morning.

But how could Joe sleep with you on your side of his bed, slowly tracing the lines of his palm with your fingers?

"Did you really think I hated you?"

Joe's question flushed you with a gentle wave of emotions. The delicate vulnerability and the sense of elation were the direct effect good sex had on you, which left you feeling you both physically and emotionally exposed. You could sob from looking anyone in the eye for a second too long right now, so coming in hot with a question that you knew Joe needed an honest answer to, did exactly that.

It contorted your whole face a second, crumpled it up into an ugly cry, breath held as your throat tensed to keep the sob inside because, yes you did. And it had always bothered you.

You had thought about it all week, kept going over interactions you'd had with Joe over the years and tried to puzzle it all into the narrative of Joe having a crush on you.

But it was difficult.

It didn't matter how many people helped you, how much Poppy tried to convince you that she didn't know Joe like this, that it had to be real. How much Mark tried to drill into you that he remembered how Joe looked at you the first time Mark and Poppy had forced you two to hang out together.

And it didn't matter that on some level you did understand. Understanding it in your brain and feeling it in your body were two vastly different things, after all.

So you nodded, because yes, you had honestly thought that Joe didn't like you. That he didn't want you in his life.

With eyes squeezed shut and your face screwed up you turned onto your back, trying to escape Joe's direct gaze a second. You felt how his hand that had laid relaxed in between you gripped onto yours for comfort.

Tears welled up fast, but you knew how to handle them.

You forced your face to relax, forced your eyes to open, forced your ribcage to expand and inhaled deeply. You held it there for a few seconds before you exhaled through your mouth and... you were fine.

Deep breaths always helped.

Turning back to Joe with your face relaxed, your expression smooth, all void of emotion, you found him looking at you with worry-filled eyes.

"You do that," not a question, just a statement about something Joe had noticed.

"What?"

"You stop it." Joe remembered how, several times, he'd seen you cry, and every time, you'd been able to stop it just as quickly as it had started. Maybe not as fast when you were drunk, but... still. This was some very advanced repressing of emotions.

Unclasping your hand from Joe's, you placed his hand back where it had laid before, in between the two of you, palm up, ready to get back into drawing lines over it with your fingers because that was just as soothing to you as it was to him.

"You'd rather have me cry?"

If Joe was honest, he did. He wondered how long it would take for you to be able to lose the tough exterior around him. Fully lose the whole I Can Take Care Of Myself facade. He felt that you had shed some layers already, but those were layers he'd put there himself. Joe now had to filter through neutral territory before you'd be able to let him in any further. To trust he did actually like you.

"I have never hated you," Joe whispered, and moved to kiss your forehead.

"I know," you whispered back, fully focussed on Joe's hand again. Stroking. Tracing lines with delicate touch. Avoiding Joe's eye-contact, mostly.

"It's the opposite,"

"Joe," you warned, eyes shooting up a fraction of a second to meet his.

"I won't say it."

But Joe thought it. Felt the words in his bones, strengthening and weakening them at the same time. It was agony, but you'd told Joe it was only fair for him to say those words if it was in response to you saying them.

And it had only been a week.

A week.

A week since you'd made it downstairs and found the groomsmen, the bridesmaids, Poppy, and her dad, all ready and waiting for the ceremony to start. Mark was down by the altar, and the room was filled to the brim with people.

The groomsmen had been paired up with the bridesmaids to walk down the aisle; ladies on the left, men on the right. Which was funny, because that meant that you and Joe would have to cross paths at the end to go stand in your correct groups and you knew it'd get a soft chuckle from everyone there.

When you and Joe lined up at the end, in front of Poppy and her dad, she had been on your immediately. Tried to be subtle, but asked all sorts of questions. She very obviously tried to make the two of you confess you'd been hiding in a coat closet together, but you didn't budge. Kept straight faces. Told Poppy she looked beautiful in her dress. Smiled at her dad, who had no idea what was going on, but was polite and tried to calm his daughter. He even shushed her a little, which made you and Joe look each other as deftly as you could as you tried to hide smiles before it was your turn to walk down the aisle.

During the ceremony, your mind was swirling. Going a million miles an hour. You were stood behind Mark, who looked at Poppy, and behind Poppy was Joe. You had your eyes locked at the back of Mark's suit, able to see Joe in your peripheral vision just over his shoulder behind Poppy, and you were meant to follow the ceremony. Listen to the officiant's whole official shpiel. Listen to Mark and Poppy's heartfelt vows. But your mind was elsewhere.

Convinced that, in hindsight, you should have somehow known of Joe's crush, you were stumped to realise that you hadn't. Not even a little bit.

Poppy had said he'd been in love – like, actual love for 'fucking ages' and... bitch, where?

Mentally you were so far removed from what was happening around you that, when the officiant asked for the rings, you had to be pulled from your thoughts by a loud scrape of Mark's throat.

"Wha- rings! Rings. Yes. I've got the rings."

And Joe pressed his lips together, bit them into his mouth to hide a smile as you handed over the little red box.

Whilst you'd been staring at Mark's back, sort of frowning in thought, Joe had been eyeing you. He could see how your eyes were sort of glazed over, all out of focus, and he couldn't help but blame himself for you missing it. You were missing your best friend getting married to his best friend because you were all zoned out, and he predicted he was responsible for it. Sensed how being forced to stand still and in silence for a long time probably wasn't helping his situation.

It gave you time to go over what had just happened.

What you had just learnt.

And fuck. Joe was going to have to answer to a lot, probably.

When it was time to follow Poppy and Mark out, all the way down the aisle and out of the room with everyone stood up and clapping, Joe smiled and nodded at the people he walked past but said, "All right, ask away,"

And as you smiled and nodded at the people on your side of the aisle, you said, "Where do I even start?"

The fact that you were convinced Joe had never really liked you was probably the right place to start.

But you were at a wedding.

And you were in the bridal party.

This was hardly the place or the time for a serious conversation, to ask all the tough questions you had on your mind. Yet, it was the only thing on your mind. Couldn't think of anything else. It just kept wandering there, and it didn't really help that Joe was there the whole time, reminding you of all of it.

Things grew complicated in your head. Things tangled and twisted until you couldn't undo the knots.

You kind of wished you were back in that coat closet again. Where it was dark, and hot, and where no one else could see or hear you kiss, and touch, and pant into each other's mouths.

But you were at a wedding.

So. You found moments to steal.

A couple of seconds here and there to stand close enough to Joe for you to sneak out an accusation. Something Joe would have to answer for, and he'd have to be quick, because it couldn't look like you were actually talking, could it?

The day was about Poppy and Mark.

The newly weds.

You were the best man and the maid of honour. Still had jobs to do.

So you hid in plain sight. Got your questions out and had Joe answer them as fast as he could.

During cocktail hour, there were photographs taken outside in the courtyard. The whole bridal party got involved, both sets of parents too, and it was a lot of posing in various groups.

When you and Joe were stood off to the side, both looking at whoever was next to pose next to Mark and Poppy, you stole the moment.

"You don't like me..." you said, loud enough for just Joe to hear. You weren't even looking at each other, but Joe knew you were talking to him.

"I do like you... I had to make you think that I didn't,"

"Well," you inhaled sharply. "You're a fantastic actor."

Had it been anyone else saying that under any other circumstance, it was the best compliment Joe could wish for. But this, right now, coming from you? It stung.

"I couldn't have– there's so many reasons, all stupid, I assure you, but I couldn't– Poppy would, well, I thought Poppy would never have–"

Joe didn't get to finish his sentence. The photographer called you over, wanted you to pose with Mark and the other groomsmen and you didn't hesitate to walk away. Didn't let on you were listening to what Joe was saying.

The next moment you found was just before the bridal party was to enter the venue where everyone had just sat down for dinner.

