#Part 14

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part fourteen: mask on, mask off

word count: 3.2k

warnings: none, i don't think

thirteen | fourteen | fifteen

He wasn’t used to this—this being whatever weird routine they were beginning to fall into. But he picked her up in the mornings, drove her home when it was late, and somewhere along the way, their silences began to fill themselves in.

At first, it was just the little things.

She always checked that the passenger seat was adjusted just right before sitting down. She liked to lean against the window, staring out at the passing streets as if she were lost in thought, even though he had no clue what went on in that head of hers.

He learned that she didn’t particularly like the news. If he had the radio on and a news segment started playing, she’d subtly shift, reaching for her bag for some book or assignment to busy herself with. It wasn’t all that obvious unless you were paying attention.

And Lando always paid attention.

Sometimes she’d come out of class looking exhausted but would perk up when she spotted his car. Sometimes, she’d say a quiet thank you after he dropped her off, even when it wasn’t necessary.

Other times, she would get into his car, sighing, and when he asked Rough day? she would just nod. But later, as they drove, she’d start talking. Not about anything particularly deep. Just… bits and pieces.

“Had a pop quiz today. My brain is fried.”

Or, “Someone spilled coffee all over the counter today. Took forever to clean up.”

Or, “It rained earlier, but I forgot my umbrella. That was fun.”

He never responded with much — just a nod, a comment, an occasional smirk. But the more she talked, the more familiar it became.

One evening, she pulled out a small book while he drove. Lando raised a brow.

“You really can read in the car?”

She glanced up. “Yeah. Why?”

“Doesn’t it make you sick?”

She blinked. “Um… no?”

Lando made a face. “That’s weird.”

She let out a small laugh, amused.”Why would reading make me sick?”

“Y’know, with all the spinnin’ n’ all that.” Lando looked over to find that she was staring at him like he had suddenly grown a second head.

Perhaps he could have phrased that better, but whatever. 

“You’re weird.”

He smirked, but it softened at the edges.

The next morning, he pulled up to the outside of her apartment, engine running as he texted her that he had arrived. The early morning fog was just beginning to dissipate, giving way instead to the first brushstrokes of warm light through layers of clouds. He scrolled mindlessly on his phone, replying to messages and checking on shipments until he finally clicked his phone off when she got into the car, rubbing her eyes sleepily. 

He tossed a protein bar onto her lap. She blinked down at it. “What’s this?”

“You never eat in the mornings.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, momentarily going still, before finally deciding it was safe, unwrapping it, and taking a bite.

Lando had no idea why that small victory felt satisfying.

The first time she gave him shit for his driving, he nearly kicked her out of the car.

“You don’t even drive!” he pointed out, incredulous.

She crossed her arms. “I don’t have to drive to know that cutting through that gap was reckless.”

“If there’s a gap, m’gonna go for it, of course. It was efficient. It was fine.” He had hoped for the words to come across as reassuring, but instead he just sounded exasperated. 

How was he getting criticized by someone who didn’t even know how to drive?

“It was stupid, is what it was.”

He gave her a flat look. “You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

“I don’t care if you’re some racing prodigy or Lightning McQueen himself,” she shot back, unimpressed. “I value my life, thank you very much. This whole thing was supposed to be about protecting my life, not endangering it, remember?”

Lando groaned dramatically, muttering something that best not be repeated under his breath as he pulled up to her place.

But when she got out, she hesitated, glancing back at him. She hated walking out on a bad note, and perhaps his driving wasn’t all that bad. It got her here on time, after all. Plus, with how much he probably spent on her in fuel money alone… she could probably afford to let this one slide.

Just this once.

“…Thanks for the ride,” she said, softer this time.

His fingers tapped against the wheel as he nodded in acknowledgement. He spared her the barest of glancing before looking right back ahead, as if he was already mentally mapping the route to his next destination.

Perhaps he could afford to not cut off another driver while he was speeding.

Not that I actually did anything wrong though.

He looked at her one final time as she stepped out, offering an expression that almost looked apologetic. Or maybe it was just the lighting.

“Get inside safe, yeah?”

She nodded, shutting the door behind her, and Lando sat there for a few extra seconds, drumming his fingers against the wheel before shaking his head to himself. He waited until he was sure he saw the light of her living room flick on, and then drove away into the glittering lights of Monte Carlo against the dark night sky.

The next time he saw a narrow gap he could probably slip through just in the nick of time, he decided against a risk like that, even if it appeared like it physically pained him to do so. When that got him stuck behind an elderly woman in what appeared to be an even older car, he decided that being a good samaritan was an entirely unsustainable lifestyle, and that perhaps he could save these rare moments of caution and goodwill for when he might have another passenger in his car.

What was happening to him?

Over time, they learned each other’s habits, molding to become complementary to each other as they learned to exist in this shared, confined, space.

Y/N liked to listen to music, but never played anything too loud.

Lando always adjusted his seat at least once before he began driving.

She fiddled with the strap of her bag when she was nervous.

He drummed his fingers against the wheel when he was deep in thought.

She had a tendency to drop random tidbits about her day, and Lando—surprisingly—listened.

“Did you know that sea otters hold hands while they sleep so they don’t drift apart?” she mentioned one evening.

Lando glanced at her. “Why do you know that?”

She shrugged. “I read it somewhere.”

A beat of silence. Then, “That’s kinda cute.”

She turned to him, smirking. “Aww. You have a soft side after all.”

Lando scoffed. “Shut up.”

She laughed.

Yeah. This was getting way too comfortable.

Lando wasn’t in the house as much anymore. He was still working of course, but he wasn’t around the way he used to be.

Max Fewtrell was the first to say something, leaning against the counter in the kitchen of Lando’s estate, sipping from a mug that definitely wasn’t his. “You notice he’s been out a lot?”

Carlos Sainz, sitting on one of the barstools, barely looked up from his phone. “He is always out a lot.”

“No, I mean—” Max gestured vaguely. “More than usual.”

Max Verstappen, who had been cleaning his gun with methodical precision, let out a quiet grunt. “Maybe you should mind your own business.”

Daniel Ricciardo grinned from where he was stretched out on the couch, arms crossed behind his head. “C’mon, Maxie, don’t act like you haven’t noticed. Something’s got him out and about more than usual.”

Fewtrell huffed, pointing at Daniel. “Exactly.” He turned back to Verstappen. “You’re telling me you haven’t clocked how often he’s dipping out? No meetings, no business, no us—just gone.”

Carlos finally set his phone down, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Maybe he’s just got something going on.”

“Or someone,” Daniel drawled, smirking.

Max Verstappen snorted, shaking his head. “Lando doesn’t do someone. Not consistently, at least.”

“Maybe not,” Fewtrell mused. “But—”

Right on cue, the front door opened, and Lando walked in, car keys spinning around his finger. He looked the same as ever, expression calm, but they knew him. And they could tell—he was up to something.

Daniel pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Where have you been, boss?”

Lando gave him a slow look before tossing his keys onto the counter. “Why? You miss me?”

Daniel laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Fewtrell raised a brow. “Seriously, though. You’ve been out more than usual.”

Lando shrugged. “Just handling things, you know how it is”

Verstappen leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing him. “Anything we should know about?”

Lando’s gaze flicked to him. He could feel them all watching, waiting for something—an answer, an explanation.

He gave them nothing.

“If you needed to know,” he said smoothly, “I’d tell you.”

Carlos let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Guess that’s that.”

Fewtrell wasn’t fully convinced, but he let it drop. For now.

Daniel smirked as Lando turned to leave. “If you are sneaking off to see someone, could you at least let me know so I can start placing bets?”

Lando flipped him off over his shoulder. The second he was gone, Fewtrell exhaled, shaking his head. “He’s definitely up to something.”

Verstappen hummed, leaning back, his gaze lingering on the door.

Whatever it was, they’d find out eventually.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon when Lando sat in the driver’s seat of his car, a rare moment of peace between the errands, the dealings, and everything else that had started crowding his head. She slid into the passenger seat, her bag slung across her lap, eyes a little more tired than usual. The weight of her upcoming midterms, work, and just the general stress of life had started showing in the shadows under her eyes.

He started the engine, glancing at her. They hadn’t said much in the last few minutes. The usual music wasn’t playing, and he didn’t feel like bothering with small talk, so instead, he reached for the radio dial.

“–And in local news, authorities are investigating the rise of The Reaper’s Circle, an organized criminal syndicate suspected of controlling various illicit activities across Monaco and beyond…”

Lando froze, his fingers hovering over the dial. He didn’t even need to hear more to know exactly where this was headed. The Reaper’s Circle. His circle. 

The sound of the anchor’s voice blurred as his mind flicked to the possible consequences of what she might think. He hadn’t told her—hadn’t come close to it—but this was the kind of news she might have heard. 

He glanced over at her. She was staring out the window, arms crossed over her chest, as if the news broadcast wasn’t even a thing, but he couldn’t shake the tightness in his chest. Was she already aware of Liam’s darker side? Did she know what the Reaper’s Circle stood for, what it was involved in? 

The world of crime, of shadowy deals, of the kind of life he had kept carefully hidden from her was now creeping into the conversation, into her thoughts.

“You, uh, hear about this?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible. He knew he couldn’t sound too offhand about it either. He had to gauge her reaction, figure out what she thought of it. What she knew.

She shifted in her seat, but didn’t turn to face him. “Not really,” she said, her voice distant. “Just that it’s… some big, like, gang or something, right?” She didn’t sound as if she cared much. Or maybe she was just choosing not to care.

Lando bit back a sigh of relief, but that relief didn’t last long. She had heard the name, though, hadn’t she? And she was living here long enough to know what kind of reputation The Reaper’s Circle had, even amongst all rumors. People who weren't directly involved in the business rarely understood the nuances—the difference between what was just noise and what was truly dangerous.

The radio was still blaring on, the words seeping into the car like a slow leak.

“Authorities have not yet identified the leader of the Reaper’s Circle, but rumors suggest it's someone with deep ties in Monaco’s elite—someone like Lando Norris, who has been involved in several high-profile events in recent months…”

The reporter’s voice faded as Lando turned down the volume. The silence was suffocating now. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, but she seemed lost in thought. Her lips were pressed tight, and she stared ahead at the streetlights flickering by.

“Do you think they’re right?” she asked softly, almost like she didn’t care to know but felt compelled to ask anyway. Her gaze was still fixed out the window.

“What?” He feigned ignorance. “About who’s behind the Circle?”

“Yeah,” she said. “People talk, you know? That guy, Norris something… Lando? Yeah, Lando Norris – do you really think he’s done all those things they’re saying?”

He felt the pressure building in his chest again. She hadn’t asked him directly, but it felt like she was. It felt strange to hear her say his name like that – like that name, his name, somehow belonged with the likes of the scum of the earth. She didn’t know him as Lando, but she had to know about the rumors surrounding that name.

“I’m sure it’s all just talk,” he said, trying to shrug it off, but it came out more clipped than he intended. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he wasn’t about to tell her the truth, either. He wasn’t ready for that conversation. Not now.

She didn’t respond immediately, and they rode in silence for a few moments. He could almost hear the gearing turning in her head. It was strange how he could feel the shift in the air when she was thinking, when she was quietly piecing things together.

“Well,” she said finally, “if it’s just rumors, I don’t think it matters.”

Lando let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. But then she continued, her voice distant again, “But… I don’t know. It just sounds so… dirty.”

“Some of the stuff I hear,” she added, her voice quiet and thoughtful, “it’s like… it’s almost impossible to believe. But then again, I’ve lived here long enough to know that nothing is really what it seems.” She paused, glancing at him briefly. “It’s funny, though. People still want to get close to it, don’t they? Like, they want a piece of the power, even if it’s just being near it. You can feel the pull.”

Lando swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. He had to force himself to let the silence stretch, knowing that any words from him would be too much. He kept his voice level when he spoke.

“It's dangerous stuff, for sure,” he said softly, his tone soft but probing. "What do you think?"

She hesitated for a long moment, then finally spoke, her voice more quiet than usual.

"I think..." She trailed off, collecting her thoughts carefully before speaking again. " I think it’s... immoral, obviously." She paused, eyes still on the passing streets outside. "There’s a lot of people who get hurt, you know? It’s not just business. There are consequences for the things people do, especially when they’re..." She sighed, shaking her head slightly. "Well, when they’re involved in that kind of thing."

Lando stayed quiet, heart beating just a little faster now, but not because he was worried. More because he knew she was right, in a way. He knew how things worked—he knew the cost of everything.

But what was he supposed to say? That he was the one behind it all? That he was the one pulling the strings? He couldn’t. Not yet.

She nodded slowly, her eyes focused out the window, but he could see the contemplation in the set of her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and for a split second, he thought she might ask him if he was connected. If he was part of it.

But instead, she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, “I don’t know. I guess I can’t understand why anyone would choose that kind of life. It’s... dark. Full of lies and betrayal. It just can’t be worth it, right?”

Lando’s chest tightened. His heart beat faster than he wanted it to.

She wasn’t talking about him—she was talking about the Circle, about the darkness, about the world he moved in. But her words hit harder than he expected. And when she looked over at him, her gaze flickering with curiosity, he saw the same questions there. The same doubts.

He forced a smile. “Guess that’s why some people like living in the light.”

She offered him a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I suppose so.”

He wasn’t sure if she had connected the dots yet, but hearing her words stung nonetheless. He wanted to say something, to defend himself or explain. But the truth was, she didn’t really know him—not the full picture. And he wasn’t ready to let her.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” he said softly, glancing at her. “It’s nothing. They’re just trying to make something out of nothing.”