"The framed photo you cropped me out of," you stated flatly, eyes up ahead.

"Folded photo," Joe corrected you, and you snapped your head to look at him, all bewildered, because what the fuck?

"I folded that. I wanted to frame the full thing, but I couldn't. You were off-limits. But you were there.... just, hidden, at the back of it,"

You were introduced, and had to snap out of it quickly. Faces open and joyful because you were at a wedding and tonight was going to be fun.

You found your seats and looked at each other when you saw the name cards placed next to each other. You'd seen the seating chart beforehand, and the two of you had not been sat together according to earlier made plans.

Poppy.

Fucking Poppy and her stupid meddling.

It gave Joe a chance to explain more as the newly weds entered, and applause thundered before they started their first dance. With the both of you turned in your seats to watch you best friends sway in each other's arms, Joe got to talk.

Joe explained how he couldn't have given himself a finger, because he would've gone and grabbed for the full hand.

Joe told you how it was all a thing of self-deprivation, and that Poppy had been right when she said Joe had had feelings for you for a while.

Joe was no longer hiding anything. He no longer cared about keeping secrets. All the initial thoughts, the first things that would pop into his brain, it all came spilling out. Quietly, and rambly, but it was all there for you to soak up.

The misplaced jokes. The walking you home. The silent message Mark had sent him with a single shake of his head. The chats he had with Poppy about her insecurities that always included you. The shirt and tie and dress shoes he wore in his own house. The shared gelato, "I was crossing a line there, scolded myself for days after," Joe said, and you didn't think that was true. That was the first time Joe'd been slightly normal. The first time you felt you'd had a normal chat, had both felt brave enough to apologise to each other, and hadn't been hindered by adverse winds.

The dance ended, people clapped and after a small welcome toast, everyone turned in their seats and the first dinner course was served.

Joe glanced at you from the corner of his eye and leant into you a little, indicating he was listening - waiting for your reaction to all of it.

"You're a weirdo," you said into your glass of wine right before taking a sip, and Joe smirked, because, yea, he really fucking was a weirdo.

For a while you fell in conversation with others at the table. The evening flowed from the first course to the main, after which Poppy's dad gave a toast. Cute words for the newly weds, honorary mentions of the female best man and the male maid of honour that got a laugh from the room, and then, you and Joe got to do your speeches.

Throughout Joe's speech, Poppy cried into the napkin that Mark dabbed at her face before she took it from him. Throughout yours, you could barely hold it together yourself and it made Mark get up to come and hug you. You finished the speech together as Mark held you and Poppy filmed you with her phone. Mark read along with an arm wrapped around you as you stuttered meaningful words into the microphone, both of you sniffling, crying messes.

You loved Mark.

And Mark had gotten married to the best girl.

When applause filled the room again, and every single female relative of Mark over the age of 45 had awed at the two of you, you rushed over to hug Poppy.

You loved Poppy too, almost just the same. So you told her, spoke it into her hair, and it made her hug you tighter. Poppy hummed, and you expected her to say it back. Instead, she softly said, "We heard you in that closet," which squeezed a laugh right out of you and you scrunched noses at each other as you pulled back.

"You've got to tell me everything," Poppy said.

For a second you thought of denying it all. Considered pretending that you had no idea what she was talking about. But she looked so excited, all giddy at the prospect of you and Joe in a coat closet together. All she really knew was that you and Joe had kissed a couple weeks ago, and that Joe had done something that had upset you - that was it, no more details, at least that you were aware of.

"You stole the fucking rings from me," you said, and it confirmed enough, making Poppy squeal as she dug her fingers into your arms.

"So you made up? Are you okay?"

"Definitely still angry,"

"My God, what did his stupi–"

"Pop," Mark interrupted, and you thought it was because she was interfering. Like it was Mark's way of helping you out, because this was hardly something you were going to get into right now. Maybe even ever. But when you both looked at Mark, he pointed behind you at Poppy's father, because it was time for the father-daughter dance and it wasn't time to get worked up over something Joe had done a couple weeks ago when you had kissed him. Obviously.

You took Poppy's seat and sat next to Mark as you watched Poppy dance with her father, and it was weirdly emotional. It made your throat swell and hurt, but you managed to keep it all in there.

"So, was Poppy right, then?" Mark suddenly asked.

You blinked at him a second.

"About you and Joe?"

Mark's face gave away nothing about his intent, so you figured he just wanted to know. No judgment.

"I had the rings, didn't I?" was all you said, a small smile playing on your face as your crossed leg swung under the table. A slow grin grew over Mark's face as he frowned.

"The fuck you not telling me shit for? How long as this been going on?"

All you managed was a huffed laugh as your eyes found Mark's mother coming up behind him, and you smacked his shoulder before saying, "Is there not a mother-son dance that you're meant to be a part of?"

You knew it hadn't been scheduled in.

But you also knew what Mark's mother was like.

Seconds later, Mark and his mum joined Poppy and her dad and you leant your head into both of your hands, elbows resting up on the table and across the floor, you saw Joe.

He was also watching his friends, head perched on his fist as he leant an arm on the back of his chair.

Joe's real pretty, you thought. Did he look different to you now that you knew?

Yea.

Kind of.

Wait. He really kind of did.

Looked less like a distant, arrogant prick, maybe. Or perhaps he looked the same, but it was you who was seeing him in a different light now.

Joe must have felt your eyes on him, because you saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat and look around before his eyes found you. Joe looked right back at you, held your gaze, and for a moment you both had your heads resting on your hands and just... stared. Just admired. Looked right at each other, across the full length of the dance floor.

You were waiting for a smile to break across his face, but it never came. You thought maybe your mind should've been swirling with thoughts, but, it was eerily quiet up there. Just... look at him.

That man was in love with you?

Wild, honestly.

A visual deep breath from you got Joe to nod his head up at you, a small little raise of his chin, his eyes two big questionmarks, and he meant, what's up? You all right?

All you could really do was shrug as you shook your head a little, a small defeated smile below pinched eyebrows, and you meant, what the fuck are we going to do?

The song ended, people clapped, and then more people joined in to dance.

You kept eyes on each other, both skilled at keeping them trained in the exact right spot, no matter how many people broke the line of contact with their dancing bodies.

That was, until Poppy and Mark slid into your vision - not quite enough to make you break eye-contact, but enough to lean over and look from you, over to Joe, back to you again with shit-eating grins upon their faces.

They'd seen you look at each other and needed you to know that they had seen.

Mark made a face at you that made you want to punch him too hard on that divot between his bicep and tricep, where you could hit him right on a nerve.

Poppy started beckoning the both of you, wide arms waving for the both of you to meet on the dance floor, but before you could even properly think of how to react, the cake cutting was announced.

And Mark and Poppy were little shits.

Made you and Joe stand next to them, each holding a small glass plate, beautiful crystal, ready for them to cut two pieces of cake that they would feed each other and then you'd be ready to collect whatever chunks would be left in their hands.

You remembered how Poppy had been adamant, "If you smear any cake anywhere I'm immediately divorcing you, that's so fucking tacky," and Mark had laughed and argued that he the thought of pushing cake into her face hadn't even crossed his mind.

And Mark loved Poppy, and she trusted him. So there was no hesitation as they fed each other bites from larger chunks of cake that they held in their hands. And you were so ready with your little plate. So ready to be a good best man to Mark, to help him out, had a napkin in the other hand for him to wipe his hand on too.

Cameras flashed, people got pictures and videos of Poppy and Mark feeding each other and thank fuck, it was a clean ordeal. Just two small bites. No mess. Fantastic. Exactly what Poppy wanted.

But Mark and Poppy were little shits and they got you fast.

You and Joe ended up with cake smeared all over. There were shrieks and there was loud laughter and more cameras flashed, and there was buttercream in your eye, and you inhaled vanilla frosting way up into your nose which hurt. Marks hands got cake all over your face, and when he stopped to loudly laugh at his work, through a squinty eye you saw how Poppy got Joe worse.

Joe had cake all over his face, up in his hair and even down his suit.

"Poppy, stop! This is Gucci!" Joe cried out and it made you want to roll your eyes at him. Of course it was Gucci.

The napkin you'd been holding was about to wipe at your face, but Mark stopped you and pulled you in for a group shot with the four of you; you and Joe pushed together into the center, Mark and Poppy either side. Mark squished your cheeks with his one dirty cake hand and Poppy used hers to push against the side of Joe's head. It knocked his head nearly into yours and with the flash of the camera, both Mark and Poppy stepped away. Disappeared from your sides fast. Probably scared you were going to get them back.

And, oh man, you absolutely were going to get them back.

Later, though.

When they'd least expect it. Maybe do something dumb to their house whilst they were away on their honeymoon - you'd think of something.

"We should get new friends," Joe commented, gesturing for you to turn. Universal sign for, come on, follow me, to make it over to the bathrooms to get cleaned up.

"What do you mean? These ones fed us cake!" You joked, trying to pick icing from you eyelashes as you walked and it made Joe halt and drop his face at you.

"She missed my mouth!" he said pointedly, and you laughed as you pushed the swing door to the toilets before stepping inside. You blamed the sudden sense of privacy as you were no longer under the watchful eye of your best friends for what you said next.

"Impressive, that's a difficult mouth to miss,"

Joe narrowed his eyes at you as he studied your face. Your posture. It made him twitch inside his trousers. Was this going to go where he thought it might go?

Then, in the low light of the swanky dark hotel bathroom you were in, you reached a hand over and wiped a thumb across Joe's cheek all the way to the corner of his mouth. It pulled at his lips as you flicked it, scooping up buttercream and bits of cake from his face in between your index finger and thumb that you then brought to your mouth.

Yes, Joe thought. This was absolutely going to go where he thought it might go, and looking at you sucking your digits clean made him audibly groan.

Joe dropped his head and had to focus on breathing.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Deep breaths always helped.

Except, not really. Not this time, anyway. Why was the image of you covered in wedding cake making his dick hard?

Joe had to use a clean hand to adjust himself in his trousers. You saw.

"Yea? You want to finish what you started?" you smirked, eyes twinkling.

And Joe couldn't fucking believe what he was hearing. His eyebrows shot up, and he immediately tried to reason, "There's cake all over this Gucci suit," but he was already leaning in, fingers reaching for your mouth, his body fully betraying him, because how could it decline the invitation?

Joe's kisses tasted like wedding cake. Sickly sweet, vanilla and white chocolate, all sticky and... distant. Joe was leaning over as much as he could, kept his body as far away as possible whilst still making sure his mouth got want it wanted from you.

Joe was trying to stay clean and you weren't having it. It made you pull at him, and it made him lose his jacket.

It was gross, and you had to breathe through your mouth because there was cake up in your nose, but you kind of loved it and started pushing Joe back into a stall.

Joe let you, locking the door behind you before he continued, and you knew posh little clean pristine Joey probably had thoughts and opinions about getting dirty in the toilets of a hotel, swanky or not. But then Joe said, "This cake tastes good," when he licked some off your face and followed up with, "Best way to taste test," whilst you started gathering the fabric of your dress at the hips, slowly inching it upwards.

And like you had asked of him, Joe finished what he started in your kitchen a couple of weeks ago.

Got his big hands, those thick fingers, in all the places you wanted them. Got his mouth there too – he had to, couldn't stop himself. Got frosting all over your neck and all up between your thighs and it was the exact opposite of what you had come in there to do.

Joe had you whimpering and moaning when he eventually slid inside you, face to face this time, pressed up against the stall door, no more distance, and fuck, this was so much better.

You weren't exactly quiet, so he tried to stifle the noises escaping you by scooping frosting from your face into your mouth, which made you laugh, which in turn made him growl, "Oh my God, shit," because that felt fucking amazing.

You had to stop momentarily when you heard someone come in. Had to freeze on the spot, Joe deep inside you, big eyes looking at each other, and it felt a little like you were back in that coat closet. Too close to each other. Barely breathing. Hiding.

It just turned you on more.

Whoever had walked in muttered something about Joe's suit jacket that was on the floor, picked it up and then walked out with it. Presumably to go and find him. Was that Mark?

"Quick," you whispered, not wanting to get caught, and Joe said, "All right, yea, laugh again, come on," which wasn't a joke, but it still made you laugh.

Walking back into the wedding, wiped clean of all the wedding cake and with absolutely nothing running down your inner thighs, you realised you'd missed the bouquet toss. You didn't mind, but you knew you were probably going to get some shit from Poppy for it later.

To remain as unsuspicious as you could, Joe entered half a minute later but then immediately got you a drink, and came to stand beside you. You watched the dance floor for a second, both with drinks in hand, both not sure what to do or what to even say to each other.

What the fuck was your life right now?

Two sudden heavy hands landed on your shoulders, and it was Mark, startling you before he pulled you onto the dance floor with him. You were only just able to quickly pass your glass to Joe who swiftly took it from you before you disappeared into the crowd of dancing couples.

You expected Mark to mention it.

To at least say something about it.

But then he didn't, and you fucking loved him for it.

This is why you and Mark were the friends that you were. Anyone else would've said something, would've commented, joked, would have poked fun.

Not Mark.

Mark just wanted to dance with his best friend, his best man, at his wedding and you could tell he was well on his way to getting drunk because his eyes were half the size they usually were.

"I know I always say that you don't deserve Poppy, because she's too good for you,"

"She is," Mark agreed and smiled at you.

"No, I was wrong. I think you're the perfect fit. Exactly right for each other,"

You saw Mark look over your shoulder, and his eyes went all droopy and lovesick. You knew he had to be looking at Poppy.

His wife.

A quick check proved you right, and you saw Poppy dance with Joe and fuck. Why was Joe looking at her like that? All soft and sweet, like he was the one who had just married her instead of Mark?

In a flash you realised it. And...

Oh no.

Envy.

That was envy?! Shit. Had that been envy this whole fucking time?!

"What's up?" Mark asked, a little confused at what he'd just seen across your face.

"Nothing," you were quick, tried to hide all of it with a smile.

"What?" Mark persisted and you sighed, all deep and heavy, turning back to look at Joe who was still looking at Poppy like the sun shone out of her ass as they slowly swayed to the music together.

"No, it's... it's not– why does he look at her like that?"

Mark blinked at you.

"Sorry?"

"No, never mind, it's stupid, let's not–" you backtracked immediately.

"Oh my God," Mark exclaimed and then laughed loudly, head thrown back before he let it slump forward.

"I might as well have fucking married you today, what the actual fuck, you're– it is true! You and Poppy are literally the same person, it's so– this is so creepy!"

And yes, okay, it was a little creepy that, when Mark and Poppy had just started dating, Poppy apparently had asked Mark about why he would look at you like you were the reason he was even alive to begin with. Mark told you she would still sometimes bring it up when they argued, and Mark would always say, "I don't know! I love her! I can't help what my eyes do!" and Poppy would shout, "That's weird Mark, I am your girlfriend!"

It humbled you real fast.

It had never occurred to you what you and Mark looked like when you communicated with just looks. With eyes and subtle facial changes and this stupid spark of jealousy, which you now recognised was exactly what that was, made you want to go hug Poppy.

So that's what you did.

You took rushed steps and then pried yourself in between Joe and Poppy to hug her.