Plus, none of those idiots can hurt you when you’re with me anyway. 

She nodded absently. “I guess so.”

For the rest of the drive, Lando focused on the road, each streetlight flickering by like the fading fragments of the conversation they’d just had. But as he pulled into her neighborhood, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the gap between them had somehow widened—something had shifted, and he wasn’t sure if it was a crack in the foundation or just the weight of the world finally settling between them.

He parked the car and waited for her to step out.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, her voice soft.

Was it quieter than usual?

“No problem,” he replied, his fingers gripping the wheel a little harder than necessary.

She didn’t look back at him as she walked toward her apartment, the soft click of her shoes echoing in the night. But he couldn’t help but wonder, just for a second, if she’d already made up her mind about him—about the things he’d done, the things she didn’t know.

Would she ever look at him the same way again?

The rest of his drive home was quiet, the radio continuing to hum in the background, the news segment forgotten, but the weight of it lingered. Lando couldn’t stop thinking about it—the fact that she didn’t know, couldn’t know, wouldn’t know the extent of his life, of the world he was part of. He had been so careful to keep it separate, so careful to hide the man behind the name. But for the first time, he wondered if it was enough.

And for the first time, Lando wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending.

a/n: another chapter that felt a bit filler-ish to me. hopefully it wasn't too boring haha

also thank you for the asks and comments! each one literally has me jumping up and down with joy

[thevoidstaredback]

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

Communication is good. It's wonderful, even! But screaming matches? Especially ones that last this long, aren't healthy in the slightest. In fact, all they do is damage relationships. So, after convincing Barbra and Tim to go upstairs, promising that he'd be up in a few minutes with Dick, he went back to where Bruce and Dick were screaming at each other.

Nothing had been thrown yet. Small mercies.

God, Danny hated being a mediator. Why couldn't people just work out their problems by talking? It'd make his life so much easier. Was that so hard to do? Too much to ask? Apparently.

"And you-!" Bruce rounded on Danny the second he closed the door behind him. "You don't get to come into my house and-"

"Let me stop you right there, Mister Wayne." A few days into his running away, Danny discovered a new power. He can't control it, but sometimes, when he's angry or needs people to shut up, the inside of his throat goes cold and his eyes narrow. It's really cool, from Danny's perspective, and pun fully intended. Something about Mister Wayne had brought that power to the surface, and thank the gods for that because Danny really needs to be listened to right now. "I told you earlier that my name was not a fight you wanted to pick. I think I should reword that. I am not a person you want to pick a fight with."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, meeting Danny's glare with his own. "Is that a threat?"

"Yes, Mister Wayne, that was a threat. And you can hold me to it. I will win any and every fight you try to pick with me."

Dick kept glancing between the two. He had a bad feeling about these two interacting like this, but something was stopping him from getting them apart.

"I have your name and your face. It won't be too hard to get you arrested for several crimes."

"Framing a child, Mister Wayne? Good luck with that. I don't exist anymore. Besides, I can threaten the same thing about Batman, and that holds significantly more weight than anything you could do to my name."

"If you're not scared, then you'll give me your whole name."

"That was a horrible fish for information, Mister Wayne. You're slipping. You must be getting rusty in your old age."

"Danny-"

"Dick." Danny held his hand out to his - on paper - responsible adult, "C'mon, Tim and Barbra are waiting for us upstairs."

Danny lead Dick out of the room, Bruce staying behind and obviously glaring at the back of Danny's head. When the door shut, Dick sighed, every bit of tension he hadn't felt melting off of him. "Sorry about him."

Danny shook his head. "Don't apologise, Dick, you didn't do anything to spark that. However," he glanced at him from the corner of his eye, still holding his hand, "Screaming matches aren't going to fix anything between you two. I don't know if you even want a relationship with him, but he's right. We came into his house, so it's up to us to be polite. You may be his kid, but you are a guest in his home until you two can form some kind of positive relationship. The hostility between y'all right now? That demotes you to 'house guest' instead of 'visiting child'. Got it?"

"..yeah."

"Good. Now, Tim and Barbra are waiting upstairs; go find them."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to go apologise to Alfred."

"Alfred? Why?"

"Bruce may claim this as his house, but Alfred's the one who takes care of it. It's his haunt, so I'm gonna go apologise for almost starting a fight."

"Um, alright..?"

***

Dick found himself wandering into the room that had been given to Tim. It was bare bones and barely looked used, but that's where he found Tim and Babs. He sat next to her.

"Where's Danny?" Tim asked.

"I- He's gone to talk to Alfred for a minute."

"Oh? Why?"

"I don't..he wasn't really clear on that."

"Oh."

The three lapsed into a silence that hovered somewhere between comfortable and uncomfortable. Tim was on his bed, messing with something on his phone, smiling occasionally or chuckling softly. Dick and Barbra sat together on the couch against the wall between the two windows. None of them spoke for a while.

It was a lon twenty minutes of sitting, doing nothing. Sometimes one of them shifted, but no conversation was made.

The door opened. "Wow. Did I end up in a graveyard or something? Y'all're quieter than the dead." The three flinched back as if struck. "Sorry, that was in poor taste." He closed the door behind him and sat on the foot of Tim's bed. "Seriously, though, why're y'all so quiet?"

"Waiting for you," Tim answered, "What'd you talk to Alfred about?"

Danny waved his hand in the air as if to physically dispel the words. "Nothing you need to worry about. Good news, though, I have a standing invitation to the Manor, so.."

"Is that a good idea?" Barbra asked, "You and B, well...You didn't really.."

"Yeah," he smiled, "Alfred's given me permission, and that's all I need. I won't be going with you guys to the Bat Cave, though."

"What?" Tim's voice pitched up a bit, "Why?"

"That's Mister Wayne's haunt. Because he doesn't like me, I'm not gonna risk even thinking about going down there."

"But you'll come and go from his house?"

"Yes."

"Weird."

"I don't make the rules, Timmy." Tim snorted softly. Barbra smiled.

"I hate to be the one to bring the mood down again," Dick said, "But why were you wanting to go to the Cave?"

"I just said I wasn't."

"Yeah, but why would you ever need to go down there?"

At this, Danny looked a bit sheepish, turning to look away from the others and rubbing the back of his neck. "Alfred said we're staying the night."

"What!" Dick shot up from his seat.

"Are you coming on patrol with us?" Barbra asked Dick, her eyes expectant.

Tim grinned. "That'd be so cool! You two should totally join us!"

Dick shook his head. "I really-" He cut himself off, making the mistake of looking Barbra and Tim in the eye. He sighed. "Alright, I'll join you guys for the night. But I don't answer to Bruce."

"Yay!"

"Wouldn't expect ya to."

"What about you, Danny?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I don't do the whole vigilante thing anymore."

"'Anymore'?" Babs raised her eyebrow, "That's a story I wanna hear."

He blushed. "It's really not,"

"You'll be on comms, though, right?" Tim wondered.

"I, um.... Sure. I'll join you guys on comms."

"Yes!"

"But I'm still not going into the Bat Cave."

Part 13 Part 15

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 14

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.   

AN: Welcome back! Get ready for some more detective work, a pinch of Jo drama, another fire, and the reader finally meets John Winchester...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,500

Tags/Warnings: Angst, fire hazards, threats, and hurt/comfort.

Part 14: “Message in a Bottle”

A week before Christmas, John Winchester left his house for work before the sun had even risen in the sky. It was still dim when he stepped out onto his porch, which is why he didn’t see it at first.

He heard the clink when his boot kicked at something metallic.

He glanced down and found a small badge lying on the ground. He bent to pick it up, and on further inspection, it was a fire department’s badge. A replica, probably, because it had Dean’s number on it: 20579.

The badge was also splattered with blood.

Later at his office, John handed it over to his partner for his inspection.

“It’s actually paint,” John said. “Forensics looked it over. No prints, of course.”

“That’s a shame,” Cas said. His tone was mild, but his face was as grave as John’s as he considered the crimson-stained badge. They stood together in the bullpen of the 84th Precinct.

“And I got this little present a few days ago,” John admitted quietly. He grabbed a folder off his desk and showed Cas its contents: a picture of Sam leaving the courthouse while talking on his cell, climbing into his car. Someone was watching his sons.

“I already have a police detail on him,” John said, heaving a sigh. “I requested approval for Dean’s this morning.”

Cas’s frown was deepening, along with his furrowed brows. “We may need to ask for backup on this.” 

John shook his head. “Rufus won’t give it to us.”

Their esteemed Lieutenant thought John was on a vendetta with a ghost, stirring up a conflict of his own making. He only approved a temporary police detail for Sam, with the condition that John stopped what he was doing, let the Fire Department handle the serial arsonist, and let this blow over.   

But Rufus should’ve known better than that by now. This was personal, and John wouldn’t tolerate these yellow-bellied threats to his family.

“Azazel’s applying pressure, hitting your weak spots,” Cas said, perhaps pointing out the obvious.

“So let’s hit him back, goddamn it,” John growled. He threw down the folder back onto his desk.

“How?” Cas asked. “We still don’t know who Azazel is.”

The other man thought hard, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and feeling the overgrown stubble. He didn’t remember the last time he’d shaved.

“How’s your progress on questioning Savage & Co.?” he asked.

“Stalled. Nick Savage has lawyered up,” said Cas.

His face slackened from frustration to realization. He didn’t seem happy about his next idea, but it looked like he had one.

“Though now that I think of it, we may be able to apply some pressure of our own,” he said.

John raised a brow and crossed his arms. “How’s that?”

“Dean’s girlfriend works there, if you remember,” Cas said. “Something happened this past weekend at her company Christmas party.”

John nodded, despite his frown. He was set to meet you in a week, but it looked like they might need to question you before then. What a pleasant first meeting that was going to be.

But if you had anything on Savage, on the company, or even better, if you were willing to wear a wire, that could be the break they needed to get some headway on this case. They could squeeze Savage for any information he might have on Azazel—like his real identity.

“Tell me,” John said.

You returned to work on Monday with steel in your veins (and a taser in your purse).

You had about an hour of peace in your office, catching up on your emails and calls. Then there was a knock on your door before it pushed open without your consent.

Damn it, should’ve locked it. Your lips pursed when Nick Savage came in.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said firmly. Already you were opening a drawer in your desk, reaching into your purse.

“It’s my goddamn office,” Nick replied lazily. But he crossed his arms and stopped just behind the spare chair that sat in front of your desk. It gave you a good few feet of distance.

You stared back at the man with hidden satisfaction through your disdain. It seemed Dean’s threats got to him.

“Just thought I’d let you know that Josh’s been promoted to Senior Sales Manager,” Nick said. He checked his watch absently.

Your teeth clicked in irritation, but you let it pass. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, and you no longer gave a fuck about this company anyway. What you told Dean before was the truth: you were now here just to collect a paycheck, until you could find a new job.

“Good. He’s been working hard, kissing your ass,” you said with a fake smile. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”

Nick made the mistake of taking a half-step forward. Your hand subtly clenched on the weapon in your purse, but you tried your best to seem relaxed. In control of yourself. This was your office that you’d occupied for three years.

This was your space, and this man didn’t control you.

“Take one step forward, and I will quit today,” you threatened. And then you bluffed.

“I’ll call Mr. Greenway,” you said. “In fact, he offered me a job last month. Then I’ll make a few more calls, and I’ll take all of my accounts with me. I’ll kill your fucking sales team and leave Josh to continue sucking your lackluster tequila dick.”

Nick stared back at you with thinly veiled shock. You’d always been “no nonsense,” but you’d never spoken to him like that before. He smirked.

This was why he liked you. And hated you.

“All right,” Nick said. He didn’t come any closer, but he did rest his hands on the back of the chair. “How about I buy out your friend Greenway. His whole damn company. And then I’ll blacklist you with every other company that calls for a reference. Even the ones that don’t call.”

Your eyes widened incredulously. He had the gall to wink at you, boiling your blood.

“I’ll fucking sue you,” you said, hating the slight tremor in your voice.

Nick rolled his eyes. “This again? Please.”

You couldn’t help it. Your temper snapped, and you pushed away from your desk to stand up. You gripped the edge of it to steady yourself. You quirked a humorless smile.

“As it happens, I know a damn good lawyer,” you countered. “He puts murderers in jail every day. I doubt he’d struggle too much with a corporate asshole. And I’ll remind you, Dean’s father is a police officer. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to lock you up after I report you for what you did. And I will.”

Nick scoffed at that, his eyes narrowing.

“If you take it there, I’ll have every resource at my disposal to make your life a living hell. I’ll drag this out for years. Until you’ve got nothing but your boyfriend’s charity to keep you from living in a fucking box.”

You were seething, trying to stay in control. He knew it too, and he smirked at you. He pushed away from the chair and started to leave.

But then, he tossed you a smug look over his shoulder.

“Just remember,” he said. “You could’ve just spread those legs for me.”

It took everything you had within you not to hurl a stainless steel stapler at the back of his retreating head.

“A double please, Ellen. Dry, lots of olives,” you requested.

After a ridiculously long day at work, you were now trying to let go of your frustrations at the Roadhouse, while you still had the money to drink. You rubbed through the ache in your temples.

“Long day, hun?” Ellen asked you. Her eyes were sympathetic as she made you the martini you ordered. You gave her an attempt at a smile.

“Long life,” you muttered.

“Hmm. Asshole boss?” she surmised.

You met her gaze with a note of suspicion. “Did Dean tell you…”

You knew he’d told his brother about what happened at the Christmas party. And you had a feeling he’d told Cas as well, to try and see what you could do from a law enforcement standpoint. The first step was filing a report. Now you knew, however, that you couldn’t. Not if you wanted your life to remain in one piece.

“Nothing, hun,” Ellen shook her head. “You’ve just got that look. I reckon every woman in the world has worn that face. Usually because of a man.”

You sighed and chuckled at the same time. It loosened some of the tightness in your shoulders.

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

You were soon distracted though, giving your boyfriend a smile to try and cover up how exhausted you were, in every sense of the word. He greeted you with a warm hand along your lower back. He dropped a kiss to your forehead.

“Waiting long?” he asked.

“No, just a few minutes,” you shook your head. You laid a hand on his thigh when he took a seat next to you at the bar. “How was your shift?”

This week he was on three 12-hour shifts instead of his usual 24-hour shifts, which meant you got more of him in the evening. 

“Fine. Just a couple of accidents to clear off the road, nothing major,” he replied. He ordered a beer from Ellen and gave Jo a smile. He was surprised to see mother and daughter working civilly together under one roof, after the scene he saw last week.

“How’s the studying going?” he asked Jo, once Ellen was out of earshot to serve further down the line. He turned to you and filled you in. “Jo’s gearin’ up to hit the Police Academy.”

“Oh wow, that’s great!” you remarked.

Jo glanced over at her mom, but then she smiled, looking back at you and Dean. She focused on him.

“The test is in a few weeks,” she said. “I think I’m ready, but I don’t know…”

“You’ll be fine,” Dean said, with easy conviction. “You’re stubborn enough to know it’s what you want. So I got no doubts about you.”

Jo’s smile was warm, with a hint of shy and gratefulness. You smiled at Jo encouragingly, but inside, you had a familiar unease churning inside your gut.

Dean then turned to you with expectant brows. His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, curling it behind your ear.

“And how was your day?” he asked. His tone was quieter, laced with double meaning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jo moving on to another waiting customer with a small sigh.

You met Dean’s gaze and you nodded. “It was fine.”

His brows rose a touch higher. “Very convincing. You took the taser with you, right?”

You sighed and had to smile a little. His concern warmed you, made you feel protected, even though you’d had to do that part yourself today. You soothed a hand over his chest, between the open panels of his plaid shirt.

“Yes, I did. I’m okay, baby. We’re at a standstill,” you said. And you reminded him, “I can handle myself, you know.”

Dean nodded, sighing through his nose. His hand rubbed up and down your back, whether to comfort you or himself, you didn’t know. Your fingers curled into his shirt, and you smiled up at him, just before you tugged him down for a kiss.

It was slow and sweet, until you became a bit more than sweet, grazing his bottom lip with your teeth. His hand came up to cup the back of your head as he accepted the warmth of your kiss.

You knew that you couldn’t tell Dean what happened this morning in your office. He’d likely go for the Halligan in his trunk and beat Nick Savage within an inch of his life.

While the idea appealed to you for several reasons, you didn’t want to be the reason Dean lost his badge, or ended up in jail.

So over a couple of drinks, you distracted him by having a healthy debate over what you two were going to have for dinner later: sushi or pizza.

You ultimately won with sushi. (Or maybe he let you win. Either way, you were getting salmon rolls tonight.)

Still, you had that uneasy feeling when you and Dean left the bar. You wondered how the hell it had taken you this long to notice the starry look of longing in Jo’s eyes.

You fell into step with Dean as you two headed for the sushi restaurant down the street. It was already dark out, but even on a Tuesday night, the streets and sidewalks of downtown were busy.

“Can I ask you something…potentially uncomfy?” you said.

Dean’s head turned to you, with a raised brow.

“Uncomfy?”

You let out a breath, and you could see it on the December chill in the air. Your hands were tucked into your pockets, and so were Dean’s in his.

“Did you and Jo ever have a thing?” you asked.

Dean blinked, but then his lips pressed together. “What makes you say that?”

You sent him a suspicious look. You’d known him long enough to know when he was hedging.

“Just please, answer the question,” you said.

He blew out a breath. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah, for a few weeks,” he admitted.

You sighed. That sure explained a hell of a lot. And really, with his track record, you couldn’t be surprised.

“You dated her, or you hooked up with her?” you clarified. Dean shot you a look.

“Dated,” he said, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Your brows furrowed. “When?”

He’d told you that he’d been in one relationship before, briefly…

“About a few months before I met you,” he said at last. But he saw the incredulous, almost upset look on your face. “Obviously it didn’t work out.” 

“You couldn’t have told me that earlier?” you asked. Your hands slipped out of your pockets to gesture at him. “How did it end?”

The man sighed, looking up at the sky.

“Come on, Dean,” you prodded.

“All right,” he placated with a hand. “It didn’t end great, put it that way.”

You couldn’t help a frustrated huff. You crossed your arms and kept walking beside him down the street, albeit in silence.

Dean glanced at you in slight exasperation. He was with you now. Why did it matter to you so much?

“She still has feelings for you,” you said, though you still weren’t looking at him.

“How do you figure?” he asked. But if he was honest, even he knew the truth.

“Because I could see her eyeing you like a honey glazed ham,” you snipped. At that, he let out an incredulous chuckle. 

“Are you jealous?” he teased.

You stopped walking and looked up at him, frowning. “Do you want me to be?”

Dean stopped as well. He sobered, realizing you weren’t in the mood for jokes. You’d been through a lot recently, and he knew then that you didn’t need this kind of stress on top of everything else. He drew closer and gently grasped your arms.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. Though he thought to himself, I’ll talk to Jo if I have to.

Your lips pursed in frustration, but he soothed his hands up and down your arms. His touch plied you, along with his smile.

“Hey,” Dean said, dipping his chin so he could catch your eyes. “You should know how I feel about you by now.”

You sighed and nodded in agreement.

“Mhmm,” you replied.

He wasn’t satisfied.

“Okay, listen,” he said, squeezing your arms and earning your eyes on him. It took him a moment, letting out a breath, but he was honest.

“I love you," he reminded. "And if that damn elevator hadn’t broke down on you, I’d still be missing something in my life.”

…Damn it, you thought, even as a blushing smile grew across your face. Dean Winchester was too smooth for his own good.

But you also saw the sincerity in his eyes. You couldn’t help but be warmed by his words, down to your toes.

“There she is. All right,” he said with a grin. He nodded in satisfaction and gathered you into his arms. “My soft girl again.” 

Your smile deepened, but you still pinched his side, making him flinch and laugh. You held him back and looked up at his handsome face. He still looked amused and his eyes were warm. You leaned up on your toes for a kiss that lingered on wind-chilled lips.

“I love you,” you whispered back, against his lips.

His smile against yours was your answer.

Two hours and two salmon rolls later, Dean drove you home. You had taken an Uber to the Roadhouse, which reminded him that he needed to make another trip to Singer Salvage.

He’d been scoping out potential cars to fix up for you. He’d even recruited Bobby’s help to find something good, something with strong bones. Dean could do the rest.

Even after he watched you get inside your house safely, he let out a subtle breath before he peeled away. He wished you were coming home with him tonight. More often, he was feeling your absence when you weren’t in his bed. But it also reassured him, that he knew you were safe with him and Sam at their apartment.

He later found his brother eating leftover chicken parmesan at the kitchen counter.

“Why’re you eating standing up?” Dean asked, tossing his keys onto the counter. He reached into the fridge for a beer. “You look like Big Bird if he wore a suit.”

Sam sent him a dry look. “I don’t know. Force of habit.”

He barely had time in his day for an uninterrupted coffee, let alone a meal. When Dean wasn’t here, Sam fell back onto his work habits. He took his plate and actually went to the table.

“You eat already?” he asked. Dean nodded and said he’d eaten with you.

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed and sank down heavily onto the chair opposite his brother. He rubbed at his forehead.

“She’s okay, considering,” he replied. But he knew you hadn’t told him the whole story about how your day went at work. Whether you were trying to spare him, or protect him, or yourself, it still drove him up the wall. Knowing Nick Savage was still your boss, and he was there, an ever-present threat just a few floors above you in that building…

It made Dean’s skin crawl. It had his teeth grinding and coiled his spine tight with repressed rage. And worry.

He met his brother’s eyes. Sam had been watching him, hiding his wariness.

“What can we do about him?” Dean asked. He knew he didn’t have to explain who he was talking about.

Sam started to shake his head, but Dean wouldn’t have it.

“I mean it, Sam. Because I almost…” His hand and forearm clenched and unclenched on the table. He could almost feel the way his arm had pressed into Nick’s throat, slowly but surely crushing his trachea. Just a couple of minutes more, and Dean could’ve done it. In that moment, he saw it so clearly.

It was the first time he’d ever wanted to take a man’s life.

“I know,” Sam said. His brows furrowed in sympathy. “But you did the right thing.”

Dean’s lips pursed as his hand once again fisted on the table.

“If I hadn’t been there,” he said. “If I had been just a few minutes off…”

These were the what ifs that kept plaguing his mind, ever since the party. Sometimes, it added to the catalogue of waking nightmares that wouldn’t let him sleep.

“And now she’s gotta go back there, every day, where that animal is just waiting for an opportunity,” Dean gritted out. Then his fist dropped more heavily onto the table, rattling Sam’s silverware.

Sam held the table steady and looked at his brother, calm but firm.

“You can’t touch Savage,” he said. “Don’t even go near him. Whatever you do, he’ll use it against you, and potentially against her. Unfortunately, she’s got the best plan right now.”

Dean looked up at him with angry eyes.

“Wait him out,” Sam said, “until he makes a mistake he can’t easily cover up. In the meantime, she’ll find a new job and get the hell out of there.”

Dean forced a sharp breath through his nose. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fist more calmly on the table.

“I don’t have to like it,” he said.

Sam nodded in agreement. “No, you don’t.”

The fire was wild. It was eating up the four-story apartment building in a full blaze. The Truck 79 team was geared up outside of it, with Chief Singer already calling out instructions along with Dean.

Benny and the Rescue Squad were already on the roof, rappelling down to get the ones trapped on the top floors out through the windows. Dean was on the ground. He had Gordon, Jack, and a few others behind him. Meg and Chuck were on standby, waiting for the firefighters to pull out any residents still trapped inside.

Dean had to wonder if he was walking into another arson, like the Richardson fire. Against his will, he thought of that day. He thought about everything his father had told him about that arson, about Azazel and his mom’s death. He thought about you, working for a man who was potentially tied to Azazel.

“Winchester,” Gordon tapped him on the arm. “You good?”

Dean glanced over at him, then nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s rock and roll.”

When Dean was at work, he couldn’t let the outside world into his mind. All he could let himself focus on was the scene ahead after he put his mask on.

Inside the first floor of the building was like entering a living furnace. It was hot as shit, and layers of smoke choked the room. The mask was the only reason Dean could see, let alone breathe.

He turned to Jack. “All right, take it room by room. Stay close. We don’t got a lot of time.”

Jack nodded his agreement, and Dean split his team. A few of the others took the first floor on his orders. Dean, Gordon, and Jack would take the old stairs to clear the second floor.

Fuck. This whole place is just wood and plaster, Dean thought, shaking his head. These old buildings were all the same. Easy to build, easy to knock down. And usually they weren’t up to code, often thanks to cheap property owners.

He got apartment 201 open with his Halligan. The shoebox studio was smokey as all hell, but it was clear of any tenants. Gordon moved on ahead quickly, but Dean’s brows furrowed as he listened to the unsteady creaking of the floorboards. He moved more carefully forward.

Until he felt the warmth under his boots, saw the orange glow underneath a thin patch of flooring.    

“Walker, wait!” Dean called, at the same time he held Jack back.

He reached out, just as the wood floor splintered and broke underneath Gordon. His eyes flashed wide just before he fell.

Dean dove for him. His Halligan clattered away, but he managed to grab onto the man’s sleeve before he disappeared. Gordon grabbed onto Dean’s arm and nearly pulled him down too. Luckily, he managed to grab onto the splintered edge with his other glove-covered hand. He gritted his teeth at the strain of the other man hanging off his shoulder, but he didn’t dare let go.

Jack grabbed Dean’s belt to keep him from sliding further down. It let him grab onto Gordon with both hands. The men panted for breath; Dean had a better vantage point to see that the middle of the ground floor below was engulfed in flames. The glow of it flared in the corner of Gordon’s eyes. He could feel the heat making both of them sweat.

The wood flooring under Dean creaked ominously, but before anyone could move, it broke further. He almost lost his grip on Gordon as his torso hung over the edge. He managed to get a new stronghold under the other man’s arm, and Jack did his best to keep Dean from falling by pinning his legs down. Jack was strong, but he was still a smaller man than Dean.  

“Jack, call for backup!” Dean gritted out. Jack nodded behind him and radioed in for help.

Gordon stared up at Dean with wide, but resigned eyes. “The floor’s gonna cave before you can pull me up.”

Dean stared down at him, even as lines of sweat poured down his forehead from within his mask. They both knew that if that happened, Dean would be pulled along for the ride down, maybe even Jack too. Dean gave a sharp shake of his head.

“Just hold on. Backup’s comin’,” he said. All his strength was going into keeping a firm grip on the man’s arm and jacket. He called to Jack over his shoulder. “Can you get next to me and grab him?”

To his credit, Jack tried. But the jagged edges of the floor around Dean were unsteady, creaking and groaning under Jack’s added weight, a bit too much.