"My girls," you heard Mark say, but he was quick to correct himself and followed it up with, "Our girls."

Made you want to give him a black eye.

But then Poppy mused, "Our boys." and it kind of felt exactly right.

"My wife," Mark continued, using the offensive Borat accent, and Poppy replied, "My husband," in a Russian accent, the h pronounced as a hard g, because why not. Before you knew it they were making out all gross again, like they had down at the bar where you'd met after the hen do and stag do.

"Yeaaa, why not?" Joe said under his breath, nose all scrunched up.

"You said something about getting new friends?" you joked, and it made Mark find the side of your head to push you away. You laughed as you nearly lost your balance, and Joe laughed as he reached out both arms to make sure that you didn't.

"Come on, let's dance,"

And it was all fun and games getting Joe to make you come on his mouth in a toilet stall before he railed you, but you still had questions. Were still mad for him leaving you in your kitchen without explanation.

Learning that Joe had been having feelings for you just confused you more.

So you danced as you held onto each other because that's how everyone else was dancing, and you decided the moment was another one for you to steal.

"Why did you leave that night?"

Joe took in your question and slowly inhaled through flared nostrils.

"You just walked right out,"

It was the worst thing he could've ever done and he was an idiot, Joe agreed. Good, you thought. At least you were on the same page about it. Joe revealed how learning of how you and Mark had become friends had thrown him for a loop, because there he was, head over heels and finally getting to know you better. Spending more time with you. Granting himself normal human interactions that he hadn't been able to afford himself before you'd been given this job together. And then there you were, telling him how traumatic it had been that guys always seemed to want more from you.

More.

Like Joe wanted more.

Joe couldn't be one of those guys. Didn't want to add to your hurt. And you were also both drunk, and had been shouting at each other in a bar, and that wasn't how he had wanted any of that to go. But, he was still an idiot, and he should have never left.

You nodded and agreed.

"Yes, you are an idiot, and you should have never left... but that's also weirdly considerate,"

"Well, you have been calling me weird behind my back a lot, or so I've heard,"

Big sigh.

Mark and Poppy were not to be trusted.

"Listen…" you chose to ignore what Joe'd just accused you of. "I feel very tender about little teenage me. Fourteen-year-old me felt a lot, did everything with all of her feelings. Went through life feelings first, thoughts second. Out of everyone, out of everything, she makes me cry the most… but I’m not her. Not anymore. I’ve not been her in over a decade, I’m not– I'm not fragile like that anymore, I’m tough now!"

The way Joe had been looking at you as you talked was the same way he'd always look at Poppy... but, times twenty.

Head tilted to the side, eyes half-lidded, a slow smile pulling at his cheeks – and, all right, if this was the type of shit Joe had done his best to hide from you all this time, why he made sure to stay unapproachable and cold, you kind of understood.

"Okay," was all Joe said through a wide smile.

"Okay?"

"Yea. Okay."

So, it was okay.

And when Poppy and Mark passed you, she peeked over Joe's shoulder and asked you again, "Did he apologise? Are you all good now?" and by ways of answering her, you bit into Joe's shoulder. It meant, not entirely. Not yet. But I think we will be.

It made Joe chuckle and pull you close, taking your face into his hands and pressing slow kisses onto each one of your eyelids. It nearly made your knees buckle, and that's when he said it.

Blurted it right out.

Soft enough for only you to hear, but somehow still threateningly loud, because the words rung in your ears.

"I love you."

It hitched your breath immediately.

"No, that's too soon,"

"It's been years,"

Yea, for Joe, maybe. But it had only been, what, eight hours for you. You agreed then and there that if you were going to do this, you were going to do this slow.

Do things slow to get them right.

Like normal people would do.

And sure, normal people wouldn't have the same starting point the two of you had, but it was whatever. Joe could pretend. You told Joe to ignore how he'd just eaten you out whilst you were both covered in cake and got him all flustered as he shushed you, afraid people would hear.

You said Joe could think crazy things. Things like I love you and that, but he couldn't actually say it. Not out loud anyway. Not for you to hear. You didn't care what he told Poppy about you. That was none of your business.

Yes.

You were going to do this sensibly, astutely and normally.

But, then, you weren't really normal people, were you?

Because all throughout that first week, in just those seven days, there had been moments where you'd thought those words too.

When you'd been on your way out on Tuesday morning after staying the night, and had to walk past Joe who was putting that picture of him and Poppy back up in his hallway, except now a new larger frame held the unfolded version that had you and Mark in as well.

And then again when you'd come over on Thursday for dinner, and Joe opened the door in blue jeans, bare feet and a white T-shirt that had a hole just below the collar.

A hole.

You thought you'd never see the day.

And then a couple of hours ago, when you'd been over at Mark and Poppy's for drinks, and they'd pulled out a game to play. It was you and Mark against Poppy and Joe, and whereas Mark and Poppy got ruthlessly competitive, you noticed Joe was doing everything in his power to sabotage the game, making you win.

It's just that you'd decided you weren't just going to blurt it out willy nilly, all haphazardly. Especially not after Joe got you all comfortable in his bed, massaged your shoulders, your back, your legs and then your ass before he'd undressed you fully and made you feel like you were the most important thing in his life right now.

No.

You were keeping those words in for a stupid moment.

Like when you'd catch him digging dirt from under his fingernails whilst trying to be all sly about it.

Or when he'd pretend he didn't mind that you left his kitchen all dirty, but then casually went to clean the entire room straight away.

Or when he'd wake up in a panic when he slept through an alarm, knowing that if you'd say it then, it'd only make him later to whatever he was already late for.

You didn't know. But you'd think of something.

And you were lucky, because there was something grounding, something very secure about knowing that the person who you would say it to wouldn't hesitate to say it back. Would probably repeat it a thousand times then if he could. Kiss you on your eyelids again to make you swoon.

Joe fell asleep that night with you on your side of his bed and you played with his hand until you heard soft snores beside you. What had been so weird before had grown to be just right in the span of just a few days.

And it was all right.

Because Joe was in love with you, and you were in love with Joe.

And that was all that mattered.

the end

---

The Taglisted: 

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(taglist currently full, sorry)

[luix33]

ANDDD here's part 11 n 12 🗣🗣🔥🔥🔥

SO EXCITED FOR THIS MAP TO BE COMPLETE GRAHAHHHHAHHEGJENVDDHSV🗣🗣‼️🔥‼️🔥‼️🔥‼️🔥‼️🔥😭😭😭😮😮

[angelynmoon]

Eldritch Steve

Part 11

-

Eddie stared at Wayne, Wayne stared back, for several long moments neither one blinked but Eddie was human and so eventually he had to.

"Arg, remind me not to get into staring contests with Eldritch beings!" Eddie yelled as he rubbed his watery eyes.

"You never once won a staring contest with me boy, no reason to start now." Wayne said with a shrug, "You want coffee, Steve?"

"You're not mad at me for telling Eddie?" Steve asked, nervously.

"Surprised it took so long." Wayne handed Steve a mug, all of them had been replaced with the new two bedroom trailer.

Steve also knew that several soldiers had gone missing when they insulted Eddie in Wayne's presence, Steve had claimed he'd overheard them talking so he'd eaten them, which had the confronting soldiers cringing back and Owens blanching and making a quick escape.

"It wasn't my secret to tell, but he needs to know what being Mated to one of us means." Steve said, holding his mug in both hands.

"He is right here." Eddie reinserted himself into the conversation, "And I know what I'm getting into, Steve told me about spawning."

Wayne looked at Eddie and then at Steve, "How much did you tell him about spawning?"

Steve blushed, "As much as I know."

Wayne stared at him and then sighed, "Settle in, the both of you, we've got a long night ahead."