“Stop, stop!” Dean shouted, halting Jack’s movements.

Gordon licked his dry lips and blinked sweat out of his eyes. “This might be the part where you let go, Winchester.”

Dean took exactly a beat to process his shock. Then he glared down at the man.

“Shut the hell up, Walker. You don’t let go, you hear me?” he barked. “Jack, grab the back of my jacket and my belt.”

Jack followed the order, and a combination of him pulling Dean up and Dean straining every muscle he had to heft up Gordon slowly, painfully, brought them back up and over the ledge.

Jack had an easier time then of helping Dean pull Gordon the rest of the way out of the hole.

And the rest of their Truck crew came to help them onto their feet, before the fire consumed the rest of the second floor.

Once Dean was out of the building, he took off his mask and breathed in cooler air on his face. He made a beeline for the fire truck. In the back was a cooler, and grabbed a bottle of water to dump over his overheated head and face while he caught his breath. Gordon and Jack were following suit, and the men stared and one another. All of their faces said the same thing.

We made it. We’re alive. That was almost fucked.

Gordon’s gaze met Dean’s, sobering further. For a moment, he looked like he was searching for words.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asked eventually.

Dean nodded, rotating his right arm. He was going to feel that bitch tomorrow.

“Fine,” he said. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Gordon nodded. Another hesitation, followed by an honest gaze. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s face broke into a smile, wry but also genuine. “Yeah, thank me by layin’ off the burgers.”

He swatted the other man’s stomach and went for three more waters. He handed two of them to Jack and Gordon. One was smiling, while the other just smirked and shook his head.

“You callin’ me hefty?” Gordon remarked. “I’m averaging 6% body fat, man.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, right. What’re you, the Rock? That’s why you almost sunk.”

He dropped his fist into the air and made an exploding sound. Jack was wide-eyed, but Gordon just chuckled. They started making their way to the front of the truck to start packing up their gear. The Truck and Rescue teams had done what they could, and all the residents that made it out of the building were being seen to by the paramedics.

“I’d rather be weighed down by muscle than all them Little Debbie’s you’ve been putting away at the station,” Gordon shot back. “Cheap cake is not your friend.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “All right, that’s just uncalled for.”

“Dean,” Chief Singer called, beckoning him over with a hand. His free hand wore a glove as he held something steaming.

Dean nodded at his men and joined Bobby outside his department-issued SUV. Dean’s gaze focused on the bottle-shaped object in Bobby’s hand. There was a small digital box attached to the front, with wires wrapped around. The entire device was now blackened, but the smell of chemicals was unmistakable.

“Molotov cocktail?” Dean quipped, but his face was as grave as Bobby’s. The Chief nodded.

“Lafitte pulled this out of the fourth floor,” he said. “Looks like the same kind of incendiary device Arson found at the Richardson fire.” 

That night, you made dinner for Dean at your house. He was forced to explain what happened at the apartment building, and why he had his arm pinned to his side like a chicken wing. You made him sit down and relax, all while you tried to hide your worry and relief that he was mostly all right.

Later in the living room, you sat on your knees beside him on the couch and lifted the bag of ice from his shoulder. You peered at it in concern, gently rubbing your hand over the joint and surrounding muscle. Dean sighed through his nose as your gentle touch was both soothing and painful.

“Are you sure you should do another shift tomorrow?” you asked, replacing the ice. He shot you a glance.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Right,” you said dryly. “That’s why you can barely move this arm.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made his point by raising his right arm, slowly, but easily back down.

“I’ll be up and running by tomorrow. Just need a good night’s sleep.”

“Dean, are you sure? You seem to be in a lot of pain,” you asked.

He tried to hold in his annoyance. “I think I’d know if I’m fine.”

“You forget, I know all too well what downplaying looks like,” you countered, giving him a chiding look. Dean didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t need you to mother him.

“This is my job, all right,” he said.

You gave him a steady look. Your hand moved up his shoulder to rest along the back of his neck. Your fingers slipped into his hair.

“I know that. But I’m allowed to worry,” you said. Your brows furrowed. “Please don’t get upset at me for that.”

Dean let out a breath. He relaxed against the couch and met your gaze. He knew he had no right to ask you not to worry about him.

“Yeah, okay,” he said.

To you, he still seemed a bit annoyed. You nodded and continued to gently sift your fingers through his hair. You had to wonder if his resentment was coming from a different place.

“Are you still mad at me for going back to work?” you tested.

Dean breathed out deeper this time, but he didn’t answer.

Bingo, you thought with a frown.

“Dean—”

“All I want is for you to be safe,” he said. His voice was harder as his face tightened up. His hand gestured in frustration. “This whole thing…that fucking douchebag…it’s killing me. Fucking killing me. And you know that.”

Your eyes softened, and you unconsciously bit your lip.

“Ditto,” you tried to joke. It landed flat, because your boyfriend was deadly serious.

He looked away from you with pursed lips and a frustrated shake of his head. You sidled closer to him and tried to soothe, with a hand on his chest.

“Look, I’m trying to find a new job, but it takes time,” you said.

“You could quit. You could quit right now,” Dean replied hotly.

You sighed; you couldn’t believe you had to remind him about this. “I can’t, Dean. I have bills to pay, just like you do. You think I like this situation any more than you? I’m the one who’s had to deal with this for months!” 

“I know that!” Dean snapped back. “Or should I say, now I do.”

He pulled away from your touch and pushed off the couch, onto his feet. You looked up with your mouth agape as he left the room. You got up and followed after him.

“You’re leaving?” you asked in shock. You watched him grab his keys and his wallet from the kitchen counter.

“I’ve got a long shift tomorrow and I gotta sleep,” Dean said, rather gruffly.

You followed him all the way to the door, where you grabbed onto his wrist. He stopped in the doorway, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“Dean, please,” you implored. “Don’t go like this.”

After a beat, he seemed to soften. Just enough to lean over and press a brief kiss to the side of your head.

“I gotta go.”

He left you in the doorway with tears swimming in your eyes, and he pretended not to notice them.

When Dean woke up the next morning, his shoulder still ached, and he still felt guilty. He rubbed the offending join and tried to slowly roll the stiffness out of his arm. Fuck.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes next. They blearily took in the digital numbers on his alarm clock: 5:00 a.m.

He slid out of bed and got ready for work. He definitely wanted to check in with Arson about the device that likely started that fire, and he knew his dad would need to be brought in on it. It would give Dean a reason to press John for an update on his investigation.

By 6:00, he was finishing his coffee, about ready to head over to the station. He could hear the pipes running, meaning Sam was in the shower.

Dean was startled only slightly by his phone vibrating in his pocket. His brows furrowed, but he fished it out and found your name crossing the screen, along with a smiling picture of you. He sighed.

Part of him hesitated. If you were calling just to try and convince him to call out of work, he was going to get worked up again. And he’d rather not have anything disturb his first cup of coffee of the day.

Still, he answered. “Hey.”

“Dean, did you come into the house last night?” you asked.

He didn’t like the wary, almost scared tone of your voice.

“No.” His brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Look at the text I just sent you.”

He put you on speaker so he could check his messages. Sure enough, he found a picture from you. It was of a glass bottle-shaped object on your nightstand. There was a black box attached, but its digital screen was blank. Dean’s breath caught in his lungs as his eyes widened. His heart dropped into his stomach.

“Dean, what is this thing?” you asked. Your voice was shakier, more worried. “It looks like a bomb. And it smells awful, like chemicals.”

“Don’t touch it,” he said quickly. “Get out of the house…better yet, wait for me at your neighbor’s place. I’m coming over right now.”

And I’m calling Dad.

Dean tried his best to calm you while the police and the Arson Department swept your entire house for devices, fingerprints, and any other evidence on who broke in.

You had a hand over your mouth by the front door as you watched them turn over cushions, move tables and shelves, ruck through cabinets. Your entire life turned inside out.

Dean’s hand rubbed up and down your back. You eventually had to look away and sigh. You pressed closer to his side, and he wrapped his good arm around your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said quietly, and kissed the top of your head. Inside, he was furious. Mostly at himself.

If anything had happened to you last night, after he left…he would’ve never forgiven himself.

So it was a welcome distraction when John and Cas’s police car finally pulled into the driveway. Dean led you outside, away from the chaos happening in your house.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, with a nod at Cas. Both men nodded back.

“Son,” John greeted, His brown eyes turned to you next. He offered you a hand. “Good to finally meet you, despite the circumstances.”

You blinked up at him and curled a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a bit nervously.

“Oh, it’s…it’s great to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” you said, sticking out your hand and shaking his.

A smile flickered across Dean’s lips. He realized then that this was the first time you were meeting his father. You were adorably nervous.

A reserved smile tugged at his father’s lips as well.

“John’s just fine.”

You smiled back, with a bit of a blush tinging your cheeks.

“Now, can you tell me what happened here?” John asked you, not unkindly.

Dean’s good humor faded away as he explained about the device left on your nightstand. He filled them in about the fire he’d responded to yesterday as well.

“What the hell is happening, Dad?” he demanded to know.

John let out a breath and nodded, swiping a hand through his dark hair.

“It’s another one of Azazel’s signatures,” he said, lowering his voice so only the four of them could hear. “It’s a message.”

“To who?” Dean asked.

“To me,” John said. “Warning me to back off the case…there’ve been other threats. I’ve finally got a police detail on Sam, and I just got approval for you. I’ll add her to the list.”

John glanced at you. Your eyes widened in confusion as you tried to hold in your fear.

“Who the hell is Azazel?” You turned to Dean. “Is this…does this have something to do with your mom’s killer?”

John’s brows shot up at his son. “You told her?”

“You’re over here talking about him too,” Dean retorted. He gathered you closer and met his father with steely eyes, to mask how his gut was churning with worry.

“You need to get this guy,” Dean said, almost through gritted teeth. “Get him now.”

John agreed with a nod.

Once again, you covered a trembling hand over your mouth. Dean squeezed your side a bit to earn your attention.

“I want you to come stay with me,” he said. His tone was boding no argument, not that you would. You nodded and fairly melted against him. Your head rested against his chest.

“Dean, this is insane,” you whispered.

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know. I’m sorry…I’m so fucking sorry about this.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s not your fault.”

Dean met your gaze, but he couldn’t quite believe you. He was the one who kept pushing his dad for answers, to let him in on this. This was his family’s bullshit, not yours. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into it too.

The spell between you two was broken by Cas, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“We do need to ask you some questions,” he said. “About Nick Savage.”

You frowned. You peeled yourself away from Dean enough to face the detectives.

“What does he have to do with this?” you asked.

“His company is linked to a money laundering scheme, which ultimately leads back to Azazel,” Cas explained. “But we’re having trouble getting through his wall of lawyers.”

You scoffed. “Not surprising.”

However, it did worry you that Nick was possibly doing business with a criminal. Not that that should surprise you either. 

“What do you want to know?” you asked.

“Well, first of all, would you be willing to file a police report,” Cas said, more gently, “regarding your assault at his home.”

Your eyes widened. Your mouth fell open slightly before you looked over at Dean. His face tightened, along with his hand on the curve of your waist.

“Why do you need me to do that?” you asked Cas.

“It’ll give us the leverage we need to dig deeper into his business,” John said. “Knock loose any shady dealings. We could get him to cough up what he knows about Azazel.”

You wanted to help, but at the same time, you were reluctant to mire yourself deeper in this. Dean saw your reservations, and he could guess why.

“Won’t that just paint a bigger target on her back?” he asked.

“We’re gonna protect her,” John promised. His eyes went from Dean, back to you. “But we need your help. This could be the break we need to get to Azazel. To find out who this bastard is.”

John could see your indecision. “All you need to do is fill out the report. Maybe get up in court to testify.”

You tightened up at that. “Testify?”

“If it gets that far,” John nodded.

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head. “That man can make my life hell without a serial killer’s help.”

You looked to Dean for support.

In the beginning, he had all but begged you to do what his father and Cas were asking. But now, this was just too much. He pressed you more securely to his side.

“Dean?” his father prodded.

“You heard her,” Dean said. “It’s her choice.”

You sighed and held onto the back of his shirt gratefully. The detectives shared a look, with John’s brows furrowing. He regarded you with a gruff, slightly strained look.

“Listen, don’t you want Savage in a cold hard cell?” he asked. “You could put him there.”

“Dad, she said no. Lay off,” Dean’s tone sharpened. Unfortunately, he knew how stubborn the man could be.

“Dean, I’m trying to nail this guy, but I’m missing pieces,” John said. “Right now, I can’t do it without her.”

“Well, figure it out,” Dean snapped.

John frowned in near disbelief. "Excuse me?"

“Look, I know where your priorities are, but mine is making sure she’s safe," said Dean. "If you can’t handle that, then we’ve got a problem!”

The strength of his retort took everyone by surprise, but no one more so than John. He hid it well behind a deepening frown.

He glanced between you and his son. You were looking up at Dean with unshed tears in your red-rimmed eyes, grateful, and holding on tight to his shirt. He still held you to him. His entire frame was tight and angry.

And John knew that he would react the same way, if he were Dean. He also knew then that he was pushing too hard.

So he sighed, and pulled out a card from his wallet. He handed it to you.

“I’m sure you’ve got Cas’s number already, but here’s mine,” said John. “Call me if you change your mind.”

“I’m sorry for invading,” you told Sam that night. He was helping you and Dean bring in your suitcases. You were pretty much moving into their apartment, indefinitely.

“You’re not,” Sam said, shaking his head. “We’re happy to have you here.”

You gave him a tired, thankful smile. “I appreciate that, thanks.”

“We’ll get to have an in-house chef,” Dean chimed in, earning more amused look from you.

“Need I remind you that I’m not an actual chef?” you said. You set down your smaller suitcase, full of shoes and toiletries, to grasp the front of his shirt. You leaned up on your toes and met him with a kiss. It was sweet, but it was also tender. His arms came around your lower back and pulled you flush against him.

He parted from you gently, afterwards pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a brief sigh through his nose.

“I’m sorry, about how I left last night,” he said.

You shook your head, despite the tears that wanted to burn in your eyes. You wanted to tell him, It’s fine. I’m fine.

But you couldn’t lie to him.

“You came back when I needed you,” you said instead. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, his hand resting along the back of your neck. It was familiar, and soothing.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted you to move in,” he admitted. You chuckled wryly.

“Really,” he said. “…I was thinking of asking you. But not ‘til, you know, down the line.”

You softened at that. You raised up on your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then you circled your arms around his neck and hugged him close. He held you back just as tightly.

“Thank you for always being there for me,” you said. He couldn’t see your smile, but somehow, he knew it was there. But he could also hear you sniffle, and feel your body tremble with tears.

“You’re safe here,” Dean said softer into your ear. “Nothing’s getting to you, all right?”

You nodded, pressing your face into his neck. He continued to say and do whatever he felt he had to in order to reassure you that night, and make you feel safe.

All the while, he was trying to reassure himself.

AN: *burrr* That tension, huh? What did you think of her finally finding out about Jo's lingering feelings, plus a bit of Dean's resentment, him and Gordon coming to an understanding, and the reader meeting John for the first time! 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Good news though. Next time, we'll take a huge break from all this drama and have a nice fluffy Christmas special. (Plus a healthy dose of spice. ❤️‍🔥)

Next Time:

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

Keep Reading: PART 15

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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What the Emperor Wants

Part Fourteen

Summary: Passions arrive before tasks of marriage come to the Domus of Geta and Caracalla

Notes/Warnings: 18 & up👆🏻, Very smutty…& squint some angst & fluff!! A handjob, mentions of climax (female & male!) fingering, squint its exhibition since it takes place on a throne. Old, retro mentions/beliefs of old god/goddesses. Retro views of women.

❤️s, reblogs, comments & feedback are always welcome!

“Geta.” His name was your breath as you exhaled with the pleasure his lips brought you.

He glanced at you from around your hand.

You reached and gently, nestled your fingers to his short curls. They were rebellious from the hood that had tried to stifle them. Continuing to hold your wrist, he held you close as he continued to kiss your forearm, occasionally you’d feel his teeth.

“Who knew, the sweetest blossom in Rome could make me feel good just with a mere touch.” His voice had deepened.

“Being astride you, Geta such as this and the feel of your lips makes me feel great pleasure as well.” You kept running your fingers through the fiery curls.

He pressed his lip against your wrist before placing your hand back to where it belonged in your lap. His face grew serious, he looked off to a distance you could not see.

“Geta?”

“Leading up to our ceremony. We will have to be reasonable, chaste even in our relations.”

You had heard what was expected. You had seen of the marriage of one of your brothers and a cousin, and yet all of this was never what would imagined. You were left wondering what now was meant for her or the two of them.

“I will follow and do as you wish.”

His eyes moved back and looked at you. A smile curled his lips. His hand cupped your cheek. “I chose so wisely with you.”

“Thank you.” There was something you were curious about but you knew better now than to question him.

“Speak, blossom.” A soft edge entered his voice making it echo in the small throne area.

You took a breath. “Promise to not take my head.”

You said the words lightly, but there was a small snare of worry.

He rose an eyebrow. “For the moment.” His smile returned.

Good spirits continued to fill him, you mused.

“You have led us down our path. Why can’t we carry on such as that?”

He nodded. “We are very much doing that. Though there are some things that bring us good tidings and blessings to our marriage.”

You brought a hand to his thigh.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together at your touch.

“Is there anything we should accomplish or relish in specifically?”

His lashes fluttered against his cheeks before he looked at you once more. “We do have some time before a new day dawns. Before we allow the world, the people of Rome are told of our betrothal.”

“Yes. That is true, Geta.”

Taking ahold of your hand he slipped it into the folds of the fabrics he wore. You gasped as he brought you to his arousal.

Your fingers wrapped around his length.

A soft sound came from Geta’s lips.

You looked at him concern filled you.

“That feels as it should. I will show you.”

His breathing deepened and shorten. His much larger hand enveloped and guided yours.

Pleasure began to fill you as you felt as he appeared to grow within your hand. Passion had filled his face, his eyes were aflame.

“Geta, shall I lay down for you?” Though, you truly did not want to lay on the cold stone, and be like a common dog or animal. For him, you did not truly mind. You would always follow his lead, wherever it may take you.

“No, we shall stay here.”

He swallowed, another soft moan poured from his lips.

“It will be our tribute to the gods and goddess as close as we can.”

Your heart squeezed. It made the pleasure you were already feeling twist in an unexpected, pleasurable manner. He was growing more breathless.

Glancing down, seeing his hardness as it slid and move between your fingers and a soft sound escaped from you. You could remember how it felt inside of you.

His hand slipped from yours as his lips twisted into a smirk briefly. “You relish the sight of your emperor, your future husband?”

“Yes.” You swallowed. “You made me feel so good.”

Your fingers tightened before loosing and continuing to move up and down his length.

“Your body welcomed me as it should.” A smile appeared on his face. “I need to look upon my blossom.”

His hands easily, opened your stola. Your breasts, your body was bared to the cool air. Some of your curves were still cloaked by the fabric.

“Does it miss me?”

How he looked at you, made you tremble. Once again your fingers tightened around him. The sound that poured from his lips caused, a pleasurable ache once again to grow in you. It was a pleasure he brought to you. You could never imagine not knowing this pleasure given to you from him and the heavens above.

“Yes, Geta.”

His hand was warm as it rested on your thigh. “Open yourself to me.”

As you opened your thighs, you felt as your cheeks warmed. His hand easily slipped between your thighs. A moan softly, came from deep within you as you felt his finger tips merely graze you. You trembled and shifted on his lap.

“That’s my blossom.” He trembled as you felt his body tightened once again.

When you had felt him like this before while you lying as one, you had felt something. His seed had filled. You wondered if you would feel it now.

“Yes. Relish the pleasure.” You shook as you felt his fingers tease your opening.

You remembered how he had quicken his pace when he was above you. So you moved your hand as such.

“That feels so…” His voice trailed off, his body shook before straining against you. A moan poured from his lips.

You gasped as his seed spurted from him. Several ropes erupted from him, as he moaned and shook under you. His body jolt with each spurt. The sounds that came from him gave uou that pleasurable ache once more. His head tilted back. He closed his eyes, his chest was heaving.

“Geta?”

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

He licked his lips as his heart thudded hard.

“Geta?” Your soft voice reached his ears.

Opening his eyes, he was met with concern awash on your face. His lips twitched with a smirk as he took you in.

“Blossom. Look at you, I have filled you with my seed and now I have covered you.”

He tilted his head to one side taking in the sight before him.

“I’m yours.”

Eyeing a cloth, on side table he easily snatched it up. Easily, he moved quickly and tidied you up. He tossed away the now soiled cloth.

“You are that.”

He could feel a fresh knot of passion tighten in him. How was he to avoid, being close with you before the ceremony. Looking you over, he swallowed.

He drew close. “Shall I touch you here? As you have touched me?” He made a soft thoughtful sound. “Would it make me weak?”

He felt a slight tremble come over you as he spoke. As you caught his eye, he could see the passion that burned in them.

“Geta, you will never be weak.”

“I cannot allow myself to be ensnared by passions even if it is with a woman who shall be my wife.”

You let a seriousness fall over you. “You make men whither with fear.”

Your breath caught as he drew his hand between the softness of your thighs.

“The man who had the desire to snuff out the flame that burns within you, cowered with fear.”

“That is true.”

He moved his hand so he cupped you. “Your mound, is beautiful like the rest of you. A soft temple of love and passion all for me.”

“It’s yours.”

He enjoying seeing how breathless you grew because of his touch. Remembering how you moved, sounded so he touched your little bud once again.

“Oh Geta.”

He heard you manage to say before a moan poured from your lips.

“So my fingers can make you feel good too?” He slowed his touch.

You trembled under his touch. Licking your lips, you nodded and whimpered. “Please, please;” You begged. It made the knot in his stomach tighter. “Don’t stop it feels so good.”

“Since you begged me so nicely.”

He watched, as he touched you more firmly like he had before. Your cheeks had a rosy flush and in the flickering flames your eyes shone with your passion.

You trembled and called out, a moan that caused him to bit his bottom lip. It was delicious to his ears.

You were soft and wilted in his arms like flower petals. He watched as you regained your breath, your eyes fluttered open. That feeling, you had brought to him was back. It almost stole his breath. He let his fingers graze the line of your jaw.

“And now, we shall retire for the night.”

You easily got up from his lap.

He adored watching how you fretted over your dress. Standing himself, he said easily pulled you close.

“I am grateful the gods brought us together. May they continue to bless the two of us in our coming union.”

“Yes. The gods have been kind, I send them my gratitude.”

*******

Geta, stopped and went to where he knew some bread was kept. With it in hand, he went over to alter for Vesta. Gathering, his clothes he knelt before. He was pleased to see the candles were alit and flickering. He ripped the pieces of the bread. He laid them down with lowered eyes and murmuring his appreciation of her and what she had planned for him and you.

Not long after he was pleased to see his guards were alert and stood, very straight outside the door of his chambers.

“Gallus. Can you go in and make sure no one is lurking in the shadows.”

“Yes, sire.”

*******

Once back in your room, you went to the window and knelt. Peering up at the crescent moon, you whispered your prayers to the powerful Luna, to grant you fertility in the coming marriage of Geta. You truly hoped you could take his seed. You laid a hand on your belly. Your imagination grew before you. A baby boy of his would look so beautiful. He would have his father’s strength.

Pleased with your prayers, you finally removed the pins and ribbons that held your hair in place. You placed them on the small table that also held your brush and strigil. In a transparent shift, you sighed as relaxation finally came over you. Going over to your bed, you pressed a kiss to the ring on your finger before crawling into the bed.

Moving till comfort finally found you, you let yourself melt into the blanket and pillow. Moments from the day shifted before you; the carriage ride to Dondas coming over to you and those last moments with Geta lingered. You could still feel his touch. With memory of him still fresh; sleep finally came over you.

******

Geta, glanced into his room as Gallus, walked in wide strides around the room. With a sharp turn, he came back to him.

“There is no one. May sleep bring the peace and rest that is needed.”

He nodded. “When the sky turns purple, please take some food and rest. I will want you near, later after the second meal.”

Gallus, clapped his chest and nodded. “Advised, sire.”

Once the door was closed, Geta relaxed. He stripper the last of his clothes. The cool air felt good on hid body. Walking to his balcony he looked out at the expanse of Rome, his Rome. He felt fantastic. Just as he was about to turn and retire to his bed. A flurry of feathers, black in nature settle near him. After some shaking and appearing to settle itself, he saw that it was a crow that had indeed decided to pay him a visit.

“Hello, mighty crow.” He tilted his head and looked at it. It did the same to him. He smiled and the crowd let out a loud cry.

“Thank you for your visit.” He paused, taking in the crow’s beauty. “I will show my gratitude and thankfulness at my alter.”

He glanced over at where he saw the crow, wanting to see it a final time and he did. He smiled. Shortly, afterward the crow shook its feathers and then easily took off into the night that was black as him. The moon barely gave any light tonight.

His excitement had calmed despite you so easily reigniting his passions. Lying down, echos of your pleasure echoed in his heart. You, were lovely and pleasing. You would give him the future of Rome that none other can give.

*******

You do not think there will ever be a day that passes, where you accustomed to life in the Domus of Geta and Caracalla. The bathing was just that more special with the oils that were so pleasing you felt as if you had become a flower yourself or how the ribbons, and curls were twined and twisted in your hair.

You paused by one of the larger columns, to take it all in. The sky was clear, sun’s warmth drifted in and the flowers that drew were flush with their freshness. Their scent making the air delightful. From where you hid, you watched people you had never even see before.

Taking a breath, you gathering yourself. Today was a new day, back in Rome. You could already feel how different it was from the country side.

Today, was your first day as the emperor’s betrothed. You had to take Aelia’s reassuring words given while she looped and twined your hair into a new look. You still did wonder where she had run off in such haste. Life was already so much busier here in Rome than in the country side.

Though, as you reflected back onto your betrothal with Geta, and your spirits already began to loft. It made any of your other thoughts of unease float away.

Feeling as a hand gave you the extra guidance you needed, you made your way to the Triclinium.

“My Blossom.” Geta stood from the sofa he had been reclining on, as you entered. A smile spread across his face.

He ushered you to the sofa beside him. “Plans are already being set in place.” He said once you sat down.

“Wonderful.”

A figure came in with a shadow shortly after you. You looked in the direction. It was Tertia, you had finally remembered her name. Your stomach knotted at the memory. Seeing her once again, did not bring you contentment.

Reaching, you grabbed a plush, and pleasing looking strawberry.

“Is there anything you wish to drink?” Her voice, intruded in your thoughts as you watched as she gave Geta his glass before turning her attention to you.

You were about to reply when Aelia, arrived. She looked flustered

“Yes, Aelia.” Geta took a sip from his glass. “Do you have news from any of the dispatches?”