Because Wayne knew just how much about Spawning Steve knew or more exactly how little he knew. Spawning alone was different than Spawning with a Mate, and with the species difference, well, there were reasons that Wayne had yet to Spawn himself, and it wasn't just Eddie appearing on his doorstep.

As Eddie's adult he had a duty to prepare him, as the last Adult of his kind he had a duty to Steve too.

For all that Steve had killed their race he was, in fact, still considered a child of their race, not much older than those kids he'd claimed as his, if Wayne wasn't slightly afraid of Steve killing him like he'd killed all the others, he'd forbid them to even think of Spawning, but Steve was dangerous, though he did not appear so and Wayne doubted Eddie's affection for him would protect him for long if he stood in Steve's way.

So, Wayne would prepare them.

Because Spawn only appeared as eggs when one parent was involved, the embryo forming inside the parent and forming the protective shell on it's journey to the outside world.

Spawn that had two parent were born live and hungry, if Steve and Eddie Spawned they would need meat, raw and the fresher the better, ready for when their babies clawed their way into the world.

Eddie would have to distract them with the meat so Steve could heal, otherwise they might feast on his flesh, they ate their own for strength, afterall.

And Wayne would not be allowed near once Steve was expecting, Steve's instincts would see him as a threat to him and the eventual young, and Wayne couldn't say he wouldn't be tempted to eat the possibly runts, it wouldn't be the first time he'd eaten the newly born, he'd eaten several of his Spawnmates when he'd clawed his way out of his birth parent and his secondary parent hadn't been quick enough to fill his belly.

Wayne didn't remember Steve's Spawning parents, it was likely they'd abandoned him early on, expecting him to die quickly, some Spawning parents would eat their defective ones but others felt the need to let the other creatures have a taste of them. It was a testament to Steve's strength that he'd survived so long on his own.

Their race wasn't kind, not even to their young.

But maybe, Wayne thought as he looked at a waiting Steve and a trying to escape Eddie, he could change that, or at least Steve and Eddie could.

-

A/n: like I said Ao3 is down and well, I still have nothing better to do, so enjoy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48500452?view_full_work=true

Ao3 is back, so here's the link, I didend up calling it From the Rot, for now at least, thank you for all you suggestions though. <3

@addelyin @merricatty @lesbiabrobin @apuckishwit @0o-mushroom-o0 @starlight-archer @darkwitchoferie @just-a-tiny-void @swimmingbirdrunningrock @intergalactic-president-awesome @vampireinthesun @goodolefashionedloverboi @adhdsummer @purpleanimeoverart @space-invading-pigeon @lilaclilyroses @nohomoyesbi @plantzzsandpencilzzs @korixae @subversivecynic @flusteredcas @persnicketysquares @freddykicksasses @little-trash-ghost @cupcakesnwhiskey @cats-ate-all-of-my-pasta @planetsoda @paintsplatteredandimperfect @irregular-child @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @steddieassheg0es

[theaethernetconnection]

When will Arthur listen to John Jesus fucking Christ are you trying to die

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 11!!

Okay so I had Life being Life, then a bit of Writer's Block (sort of), then a bit of a hangover, BUT I GOT IT DONE. So here we go.

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

When you wake up the next morning, you once again find Anathema sitting at the large dining table surrounded by her books and tools. This time, though, Aziraphale and Crowley are with her. Aziraphale has his tiny glasses on and is flipping through a book, a cup of tea next to him, no doubt cold. Crowley is on his phone, and you can hear the sound effects of Candy Crush from here. He has a mug in front of him too, but it’s steaming and smells of coffee.

“Good morning,” Anathema says to you.

“Morning!” You respond, heading into the kitchen. Here, you can see that someone has bought a box of bagels, and you help yourself to one and make a coffee before returning to the dining room and having a seat across from Anathema.

“So,” You say, taking a bite out of your bagel (dear Reader, I personally am imagining just eating it like a donut because I can), “How are the readings coming?”

“Well,” Anathema starts, “I got some vague vibrations yesterday and I have a theory.”

“Oh?”

“The vibrations were very faint, mind you, but I think they were coming from the southwest. So I’m going to try going to that edge of the city today and try again. With any luck I’ll have a better idea of where we’re traveling to by tomorrow.”

“Awesome!” You reply

“Thanks! Aziraphale is going to go with me.”

“And I am not,” Crowley says definitively. You smirk behind your coffee mug.

“Still sulking over yesterday, are we?” You ask him, trying your best to imitate his eyebrow.

“No. It just sounds boring.”

“Well we could hang out today,” You suggest brightly. Crowley makes a noise that is non-committal and mono-syllabic. “I’ll take that as a yes!”

“That sounds like a splendid idea,” Aziraphale offers in place of Crowley, “Perhaps you can find us a car to rent. I have a feeling that we will be leaving the city soon, and we won’t want to be walking will we?” He chuckles to himself, and you nod in agreement.

“Perfect,” You say with a smile as you finish off your breakfast.

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

“So!” You start casually as the pair of you wander down the street, “What mischief are we going to get up to? Are we gluing coins to the sidewalk? Are we going to find someplace busy and just walk REALLY slowly? Take up both sides of the escalator? Oh! We could ride the bus and request every stop without ever getting off!”

Crowley stops walking and looks at you. His eyebrow has practically merged with his hairline.

“Is that what you lot think I do?”

“Well, uh...basically yes,” You reply uncertainly. Just as you’re starting to wonder if you should be re-evaluating everything you know about how Crowley operates, he smirks with a satisfied hum.

“Good. Glad to know my finer talents are appreciated somewhere.”

Oh he has no idea. You decide not to inflate his ego too far. Yet.

“So what do you want to do?”

Crowley produces a bag of frozen peas from nowhere. A light bulb goes off in your brain.

“Oh! Ducks!”

“Ducks.”

And so you head for Central Park.

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

Finding the ducks doesn’t take too long. Neither does emptying the bag of frozen peas. In the end, you both find a bench and have a seat. It feels strangely like you’re filling in for Aziraphale.

“So what happened yesterday with Anathema?” You ask after a while.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he replies, shifting around on the bench. Alright, enough of this. You turn to stare at him.

“What do I mean, okay. I mean that you spent two days running around like an unsupervised kid, spend one afternoon with Anathema, and suddenly when I literally give you permission to be a mischievous shit, all you want to do is feed the ducks.”

It almost looks like he’s chewing on something. Words maybe, you figure. Maybe he feels that if he chews them enough, they’ll come out easier. He must realize it doesn’t work like that because after a few seconds he answers your question.

“She may have mentioned that my having too much fun might bring the Metatron back around. Back to Aziraphale. Especially since he didn’t seem to have much trouble finding you in Heathrow. He probably knows where we are.”

Oh. That’s actually a fair point. You take a minute and think about it.

“Yeah, he probably does, but I don’t think he’s going to try anything just yet. I mean, his tactics are straight out of the Fairytale Villain Playbook. So he’s probably going to hold back for a bit to see if I start to crack and then go back to him.”

“Book Girl still has a point, though. Don’t wanna bring him out before we have to.”

“Okay,” You pause for a minute, considering the obvious compromise that Crowley doesn’t seem to have touched on yet. But then again, sometimes you just need someone to give you permission – even if it’s something you already know. “So how about we don’t have too much fun, but we have just a little bit of fun. Like we go souvenir shopping and buy a t shirt with small change. Keep stuff in moderation, yeah?”

“Hm,” Crowley leans back farther if that’s even possible, considering your proposition. “I do somewhat fancy one of those I Heart NY shirts.”

“Same actually. Did you create those by any chance? Just curious.”

His smile is toothy and smug. Instead of answering, he lifts himself off the bench.

“Come on then, Reader,” he says, “Let’s buy some souvenirs.”

“Reader?” You answer, getting up and following him.

“Well what else am I gonna call you? You keep talking about how much you read and I already have Book Girl. Need to keep all you straight somehow don’t I?”

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

Not very long afterwards, you find yourself wandering around the city again, this time sporting I Heart NY merch and cheap star-shaped sunglasses. Crowley has swapped out his normal shades for a pair of shutter shades. A couple of times now you’ve had to grab his arm to keep him from walking into poles. And once, he nearly sauntered his way down a flight of stairs that he was certain had come out of nowhere. He still hasn’t switched back to his normal sunglasses.

“Okay what about Monopoly?” You ask him.

“Nope. That was an American who made that I think. No idea who it even was.”

“Mario Kart?”

Crowley snorts. “No.”

“What about fake pockets?”

“If anyone asks, yes. But otherwise, actually, no.”

“What about...multi-level marketing schemes?”

“I…what? No. But I definitely told Hell that I did.”

“Okay well then what did you actually invent?”

Crowley stops and looks at you through those ridiculous shutter shades. He smirks like the Cheshire Cat as he answers.

“As little as physically possible.”

“So you did basically nothing, and just took credit for everything?”

“YuP.” He pops the plosive at the end with a self-satisfied head-waggle.

“Brilliant.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to talk to someone who gets it.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” You turn and give him a hug. Sometimes, you just need to hug your demon.

“Ngk. What’s this?” He’s clearly uncomfortable, so you let go. He doesn’t say anything else about the hug, but he buys you an ice cream.

And he pays with pennies.

----------

The hotel room is quiet when you both return. After a quick search, you find that Aziraphale and Anathema aren’t back yet. That’s not...a great sign. But you’re determined not to panic.

“I’ll order some room service. You want anything?”

“Nah, I’ll wait.”

So he’s worried too. Alright. You place your order and turn on the tv. You try to care about the Big Bang Theory reruns, but you can’t relax just yet. Both of you sit in quiet tension until the door finally opens to Anathema and Aziraphale. Their moods are joyful, and you feel the dark cloud just lift away.

“Hey guys,” You say, “I just ordered some room service. I wasn’t sure when you two were coming back.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale practically sings, “I’ll get the menus. I’m certain they won’t mind adding on to the order.” He leaves the room. Anathema’s face is bright.

“I found out where we need to go. Did you find us a car?”

Oh. Whoops.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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[locitapurplepink]

Taglist : @photogirl894 , @leosardonyx18 , @commander-tech , @aintinacage , @trapezequeen , @cassie-fanfics , @zaya-mo , @genericficerblog , @laughingphoenixleader , @kanerallels , @ambulance-mom , @fulltimecatwitch and anyone else who wants to vote this one.

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 11

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Happy Father's Day and early Juneteenth! In honor of the holiday weekend, here's an early chapter update. 😘

Word Count: 4,000 Tags/Warnings: Violence and peril, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Part 11: The Lion’s Den

“Where is she?” Ben asked, once he and Frank were loaded in the car. 

Loco and his team had to stay behind as their distraction for escape. If they weren’t slaughtered, they’d be taken into custody. 

Ben knew he could’ve wasted all of them, Butcher, his team, the CIA, but the nuclear power in his chest had refused to cooperate…

Anyway, Black Noir hadn’t been there. So it was all the more useless to stick around. The real plan was with you, and he was very surprised that you’d stuck to it…but maybe he shouldn’t have been.

“She was brought to the Tower,” Frank informed him.

Ben smirked. “Good. But pretty fucking stupid of Stan to stick around there when he knew I’d be coming.”

He looked over and noticed Frank’s frown as he drove. 

“Unless he’s not at the Tower,” Frank said. 

Ben’s smirk fell. Why would that prick take her there if…

“We have to be open to the possibility that his Chief of Security is taking the matter of his daughter into his own hands,” Frank said. “Or she’s improvising.”

Ben frowned. 

That didn’t change when they arrived at the Tower, and attempted to use the entrance through the back garage to avoid attention. But it didn’t matter. 

The entire squad of Vought security, included what looked like some added muscle (hopped up on what smelled like V24), met them when they reached the lobby of the building. Now that the Seven had been disbanded, there was no pretense of “good guys vs. bad guys.” It was just defense and siege. 

And in front of them all was Black Noir. 

“There you are,” Ben said, but the other supe didn’t even tilt his head in greeting. He was a still statue, an attack dog given a single mission. 

When Noir surged forward, Ben ran to meet him. It was a clash of blade to shield, fist to fist, grappling and reflexes that only Compound V could endow. The match tore through the lobby, then up the large staircase as Ben continued to fight his way up to Stan’s office. 

Frank was already on his way up to you, but it would take him time with Vought security crawling all over them. He was good, and temporarily a supe, but he was still just one man. 

Meanwhile, Ben and Noir’s fight spilled into the upper floors, through walls and offices and screaming employees trying to get out of their way. 

Once they reached near the floor below Stan’s office, Ben got an arm around Black Noir’s neck, and with his free hand tried to unmask him. He wanted to know for sure what lied underneath it, if it was actually the Noir he knew. Or if it was something else entirely.

But Noir twisted with superior reflexes and flipped Ben hard over his shoulder. In the process, he ripped off Ben’s helmet. His brown hair hung over his brows as he pushed to his feet, deliberately taking his time.

When he turned, Noir was standing there with the helmet crunched in his hand. Rolling his neck, Ben prepared to jump back into the fight, but a new sound reached his ears. 

He heard you on the floor above. And you were fighting someone…

Ben pressed a finger to the comm in his ear. 

“Frank, you got eyes on her?”

V24 had endowed the man with x-ray vision. A moment later, Frank patched through while he struggled and fought.

“She needs help,” he said gravely.

Ben took his hand off the comm, gritting his teeth. Black Noir was still waiting on him, attuned to Ben’s every move as the other supe brandished one of his blades.

Shit, Ben thought. He needed to end this. 

Right fucking now. 

That resolve helped him take a deep breath, then summon the energy inside him. He focused with the aim of blasting a clean stream of power at Black Noir; not enough to take out the whole building, but enough to take out just him.

His insides felt molten when the power collected, and finally released at his target.

Noir covered himself at the last moment with a piece of fallen debris (a half-crumbled wall), but it only created a small buffer. The force of the blast itself pushed him down the hall and through the side of the building.

Meanwhile, you were holding your own…but you were also getting beat to hell. 

You were battered, with blood dribbling down the corner of your mouth from a particularly bad hit. 

You were still standing though. 

“You’ve gotten soft,” Jon remarked. He’d broken a sweat, had some bruises, and was panting for breath just like you. But he was more in control as he swatted a well-aimed, yet ultimately weak fist as your strength waned. He used his own to smack you down again. 

“I gave you time to come around, and this is what you did with it,” he said, shaking his head. “Disappointing.” 

When you tried to stand on shaking legs, he kicked you in the dead center of your chest. You felt your ribs crack as you fell back into the glass coffee table. 

You gasped for breath, turning onto your side as glass pricked at your back, your sides, your arm. You coughed, wincing at the agony of knife-like pain near your lungs. Blood flecked from your mouth onto your arm, and for a moment, you stared at it in a daze.

But then Jon was above you. You tried to swipe at his face, but he bat your hand away, his brows furrowed angrily. He turned you back onto your back and wrapped a hand around your neck. Your eyes flew wide with panic. 

He squeezed with enough pressure that it wouldn’t crush your windpipe, but it was sure to knock you out eventually. You slapped and clawed at his hand, but he only shushed you. 

“What you need now is what you’ve always needed. A firm hand,” he said. “But I’m going to help you. I promise, I will.”

The fight drained out of you as it became impossible to breathe, and harder still to block out his words from entering your brain. 