“We have heard from your mother.” She turned and looked at you. You paused and didn’t take a second bite from strawberry you held. “Yes, we have heard from the village you were born in.”

Your heart quickened its pace.

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Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 14

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Summary: Messmer and the Tarnished use the time to think over what just happened. The Tarnished catches Messmer up on everything she's discovered.

A/N: This chapter is labelled a spicy chapter 🌶️ Warnings for this chapter: making out, slight dry humping, mentions of some sexual content

A03 link

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Chapter 14: Consolation

There are many things you've come to enjoy about Messmer's chambers: from the plush rugs and silk red and gold trim to the warmth that seems to encapsulate the entire room, it feels to be the warmest part of the Keep. The darkness he lives in has swallowed you entirely, not that you can complain. You feel as if you want to be swallowed by it, taken into its arms and tended to. The warmth of his room feels similar to the bathhouse, and you cannot complain when you have just died.

It is something you crave first when you come back to the living; heat. You can only describe coming back from the dead as waking from being drowned; your lungs burn, skin feels frozen and stiff. The only comfort you can hold is the cloak Messmer offered to you without a second thought. It engulfed you when he placed it around your shoulders, his scent was a familiar smell you felt reassurance from.

You've not once taken your eyes off the flames in the hearth. The warmth that consumes you brings the heat back to your once-cold body. Your limbs begin to feel less rigid by the minute. Despite it all, you have to remind yourself you're still alive, your heart beats once again, and your blood flows throughout your entire body.

You still feel its presence, the press of a blade against your skin, the blood and how it flowed out from your wound, how painful each death grows and seems to draw you further and further away from feeling truly alive.

Dying takes a toll on you, over and over again, but it is rather an acceptance you've grown to live with. You shudder, your hand snaking its way to find comfort in stroking the healed skin of your throat, aware of his eye watching you from the corner of the shadows.

Messmer sits idly, not as close as you wish, but you feel his presence, sulking in the shadows as he does best, occasionally disassociating to stare off into the hearth or keeping his eye on you. He has been silent since you came back, where he brought you to his room "for safety". There is still a threat in the air, you can feel it throughout the entire Keep; how there is a feeling that has grown hostile. Regardless of everything the two of you went through, you want to explain things to him so badly, but you don't even know where to begin.

You know when Messmer wishes to speak when you can see from the corner of your eye him wringing his hands together, collecting the right words and courage to speak.

"Thou must be tired." It is not a question, but rather an observation that comes from the redhead, his voice does not hide how tired he sounds himself. You look away momentarily from the fireplace, catching a glimpse of him, shuffling closer to sit beside you on the floor.

It is not too difficult to not spot him, from his red hair that looks to be flames itself, how vibrant it looks. He is fire-made flesh, and you admit to yourself he looks ethereal. Now that he's closer to you, you feel his mere size, how he almost engulfs you sitting side by side, but it is a comfort you've grown yearned for.

"I think I'm fine," you mutter, though you're not sure if you're saying it to him or yourself. You hope your words can ease the silence of the room, but it still feels strange how all of this is happening. You clench and unclench your fingers, the cold takes forever to thaw from them no matter how close to heat you are. "This is all part of the cycle."

"T shouldn't has't to beest," Messmer's voice is quieter, it draws like a hiss from his lips. They form into a hard line, face scrunched. You glance over at him, eyebrows etched in confusion. He continues, "thee shouldn't has't to endureth yond."

"You'd wish I was dead?" You ask, a jest, but it doesn't lighten the mood. The look Messmer gives you could be a mixture of hurt and a scowl. You can tell he's not taking any of this well. His serpents have coiled into him, enjoying the warmth of the room, making his presence smaller, more gaunt. His skin appears to look brighter in contrast to the light cast from the fires, but you can still look beyond it to see just how done he looks. Without the red of his infamous war cloak, he looks certainly more like royalty than a soldier.

"Nay," he seems genuinely shocked you would ask that, "thee doth not knoweth what I did see."

You feel something lurch within your chest, witnessing his vulnerability. You know he is trying to hide this with a shield but cracks are forming. "Messmer-"

"Thee... died." His voice is a mere whisper, and you notice that on his hands, even in the soft darkness of the room, there is still a tinge of red that stains his skin and his fingernails. It seems this has all taken a toll on him, and he is silently absorbing it all alone.

You can remember it all, through your life slipping through his hands, the way he cradled you to his chest, the way he gave you solace in your dying breaths. The vulnerability you both shared was one you still feel, how his ghostly touches are still felt on your skin, the feel of them stroking your hair out of your face.

You try to console him, "I live now." You try to give him a small smile, but it feels foreign to you to be comforting someone over your death. Tarnished are never mourned, so why does it feel so odd to be given this chance to be grieved finally?

"Thee liveth anon, but what if the next is the lasteth? What then?" Messmer asks, making you think: when could it all be taken away? Could your final moments happen the next time?

It would be poignant if Marika had finally been done with you, tearing her guidance from your body with no final warning. It did make you realise how reckless you'd been. Or perhaps, death hadn't been as frightening as when you knew you would come back? You realised how right Messmer was, how careless you had been this entire time, treating dying to play a roulette game.

He continues, "I feared thee wouldst never awaken. Yond mine own mother's direction hadst died 'alongside thee."

"I'm sorry-- I didn't know-"

"Yond is correct," he raises his voice in a hiss, "thee didn't knoweth. Thy recklessness couldst beest thy downfall, what then shalt those doth if thee art not here?" It's when his golden eye softens, he retreats slightly when he spots how his raised voice has made you noticeably flinch.

He sighs tiredly, averting his gaze. "Forgive me. I has't hath said too much."

"Messmer, wait-" You don't think he'll listen to you, so you do one thing you can think of. Leaning with enough force, you manage to grab his hand before he's too far away. The warmth of his skin is expected, yet it always surprises you just how hot his blood runs with the serpent within. You think he is even warmer than the heat of the flames.

The redhead looks down on you with genuine surprise, his eye watching you warily. "Please, stay."

Messmer's breath catches in his throat, but he relents, sitting back down, a bit closer to you now.

You speak up finally. "I... you are right. I was reckless, childish even. I wasn't thinking." You glance at him quickly, catching his gaze already looking at you. "I had... there was still so much I had to do, to apologise to you, and gods, they kept me up there, locked in my own mind, torturing me so I could not-"

You freeze, realising you had to elaborate on the chosen words you used. Messmer is intrigued. "Locked hence thee sayeth? By what?"

Swallowing the bile in your throat, you hesitate. You cannot stop thinking about the false Godwyn, fighting him, to seeing a young Messmer. Even now, you can see such similarities: the boyish youth frozen in time on his face. He is forever a man changed by all and he can only continue and not look back. "I do not know where to even begin."

"The hornsent kneweth of mine own whereabouts," Messmer answers, "t'is not the first those has't cometh for me."

It is when Sir Ansbach's words draw you to reality: to remember the crucial part of it all. Miquella is using it for a greater purpose, even better than his mother's.

"Miquella." Your words loom a great deal of dread through Messmer, but he is silent, allowing you the moment to speak. "He is ascending to godhood, to become a far greater God than your mother. Mohg-- he's using his corpse for something, a vessel of some sort."

You continue, "There is more. Needle Knight Leda said that there was a purpose in me finding you, to hunt you." You wrack your fingers together nervously. "Your flame, they need your flame for-"

"The sealing tree," Messmer answers for you. You know what he talks of, in the Ancient Ruins of Rauh, the thick, blackened twisted vines that block entrance to the tower; that no normal flame could burn down. "Those needeth mine own kindling to enter."

He's oddly calm beside you, and you realise he must've accepted his demise a very long time ago. It makes you wonder how many have come to have their vengeance, how many times his life has been on the line and how often he has thought what comes after his death. Would he be so willing to risk his life and flame? What if the only way to open it was for him to be killed?

Messmer senses the way you've tensed up, the way you have disassociated from your thoughts. He nudges you lightly to bring you back, and you know he's looking at you and trying to find the best possible thing to say. There is an acceptance that is heavy in his words when he speaks to you.

"If 't be true t'is mine own flame thee needeth, thee shalt has't t. But I only asketh for thy blade to endeth mine own life."

You turn to him in bafflement, realising just what he had said. "No way am I going to kill you. Just because your kindling is needed, doesn't mean I need it. Leda can search all she can, but it will not stop me from harming you."

Messmer laughs wryly, "Wherefore wouldst thee wisheth to keepeth me safe? A wretched soul did bind to this form, cursed." He stares down at his clawed hands. "Mine own life hast known nay loveth, nay warmth, only the serpent inside twists and wishes wishes for freedom."

You tell yourself if you confess now, it may ruin everything between you two. That professing all would take back everything you tried to mend. You can't just not say it though, it calls to you, and you wish for him to know just how much he is cared for.

Placing a hand over his, you draw his attention by gently directing his face to look over at you. "Your men look out to you, Messmer. They would start a war in your name. Miquella is frightened of the threat you stand as. He would be a fool if he did something so soon."

"And thee? What is thy purpose as a Tarnished? If 't be true not our deal, what doth thee standeth for?"

"I stand with you because I want to. Because... I care for you and your safety. If they could send hornsent assassins, what more could come? You were alone and I-" You catch your breath in your throat, "I was scared to lose you."

Messmer seems to let his guard down, his face is not as scowled or scrunched up as it normally looks, rather, it has softened upon hearing your words. "I feared for thee, the moment I did hold thee in mine own arms." He gasps audibly, lost in the moment. "Forgive me, this all doth feel so much."

"It is alright," you murmur and the two of you sit in a comfortable silence, looking over the flames. You feel your heart racing, excitement and fear tears at you and your mind races. You cannot stop thinking about his touches and how you wish for more. Would that be too much to crave?

It's only now do you realise how handsome he looks in this light and those feelings are bubbling to the surface. His face seems so close yet not close enough, his strong straight nose makes him look more regal and angelic that you find it too hard in instinct to brush part of his red hair back, catching him off guard.

His own eye is boring into you, mixed emotions you could not ever know what he was expressing, and almost on instinct, your eyes move from his eye downwards, glancing so shamelessly down at his lips. Messmer's throat bobs nervously, noticing your glances but keeps his eye trained on you. You feel like a squeamish girl, giggling over crushes and blushing at comely princes and knights. Maybe it is courage or the heat of the room that is making your body feel flush, with the need to just be closer to him.

In the heat of the moment, you slowly begin to lean closer.

Messmer, rigid in his spot, looks hesitant too as you lean slowly up to his face, before he corrects himself quickly, "Swear to me thee shall not risketh thy life again?"

Your nose awkwardly bumps against his chin from backing out from doing something foolish, pulling back and averting your gaze from him. How you thought he would like you like that would jeopardise the entire friendship you had built with him, trying to knock those walls down of his only for your fears to spill over.

You nod shyly, noticing the familiar warmth that is flushed to his cheeks as well. 

"I swear it."

It's a different night when he finds you again, with a head in the book in the dead of night; consumed in the darkness of the storehouse.

"Art the books of interest for thee did miss dinner?"

He notices that in the darkness of the large room, you're simply dressed in a nightgown, a silk red shift covering you from the chill. He averts his gaze when he notices he's staring too long at your bare collarbones on display, the way your skin looks so soft; the rise and fall of your chest as his eye drifts to the curvature of your breasts-

"I didn't know you were waiting for me. Rather, you'd prefer to enjoy your meal alone." You speak, your voice soft as your eyes drift from the pages to look up at him. He has now found a seat beside you on the floor, resting his back on the bookshelf, careful not to shuffle the books as he leans over to look at what you're reading, pulling away when he realises he can see very clearly down your nightgown.

You know you've been avoiding him to allow for you to not make a fool of yourself, only further pushing him away from you. You realise that you've stepped over the ledge, and surprisingly, it is Messmer who is showing he has not pushed you away. 

"Is't too much to sayeth yond I did miss thee?" He asks, making you realise just how close he is this time to you, you can smell something citric on him that you cannot place, "T doesn't frighteneth thee??"

"No." You lean into him, and he does not pull away this time. You realise up close that he's just as nervous as you feel, his skin is flush, and his cheeks too. You look to his shaking hands, before noticing he wishes to do something. You catch his eye once more, silent yet begging internally. It's then that you see he too looks down your face, towards your lips before looking up to your eyes again.

"Thee shall engulf me whole one day," Messmer confesses softly, saying your name. "Though, t'is not something I wisheth to fleeth from."

"I do not wish to be away from you." You confess, watching his throat bob nervously.

From the candle that shines dimly in the darkness, the two of you finally feel whole.

You don't know who kisses who first, for his mouth is quick to connect against yours, pulling away quickly upon realisation. He doesn't pull away fully, only enough to ask with his gaze alone if this is alright, if he has made a mistake. You do not pull away, this time pulling him back as he lurches forward, clumsily holding you by the shoulders as you capture his lips to yours.

His lips are chapped, but warm, allowing you to kiss back and take charge. You realise he is hesitant, his hands are clumsy and are unsure where to hold you. You show him where, his golden eye eager to learn as you place his large hands along your waist, allowing him to pull you closer to him. 

He readjusts you a few times due to his height, finally settling with him almost leaning over you, moaning heartily against your lips when you nibble on his lower lip.

"Thee shall beest the death of me." He mutters against your plush lips, his breath hot as you consume his lips before he can continue, feeling the way his limbs shake with either nerves or excitement. It makes your heart swell to know you're maybe his first, or that he's so flustered that he cannot keep his hands off you.

It is Messmer who gains the courage to pull you over him, your thighs caging him as you straddle his waist, not taking a break from kissing him. His scent envelops you, his clawed hands finding purchase on your hips, and you're aware that you're sitting directly above his groin from the way you shift and he lets a long groan out. 

You pull back suddenly, thinking you've hurt him when you notice how red his cheeks are. His eye is blown wide, dilated and taking you in. Your nightgown has been tugged upwards, giving him a view of your thighs, and your sleeve has fallen off your shoulder so he can see more of your skin.

"Thou art fine art," he marvels, tugging you back for a kiss, soft moans leave your lips from his compliment. "A goddess hast did bless mine own eye."

You now blush at his words, fidgeting in his lap, feeling the warmth spread through your chest downwards, to grow hotter between your legs. "Messmer-" You whine, your body twitching and jolting upright, now feeling something warm and large below you.

Messmer groans against the clothes' friction, whispering against your heated skin as he moves you slowly on him, feeling the way the tent rubs deliciously against you. "Starlight, thee feeleth most wondrous." He groans, and you move in tandem with him, the friction has built that it feels too good between your legs.

The two of you continue to make out like horny teenagers, groping, teasing, gyrating against one another until your legs are slick with need. "I need you." You whine against his lips and Messmer makes a noise in the back of his throat in reaction, jolting his hips upright to meet yours with need.

"Thee has't me, thee has't me." He repeats like a chant, suddenly pulling back to look into your eyes to see if he has your permission, the consent to continue this further. There is a hesitancy to all that you notice in him, but you know he wishes to please you. "Prithee, alloweth me showeth thee what kindness I can giveth."

-

A/N: This was anticipated and I don't know what was keeping me from writing this! I hope it's still something readers are still wanting to read. I can promise excitedly that the next chapter will be the long-awaited smut!

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Apple Seed 14: Almost There

13 Hours Into Labor

Charlie: (breathing heavily) Oh, sshhhhhhhhit!!! Contractions are getting worse! Where's that midwife????

Vaggie: She's on her way, babe. (under her breath) Or at least she better be. Your dad was supposed to call her hours ago.

Charlie: (groans into a cry of pain as another contraction hits and she crushes Vaggie's hand) Gah! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!

Vaggie: Hang on, babe. Just hang on. I'm going to be right back.

Charlie: (nods as sweat beads up on her head) Please, hurry back.

Vaggie: I'll be back before you know it. (kisses Charlie's hand and rushes to the door before nearly ripping it off its hinges) Lucifer! Where the fuck is that midwife?!

Lucifer: (eyes nearly pop out of his head) I FORGOT TO CALL SLOTH!!!

Vaggie: ¡Estúpido hijo de puta! You had one fucking job!

Lucifer: (fumbles his phone) I got it! I can fix this!

Lilith: (storms up to Vaggie, trying to get into the room)

Vaggie: (blocks the door) Uh, excuse you? Who the fuck do you think you are?

Lilith: I am that girl's mother. Who are you?

Vaggie: I'm her fucking WIFE, bitch! You're not going in there after being gone for several fucking years! You can wait out here!

Lilith: (shocked Pikachu face)

Lucifer: I made a call! She'll be here in a few minutes!

Vaggie: Good! Alastor, do something productive and get a container of cold water to help cool Charlie down!

-Hotel Door Practically Explodes Open-

Vaggie: What the fuck?! (looks over the railing) CARMINE?!?!

Carmilla: (struts in and up the stairs) Stop shouting, girl. Why are you surprised? Your father-in-law called me.

Vaggie: (glares at Lucifer)

Lucifer: (checks his call history) Oh.... I did.... shit..... I thought that was Sloth.... I'm TIRED, okay?!?!

Rosie: (tip-taps in) Hello, everyone!

Vaggie: ROSIE!!!!! Lucifer! Did you call her, too?!?!

Alastor: (holding a bucket of water) No, that was me. (tries to go into the room)

Lucifer: WHOA!!!! (blocks the door) What the FUCK do you think you're doing?

Alastor: I'm bringing Charlie her cold water. I think if anyone should be going into a blood bath, the prior serial killer overlord and father figure should be the one to do it.

Lucifer: YOU aren't going ANYWHERE near MY baby girl when she's at her most vulnerable!!!

Alastor: Hmmm.... (shadow phases along the floor and into the room)

Lucifer: SON OF A BITCH!!!!

Alastor: Charlie, dear! I've brought you some co- (sees Charlie laying on top of a mound of linens and towels with her legs hiked up, knees bent, and her lower half on full, bloody display)

Charlie: (panting, looks to the door, and her demonic features spring to attention) ALASTOR?!?!?! GET THE FUCK OUT!!!

Alastor: (faints and falls backwards out the door)

Lucifer: HA!!! TAKE THAT, ASSHOLE!!!

Rosie: Oh, my stars! Alastor! (drags Alastor out of the room and sets him up to recover on the floor, fanning his face with a kerchief) Alastor, Alastor, wake up. Deep breaths, dear.

Angel: Ha! Smiles is so pussy averted that even when he spots one in labor he can't stomach it.

Carmilla: ....... (steps over Alastor's body and walks calmly to the bedroom) How far apart are the Princess's contractions?

Vaggie: They're coming about every five or six minutes and last about fifty seconds each. (follows Carmilla into the room) Do we need to worry about pushing yet?

Charlie: (gets wracked with another contraction and growls demonically into an ear splitting shriek) VAAGGGGIIIIIEEEE!!!!!

Carmilla: I believe that should answer your question.

[agathawellbelov3d]

PART 14 I actually have had a cherry vanilla latte and it was pretty good but I also think that would be relevant because scones. Both Simon & Baz would order ridiculously sweet coffee, but Simon would be the sort to add insane amounts of cream because he eats butter

[harborpointeblvd]

Tan's inventing new ways to adorable, episode 14

[forgers-therapist]

tiny people! (part 14)

[blogandmablog]

"We are like the dreamer, who dreams and then lives inside the dream. But who is the dreamer?"

🎥 'Twin Peaks: The Return'

[ejzah]

Blunt Force, Part 14

“Kensi, I need you.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she prompted, already sliding out of bed and throwing on a jacket one handed and then searching for her keys and a pair of shoes.

“I don’t know. I’m just—it’s too much. I can’t—I can’t,” he gasped out, his words halting and disjointed enough Kensi gave up on the jacket and ran out the door.

“Ok, I’m on my way. Don’t—” she stopped herself before she could finish the warning. “Just stay there, ok?”

“Kay.” Deeks hung up then and she started the SUV, pulling out of her parking spot fast enough for the tires to screech.

Kensi had heard Deeks when he was worried, nervous, sad, and even scared over the years. She’d never heard Deeks sound like this, and that worried her the most. He’d sounded…desperate and so lost. More so than directly after leaving the shooting range.

He wouldn’t do something foolish and drastic, Kensi told herself. He wasn’t himself though. This version of Deeks had fewer barriers, was less prone to use jokes as armor. She couldn’t predict how he’d react and that made him more vulnerable.

With that in mind, she pressed the gas pedal as far as it would go, tearing through stop signs. Deeks needed her.

***

Kensi knocked on Deeks’ front door, getting no response. After the second time, she tried the doorknob, surprised when it actually opened. Her knee-jerk reaction was to berate Deeks about safety and crime rates, but she batted that instinct down, instead hoping it meant he had the presence of mind to unlock it for her.

She walked in to dim lighting; all the curtains had been drawn and the only light filtered out from the kitchen. Moving farther into the room, she saw Deeks sitting on the couch, face cradled in his hands between his parted knees.

Without thinking about it, she moved to stand in front of him, and rested her hand on his shoulder. He didn’t startle at her at all, which made her think he’d noticed her come in.

“Hey,” he mumbled into his hand, slowly lifting his head. He reached over to turn on another light. His eyes were hazy and a little puffy. Clearly whatever sleep he’d gotten hadn’t been restful.

“Hey, what happened? Are you ok?”

“Ah, you know, just freaking out, like usual,” he explained, not making eye contact. “I had this…dream and it was really disconcerting.” He caught her eye long enough to smile humorously. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“No, it’s ok. You can always call me. Anytime,” she insisted, sitting next to him, her hand automatically moving to rest on his back. “What was your dream about?”

“All kinds of things.” His shoulder lifted under hand. “I kept bouncing between different scenes and moments. I don’t know what parts are real, if any, or what my screwed up brain invented.”

“Tell me what there are and maybe I can help you figure out if any of it’s real.” It was an impulsive offer, one that might come back to bite her depending on what Deeks’ dreams contained.

“You sure?” Deeks asked, so hopefully Kensi knew she’d probably grant him anything in this moment if it would help him.

“Yeah.”

Rubbing both hand up over his face and through his hair, he stared across the room for a few seconds before speaking.

“At first, I was about to beat or maybe shoot this guy. I don’t know why. But I was so angry at this guy. You stopped me.” He glanced at her, clearly looking for reassurance.

“I’m pretty sure that was real,” she confirmed and he sighed.

“Fantastic. What about lasers? I keep dreaming about us playing laser tag, but then it either turns into guys with real guns. This time you were stuck and I think I was about to pull you out. That didn’t happen, right?” he asked, sounding completely bewildered.

“Kind of,” Kensi said with a grimace and he just gave her a look. She could only imagine how confusing dreams would be when he had an entire six years worth of memories missing. “I think it might be inspired by this time I was taken by some Russians and they trapped me in a web of lasers. You had to pull me out in the end.” She hesitated, then added, “It was kind of a big moment.”

“Well, yeah not every day you get stuck in lasers,” he replied sarcastically.

“No, I mean for us. For me. That was during out first year as partners and we still didn’t quite trust each other. I didn’t know if I fully trusted you.”

Deeks perked up a little at that, some of his distress fading, and she licked her bottom lip, suddenly nervous. They were drifting into territory that still made her uncomfortable to talk about.

Licking his bottom lip, Deeks shook his slightly. “What did I do that made you think you couldn’t trust me?”

“Nothing. I mean, nothing unusual. We were both hesitant to trust each other. You’d had some bad partners in the past and I didn’t trust many people beyond Callen and Sam. Even then, they didn’t know a lot,” she tried to explain. It was hard to go back to the those early days when Deeks was used to working alone and she was afraid of losing another partner. Based on the groove between his eyebrows, she hadn’t done a very good job.

“I told you it took us a while to figure things out,” she added.

“Yeah, no, I remember,” he said. “It’s just, sometimes, it feels like you know more about me than I do. It’s a really bizarre feeling. It’s disconcerting, and isolating, and sometimes I wonder who I am and what I’m going to do.” His voice shook a little, and he exhaled sharply. “Because right now I sure as hell can’t imagine going out into the world and shooting a gun or, or any of that. And that terrifies me because I’ve always relied on having a plan, on working and having a purpose and I don’t know what that is anymore.” He stopped abruptly, swallowing visibly.

Kensi’s stomach flipped, both in sympathy but also unease at the thought of losing Deeks. It was completely selfish, but she’d been dreading this since Deeks woke up and didn’t recognize her. Maybe she’d decided to push him to use his service weapon for that very reason.

Pushing down her own fears, she cupped her hands around Deeks’. His eyes flicked down to their linked fingers, and she resisted the urge to pull away. She focused on the familiar warmth and strength of his hold. For all their physical contact, they rarely held hands. Not like this.

“Deeks, that’s ok. Don’t get me wrong, I want you back as my partner

more than anything,” she told him, working hard to modulate her voice. “Not at the risk of your happiness or health. That’s more important than anything else.”

“Yeah, and what about my beyond Swiss cheese memory?” he asked, his voice impossibly soft. “These flashbacks or whatever they are. What do I do? Cause I’m going to be honest, it kind of feels like I’m going crazy.”

“You tell me about them,” Kensi said.

“For how long?”

“As long as you’ll have me.”

His head lifted slightly at that, and he gave her a questioning look. She held his gaze, not backtracking. Not running this time. Deeks glanced back down at their folded hands, his grip tightening on hers.

“Are you sure it isn’t the other way around? You might get tired of me,” he joked. She didn’t take the bait.

“I won’t,” she promised.

She retrieved one hand to brush his hair out of his eyes and hoped the gesture relayed what she couldn’t put into words. Deeks didn’t say anything either, instead wrapping his arms around her in a loose hug, and Kensi settled her hands on his back. He pressed his face against her shoulder, and for a second, Kensi thought he might kiss. Instead, she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

“Thank you, Kens.”

“Always.”

[angelynmoon]

More Eldritch Steve

Holly does not get scared easily she knows that her Stevie, her monster will protect her from anything she is afraid of no matter what or who it is.

Holly has always known Steve was a monster, she saw him as he really is when Nancy first brought him home.

She should have been frightened, should have hid from him in fear, but Holly has seen monsters, she saw them in Will's wall, she knows that Steve isn't a bad monster, not when he crawls under her bed to growl at the ones that live there or the way he sat all night against her closet door to keep the one that lived there inside.

He's a monster but he plays dolls with her when she asks, even after Nancy broke up with him.

Nancy got upset when Holly didn't warm up as easily to Jonathan as she had Steve.

But Nancy doesn't see Steve, not really, she sees his human image, his mimicry of humanity, she can't see, or maybe won't see, the monster that Steve is.

But Holly sees it, him, sees too many teeth bared at Ted the first time Holly heard him raise his voice at her mother, she sees him in the darkness that crawls through her window to check on her late at night.