But then, the vice around your throat was gone. Oxygen poured back into your lungs as you gasped, then coughed again when your fractured ribs protested. 

Your eyelids fluttered open in time to see your father thrown hard into the far wall. You heard the sick crack and breaking of bone as he landed.

Still, you struggled to breathe. 

Tears leaked from your eyes when you looked up and found Ben. His helmet was missing, and he wore a furious, steely frown. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out except for more coughing, and more blood.

To your surprise, he tucked his shield on his back and bent down to scoop you up into his arms. 

You cringed, uttering an agonized sound when he tried to move you. 

Ben hesitated. Looking down at you, some of his anger drained. He made a slower ascent as he straightened to his full height. 

And without a word, he carried you out of the room and down the ruined hallway. All the while, you stared at the side of his face. His jaw was still clenched, his brows knitted, his eyes set dead ahead. 

You wondered why he had to wait for moments like this to show you who he truly was. 

“What are you, some kind of hero?” you managed to quip, offering a small smile. 

Ben glanced down at you, and gradually smirked. “Something like that.” 

When his foot slipped on a piece of debris, he righted himself quick. But the jerking movement jostled you, eliciting another pained whimper. Your hand gripped at his chest, digging into the grooves of his suit.

“Hold on,” he murmured. His lips briefly pressed to the crown of your head. “We’re getting the fuck outta here.”

Your eyes closed at the tender touch, and a few more tears spilled down your cheeks.

“He…knew,” you managed to say. “Knew I was lying.”

“I know,” said Ben. “I should’ve fucking known better.”

You marveled at that near apology. Your lips trembled as you rested your head against his chest. You just couldn’t help it anymore.

“Was my idea,” you admitted.

“Yeah, well, evidently not all your ideas are aces,” he said. 

You could’ve gotten angry, but you saw the way he moved with care, trying not to slip again for your sake. You tried at a smile. 

“Guess not,” you said, though you bit your lip at the pain that seemed to radiate through your entire body. Ben seemed to notice. 

“Just relax,” he said, a deep rumble. But there was a soothing note to it, you thought. Or maybe, you just liked the sound of his voice. 

Then silence fell between the two of you, both comfortable and tense as Ben focused on potential threats in his surroundings. 

All the while, you continued to rest your eyes. Instead of your pain, you tried to concentrate on his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

“It’s about fucking time,” you eventually heard Ben grouse. 

You opened your eyes and were relieved to see Frank exiting the stairwell to meet you and Ben. His face and black tactical gear were splattered with blood, but he looked fine, more or less. His gaze roamed over you with his usual stoicism, but you thought you saw a glint of concern.   

“I take it Stan Edgar isn’t here,” said Frank. 

“You could fucking say that,” Ben snarked. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Sir.” Frank saw something ahead, behind you. Ben turned to find Black Noir silently standing in the middle of the hall, with a large, suspicious-looking gun in his hands.

Without taking his eyes off Noir, Ben gestured to Frank. He came up beside you, and Ben passed you into Frank’s arms.

“Get her out of here,” Ben ordered. With a nod, Frank carried you back the way he came, towards the staircase. You tried to peer over his shoulder.

“He shouldn’t face Noir alone,” you said, even though every breath was a challenge with the sharp pain in your chest. 

“He’ll meet us after,” Frank told you. But as soon as he started down the stairs, a fresh team of Vought security and police came to meet you.

Meanwhile, Ben stared down the hall at his opponent. Black Noir activated the strange gun, which lit up with a blue energy. 

“You can bring out any kind of fancy artillery you want, but it’s not going to stop me from killing you,” Ben taunted.

Noir remained silent, of course, but he aimed the gun and fired. It shot a potent, crystal blue beam of energy that ate through Ben’s shield, and eventually hit him in the chest before he could finish revving up his own power. The blast from the gun, it wasn’t hot. 

It was ice cold. So frigid that it extinguished the heat that had been building in his chest, but it wasn’t diffusing his power completely…it just made it even harder to control. 

And the resulting backlash was overwhelming.

Ben woke slowly, like wading through molasses. Usually his mind was sharp, even when he woke from a booze-induced coma. Now he felt groggy, and it was hard to focus or even force his body to sit up on the hard cot he was laying on.

Glancing down, he realized he’d been changed out of his suit. He was dressed in a plain gray shirt and matching pants, no shoes. He knew a prison outfit when he saw one, just as he now knew where he was: a white padded cell. 

Fuck.

At least it was better than a frigid coffin…but in his mind, not by much.

He slid his legs over and managed to push up onto his feet. 

Why’s it so fucking misty in here? he thought, waving his hand through the smokey air. And why was he so tired?

He soon got his answer when he realized who stood at the large window at the front of his cell. 

Stan Edgar. 

The man himself, dressed in a well-tailored navy suit, was watching him with crossed arms. 

“We did hope you would remain on sabbatical,” said Stan. “But I had a feeling you would return, and come directly to us.”

Stan gestured to the large cell. “This was our contingency plan.”

Ben made his way, with difficulty, closer to Stan, who pointed at the air vents above that were pumping in a gas of some kind.

“A light mist of Novichok,” Stan explained. “Enough to keep you docile.”

“And if I’m not?” Ben asked. His voice was edged with grit, and the promise of retribution. 

“We can up the dose, put you to sleep indefinitely,” Stan replied. “But you have my attention. What would you like to discuss?” 

“The conversation I planned on having was…a little different,” Ben said darkly. “But first, let’s start with what you used to clone Black Noir.”

“I suppose there’s no real harm in telling you,” Stan said. Even his voice was grating on Ben’s ears, the smug prick. 

“We kept some of Homelander’s blood as an insurance policy. But, we’ve learned from our mistakes.”

“Right,” Ben scoffed. “How’s that?”

“This Noir is not a carbon copy, but nor is he a megalomaniac. He’s under our control,” Stan said.

“Until he isn’t,” Ben snarked. If he thought about it, that was something you would say. Maybe your penchant for smart-ass remarks had gotten into his head.

“And that new gun?” he asked. “Don’t tell me your little lab rats put that together just for me.”

Stan’s lips made a wry turn. 

“It was a breakthrough project. Temporarily destabilizes the energy you generate when you charge up like a Power Puff Girl.” Stan thought for a moment, then inclined his head. “A reference, I realize, which may be lost on you.”

“So what’s the play here?” Ben said. He was getting impatient. “You know, when I break out, things aren’t gonna be pretty.” 

Stan didn’t seem bothered by the clear threat. 

“In the meantime,” he said, “you won’t be alone.” 

Stan stepped back and revealed the cell right across the hall. Through the window, Ben could see you, lying unconscious on a shitty cot in similar gray pajamas. His brows crunched as he narrowed his eyes, trying to peer in closer. You looked like you’d been bandaged up, at least.

“You also managed to put my Chief of Security in Intensive Care, but his daughter should be fine…if a bit worse for wear,” Stan informed him. 

Ben glared back, his lips curling. Sloppy of him. He should’ve made sure that bastard was dead. 

“That’s cute, considering he’s the demented fuck who beat her to hell,” Ben said. 

Stan rose a solitary brow. “And at whose behest did she enter the lion’s den?”  

Ben had nothing to say to that.

You woke with a pained groan before your eyes even opened. Your body felt like a walking welt. 

Your brain pounded like bongo drums, your chest felt tender with every infinitesimal movement, but you realized that you’d been seen to medically, at least. Your head was bandaged, and you felt that the blood had been wiped from your face and arms.

You looked up and found, with a sigh, that you were indeed in a cell. But you softened when you found Ben through the large glass window, in a cell of his own. He was sitting on his bed, arms crossed, with his back against the wall. His eyes found yours, and his lips twitched.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

He sounded off. Tired, you thought. And you noticed a steady mist being piped into his room. 

Shit. Novichok, you surmised with a frown.

“You okay?” you asked. 

Ben chuckled a little. “You’re the one who looks like hell.”

“Why, thank you,” you replied wryly.

There was a pitcher and a cup of water on a tray, a small paper cup of what you assumed were painkillers, and an ice pack next to you on the cot. 

You hesitated on the pills, but in light of your incredible pain, you had no choice. You took the pills, drank the water, and grabbed the ice pack, pressing it against your sternum. You sat up all the way with a slow gait and a pained groan.

“Go slow,” he warned. “Bet you’re missing that Temp. V right about now.”

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“How’d you get caught?” he asked.

That succeeded in dimming your mood. You explained that Frank had been forced to set you on your feet when you were confronted by more security and a police squad. 

The man had been a one-man weapon; hopped up on V24 as he was, he managed to fight his way down to the garage, where you slowly, painfully crept down there.

You and Frank had almost reached his car, but you held him back. You were stubborn about waiting on Ben, even considered going back for him.

That was when the shot rang out, hitting Frank point blank in the chest. 

Before you could even bend to help him, you were taken, dragged back into the building, and knocked out before you could take your captor’s gun. 

You tried in vain to wipe away fresh tears while you retold the story. 

Bottom line: Frank’s death was your fault. Though while he frowned in disappointment, Ben didn’t seem to hold it against you.

“Good on ya, Frank,” Ben murmured. “You went down fucking swingin’.”

“What about you? What happened with Black Noir?” you asked after a moment. Sniffling, you met Ben’s eyes.

He eventually told you about the strange gun Vought had commissioned just for him. And the more you listened, the deeper your frown became. It sounded impossible.

“Makes you wonder what else they’ve been cooking up in that lab,” you muttered. 

“Other than Noir?” Ben quipped. He told you about that too. 

“We can figure this out,” you said. “If nothing else, my team, the CIA, they’re looking for both of us…if for different reasons.”

Ben scoffed at that. “A silver lining there. Make no mistake, we’re getting the fuck out of here. Just…need a minute to think.” 

But he was starting to wane. It was taking all his energy to concentrate on your voice, to even keep his eyes open. The steady stream of gas being pumped into his cell made it damn near impossible, and it was frustrating beyond belief. 

Because if he fell asleep now, there was no telling when he’d wake up. And fuck if Ben would ever admit to the panic he felt welling up into his chest.

“Aaah, fuck!” he growled, pounding a fist against the wall.

You noticed, biting your lip in concern…until an idea made you smile. It was something you used to do to distract your sister when she was little. 

“Why are colds bad criminals?” you asked. 

Ben just blinked at you. “What?”

He asked not because he understood what you were doing, but because he was genuinely confused.

“Because they’re easy to catch,” you said, making a drumming motion with your hands. “Buddum-ch.”

Your neighbor just stared back at you, unimpressed.

“Okay, not a fan of that one. Let me see…okay,” you raised a finger. “What does a baby computer call its father?”

Ben’s eyes narrowed, like he couldn’t tell if you were serious.

“Data!” you said, biting your lip at an embarrassed smile. It curved Ben’s lips, but he was stubborn.

“Why was 6 afraid of 7?” you asked. 

“Jesus Christ, enough…” he muttered. 

“Because 7’s a dick, that’s why,” you said. And your straight face lasted for all of three seconds before you ended up giggling. It hurt your bruised body, but it lightened you to see the reluctant smile tug its way onto Ben’s face. 

“All right,” he said at last. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to remember a joke he’d heard Loco tell. “How do you make a pool table laugh?”

You smiled. “How?”

“Tickle its balls,” Ben said. Your answering snort deepened his smile into a smirk. 

“Playing bridge is just like sex,” you said. Ben shook his head. His grandmother used to play fucking bridge.  

But regardless, he took the bait.

“How’s that?”

“If you don’t have a good partner, you better have a good hand,” you said with a smirk. 

Ben made a sound of amusement, though it wasn’t quite a laugh. You traded these back and forth, each trying to make the other crack with progressively dirtier jokes (though you suspected Ben was just trying to disgust you). 

You considered yourself the winner when Ben finally chortled a deep, belly laugh that showed his charming smile. 

It made you smile in return. 

Ben rested a hand on his chest, but when his mirth died down, he realized just how tired he was. Still, he wasn’t ready to let go of this. His connection with you tethered him to reality, even if reality sucked dick right now.

His gaze met yours. “Why don’t you sing something, crooner?” 

You bit your lip once again. “Like what?” 

Ben’s eyes closed.

“You know the one,” he said. A softer smile graced your lips, though he couldn’t see it. 

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” you teased. He chuckled. 

“Just sing, for fuck’s sake.” 

His brows were knitted, like he was trying all he could to stay awake. You took pity on him.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say…” you began to sing softly. “If I didn’t care…would I feel this way?”

Every extended note was painful, but it was worth it to see his face relax.  

Stan Edgar’s lips pursed, and he set down his cell phone on his desk. Victoria was screening his calls.

Disappointing, he thought, but not unexpected. He surveyed the cleanup crew wiping up debris, glass, and blood from the lounge area with a dispassionate gaze. 

This was going to take a while.

So after drumming his fingers on the mahogany surface, Stan decided to push up from his desk and head downstairs via the elevator. It took him all the way down to Level 0, the home of one of Vought’s most secure R&D labs. 

There his most trusted scientist, Dr. Tonya Baker, was at the helm with her team at work on various projects. Most of which were not sanctioned by the government. 

Stan folded his hands behind his back and reached her side, and she set down a beaker filled with a green, buzzing liquid. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted. 

“Tonya, you know what I’m about to ask,” he said. She bobbed her head and turned to face him in her rolling desk chair. 

“We’re still working on solutions. Without his cooperation, safely extracting Soldier Boy’s DNA is a tricky thing,” she said. 

“You don’t say?” Stan said dryly. “What are our options?”

“Well, needles will only break, as you know,” said Dr. Baker. “The scientists in Russia found that only Soldier Boy is strong enough to break his own skin.”

“And I doubt he’ll open a vein for us,” Stan said, “even if we threaten to put him to sleep.” 

He didn’t even think leveraging with the girl would aid, more than complicate their goals. While it was something to consider, Stan would rather find the path of least resistance here. Soldier Boy was…volatile at best. 

“How much of Homelander’s blood remains?” he asked. 

“None,” the doctor replied. “We used the last of it to clone Black Noir. And a hair sample is not enough to create additional subjects…at the very least, a urine sample. Even Dr. Vogelbaum managed that.”

Stan sent her shrewd look. If only he still had Dr. Vogelbaum in his employ. If only the man were still alive.

What a waste of a talented, resourceful man.

“That will be a problem,” Stan said. 

“Not necessarily.” Dr. Baker adjusted a monitor screen at her desk. It displayed the feed from Soldier Boy’s cell. 

She pointed to the toilet in the corner of the cell. Then she called over one of her assistants.

“Tell Maintenance to cut the water, and then a section of the pipes.”

AN: Okay. 😅 I know I'm gonna get some mixed reviews on this one (Let me know what you thought!).

But despite the teaser, I think you'll enjoy where the story's headed next...

Next Time:

They wheeled in what looked like a large metal casket. You had only seen one of these in pictures, but it had to be a cryochamber.

A doctor in her mid-fifties accompanied them, giving directions on how to safely enter Ben’s cell. Your eyes widened.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shouted.

Panic trilled down your spine as the guards fitted themselves with special suits and gas masks. The doctor turned toward you as the guards led you out of your cell and into the hall.

“You’re being transported,” she informed you.

Keep Reading: PART 12

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