Holly can see Steve the way he really is, he's her monster, her protecter, her safety net that she knows will always be there for her when she needs him.

So, when Holly gets scared, when Ted raises his voice and her mother's rises to match, she crawls out her window, uses the tree to get down and starts off to the dark of the woods where she knows her monster hunts.

Holly knows Steve will know she's there as soon as she enters the woods, he has never once lost her while babysitting with Nancy, even when she wondered off too far from them, he knows where she is, always.

He's her monster, he'll always find her and keep her safe.

Holly yawns and lifts her hands up when Steve looks down at her, she's safe now, nothing bad would be allowed to happen to her now.

Safe and sound in Steve's hold Holly Wheeler falls asleep, unaware of how her life is about to change.

--

Don't ask me what happens, I don't know yet but enjoy Holly pov.

@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

[thevoidstaredback]

Week Three

Bruce and Barbra were in charge of arranging the security detail, just as they were for every gala. They had a system down, one that they followed meticulously no matter how vague it actually was.

Bruce finds the men, Barbra screens them, they have James Gordon approve them, then they go through Tim and Jason. It's a system that works.

Normally, they don't start looking for security until the week of, but they have to double the amount of bodies for this particular gala, so they've given themselves extra time.

They don't technically have to double the manpower, but it's to keep face. Though, Jim's going to have questions, but they've prepared a cover story. They would just tell him, because there's no way he doesn't know who Batman and Oracle are under the mask, but the chief of police would very much like to keep plausible deniability.

Most of the people they find are the some ones every time. Some of them they cycle out, depending on which part of the city got hit the hardest during the latest attack, but they can't afford to skimp out on the security for this event. Yeah, half the people they've invited are superheroes, but they aren't going to put their identities at risk. Hell, they aren't even supposed to know who're under the masks, but here they are!

THe gala isn't set to end until just before the Bats are supposed to head out on patrol. But, because there's a gala going on, and there's no way that a quiet rumor hasn't started and reached, that means that someone is going to have to go out early. Duke will be handling the day shift, as normal, but Damian will be out will him just in case. Then, just after dinner ends, Luke, Kate, and Barbra are going to leave and start patrol. An hour after they leave, Steph, Selina, and Jason will head out to help them. Everyone else will head out after everyone's gone home.

While Barbra's screening their security personnel, officers of the law included, Bruce was looking for press.

Everyone had agreed that three people with press badges would be allowed in, but they wouldn't be allowed to take pictures. So, Bruce looked for bloggers. Tiny bloggers who didn't have more than a few hundred subscribers. He would screen them himself before having Tim and Barbra take a look at them. If they were clean, then Tim would reach out to them with the offer and the pay.

So far, he'd found five potentials. They're all clean at a surface glance. Digging deeper counted off one of them, so his list fell to four. One of them was too clean, so now he was left with three. One from Tumblr, one from Reddit, and one from the Daily Planet.

All three were pretty small blogs, and the one from the Daily Planet was forever stuck in the page four margins. This would be good for their careers. As long as Tim and Barbra cleared them, of course.

***

Week Four

Selina and Cass were put in charge of decorating, with the offered help of Dick and Duke. It was either the worst decision or the best decision.

Everything was on Bruce's dime, so the two were fully planning on going all out.

The chosen theme was 'Hero'. Most people would first think of the Justice League and any of the other hero teams, especially if they live in one of the cities where the heroes live. However, superheroes aren't the only heroes. So, the girls were going to decorate with the smaller heroes in mind; the doctors and soldiers and good law enforcers. Vigilantes, too, obviously.

They started with the room Duke and Dick had chosen to offshoot for the kids that would be coming. 'Kid' meaning anyone under the age of eighteen. This room was going to focus on the protege teams.

Cass hung streamers across the ceiling in the colours of the former Young Justice team. Across the walls, she and Selina hung the symbols of every member of the Titans Team. Naturally, the snack table they'd put in there was decked out with merch from every Robin and Batgirl. Home team loyalty and all that. The snacks were all going to be themed after the Justice League Dark, just because they could get away with it.

Inside the main ballroom, Selina took charge. Every table was themed after different heroic occupations, sans superhero. Doctors, nurses, teachers, officers, lawyers, non-profit directors, soldiers, veterinarians, et cetera.

Again, streamers were hung across the ceiling, sourced from the chandeliers, in the colours that the BatFam wore across their chests. Grey for Batman, black or Black Bat, blue for Nightwing, orange for Oracle, dark red for Red Hood, red for Red Robin, purple for Spoiler, yellow for Robin, gold for Signal, scarlet for Batwoman, and white for Batwing.

With the help of Dick and Duke, a banner in the Justice League colours - blue and white, very creative, Bruce - was hung on the wall behind the stage. It was a blue banner with the words "Charity for Justice" in white, the font was what had been chosen for the Justice League logo.

Again, a very creative choice, Bruce.

Just like the other room, the symbols of every hero affiliated with the Justice League was hung on the walls. The symbols of deceased heroes were hung on the doors, their birth and death dates written on them.

The small details are where Selina and Cass really amped up their mischief.

The entrance that the guests would be taking lead directly into the hall with the ballroom. Selina and Cass, with Steph's help, hit tiny bats and birds everywhere. The birds were blue, red, and yellow; the bats were grey, black, dark red, scarlet, white, orange, purple, and gold. And, just to mess with the Lanterns and the Supers, they hung fake kryptonite tied with yellow ribbon from the ceiling. The pictures in the hallway were replaced with pictures of the skyline of every city where a hero operated.

They hung up a picture of Atlantis, too. No, they won't be answering any questions.

With the decor done and Alfred approved, all that was left to do was wait for week four to come to an end.

Part 13 Part 15

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 14

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: Stick around at the end for a special note — new SB fic dropping soon!

Word Count: 6,000

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! We return to the smut! Plus a healthy dose of fluff, angst, action, moral quandaries, and feels.

 Part 14: Safe House

Jon lied in his hospital bed, frowning hard at a computer screen. His arm and collarbone were broken, along with a few ribs. He had a private room, at least, courtesy of Vought. 

Stan Edgar strode in following a quick knock on the door. 

“Hello, Jonathan. I meant to visit you earlier,” said Stan. Jon stared at his boss, silently simmering. On his laptop played footage of the destruction wrought on the Lower West Side by a major car chase.

“How are you feeling?” Stan asked.

“Why was Black Noir set loose on my wife and daughters?” he seethed through gritted teeth. Damn how the effort of keeping still was almost as painful as moving.

“Ex-wife, isn’t it?” Stan said, raising a brow.

Jon was not amused.

“I gave the order, yes,” Stan acknowledged. “On your eldest daughter.”

Jon was incensed. If he could get out of this bed, he’d very well contemplate strangling the other man. Stan seemed to know it, but considering his personal security guards were standing near the back wall of the hospital room, he also didn’t look worried.

“Why?” Jon asked, genuinely surprised and dismayed. “She’s not a threat.” 

“Soldier Boy kept her for a reason,” Stan pointed out. “She brought him to our doorstep, with the intention of helping him assassinate me…eliminating her was a calculated risk.” 

Jon shook his head.

“But since Noir has failed, we will have to prepare accordingly,” Stan said. 

Jon glared back at him. “You think I’m going to help you?”

“I think you have a job to do,” Stan returned. “It didn’t stop you from breaking your daughter’s ribs, and very nearly her neck.”

Jon faltered, a brief regret weighing his frown. 

“That wasn’t…that was to teach her a lesson.”

Perhaps he’d gone a bit too far, but he’d only been trying to subdue you. To get you to listen to him. But you’d always been stubborn.

Stan broke him from his thoughts.

“I am not being attacked, Jon,” he said. “We are. Your daughter is a part of it.” 

“Marie and Luisa are not. Leave them out of this!” 

Stan merely rose a brow. He folded his hands behind his back and withdrew. He was flanked by his bodyguards as he left the room. 

“Rest up, Jonathan,” he said. “I’ll need you soon enough.”

The master bed was actually pretty comfortable, as you and Ben found out. 

You clung onto his shoulders after both of you were spent. You panted for breath as he held you to him with his solid arms wrapped around your waist. You two were both kneeling, technically, in the middle of the bed.

Your thighs were molded to his hips, and he was still buried deep inside you. But as of yet, you had no reason to move. You were enjoying your vantage point above him, watching him collect himself with closed eyes. 

The simple truth of it was, you’d missed him. 

Even when he was being a stubborn pain in the ass, you hated every moment you had to watch him caged, watching him start to think he may never get out.

Your hands slid around to his back. It allowed you to hold him in more of an embrace as you caught your breath. 

When his eyes opened, you met him with a smile. You slipped your fingers through his sweaty hair. Holding your free hand at the nape of his neck, you pressed your lips above his brow. Then another kiss to his scratchy cheek. His beard had gotten overgrown.

“You need a trim,” you said, letting out a breathy laugh. You kissed his cheek again. Slow, and with purpose. 

Ben let out a sigh through his nose. His eyes closed again at your gentler kisses, your touch. Maybe he reveled in this—being able to hold you back. It felt right. 

If he was honest with himself (and this time, he was), you were somehow able to ease the frayed edges of his mind. Edges that had been starting to unravel in that cell. 

And there were other things too, that he was beginning to realize, but not yet willing to cement in his mind.

So you reluctantly detangled from one another, but remained in bed. The problem was, for whatever closeness you two had just shared…you weren’t quite sure what to do now.

You hesitated to ask him just what the two of you were doing. Mostly because you didn’t want to ruin whatever this was by labeling it. 

So instead, you relaxed against his chest and pulled the blankets over you both. Ben didn’t just tolerate it; he settled a heavy arm across your lower back and over your hip. It made you smile.

“Ben…what do you want from the rest of your life?” you asked. 

You didn’t know what possessed you to ask, but you had to wonder what the end goal was for him, after the issue of Vought was settled. After he presumably kept his end of the deal and retired to South America, or Europe, or wherever he wanted to go, really. 

His hand came up to pet your hair. “I just got some of it.”

You huffed a laugh, hiding your face into his chest for a moment. You couldn’t see it, but Ben grinned at how easy it was to embarrass you, for how wanton he knew you could be.

“Come on, seriously,” you said. 

“Seriously?” he teased. 

“Yes,” you said, despite a giggle.

He let out something of a sigh. Meanwhile, his hand drew lazy patterns up and down your naked back.

“I always thought I had time,” he confessed. “To settle down. Have a family…I actually thought it would be Tess.”

That thought was accompanied by a bitter chuckle. Your brows furrowed in question. 

“Crimson Countess,” he explained. 

“Ah.” You nodded and rested a hand across his lower abs, playing with the thin trail of hair there that led south. He found it strangely soothing, if a hint arousing.

“Was it difficult killing Homelander?” you asked. 

Ben scoffed. “Just chock full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

You sat up and propped an elbow on his shoulder, so he had to look at you. 

“Not physically. Emotionally,” you said. God forbid you ask him about his man feelings, but you really were curious. 

Ben eyed you with a raised brow.

“I know he wasn’t really your son,” you said. “He was a raging psychopath and needed to go down, but was there a part of you that…was it hard for you?” 

Ben’s mood dimmed as his lips pulled into a frown. “He was a true disappointment. Barely a man.” 

That didn’t quite answer your question, but you thought you could read some of his true feelings on the matter. You didn’t think he regretted killing Homelander. But maybe he mourned the connection he could’ve had with a son. From what he’d said about Crimson Countess, you knew he wanted a real family.

That softened you. You brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes with delicate fingers. 

“He was told he was a god his entire life. That’s what happens,” you said. 

Ben scoffed at that, his gaze cutting away from you. You didn’t know what that meant exactly.  

“And you?” he asked, turning back to you. “What do you want from all this?” 

“Besides my family safe?” you retorted. But then, you considered his words. “I don’t know. I thought I knew who I was before I met you. Now I’m realizing that I can’t control anything in my life.” 

Ben raised your chin, and therefore your face up to him. 

“You can control you. You’ve been doing that since I met you.” His thumb swiped against your lower lip. “Especially this fucking mouth.” 

You smiled. “But you like that though.” 

His lips pulled at amusement, huffing in response. 

“Come on,” you teased. You moved, slipping a leg over to straddle his lap. You delved into his hair with both hands, and he let you tug his head back as he now looked up at you. 

“Admit it,” you said cheekily. “You like my mouth. Talking back to you…on you…and getting you off.” 

All while you spoke, you brushed your lips across his cheek, down his jawline, pressed a nipping kiss along his neck, below his ear. Then you returned to his lips. But you also ground down into his lap, feeling his rising length brush against your wet folds.

He groaned deep as you plied him the way you’d learned to do. And your tongue slipped into his mouth with your next kiss. He gripped your hips tight, wordlessly urging you to lower down into his lap and onto his waiting cock. But you resisted. 

“Say it,” you demanded. 

When he merely smirked, denying you control, you lowered a hand to take a firm hold of his cock. He let out a low hum of pleasure as you pumped him a couple of times, then held him poised at your entrance. 

“I’ll give you what you want,” you said, brushing his lips. “But first, tell me how much you missed this.”

His next breath came out sharp as you squeezed his cock in your hand. You knew you’d find his fingerprints on your hips and ass in the morning, but you didn’t care. Because you were about to fucking win. 

“Fine,” he said, through clenched teeth. “Maybe I’ve been craving this, more than a fix. More than goddamn sleep.” 

Ben’s eyes were dark with lust, and he thumbed at your lower lip. 

“And this fucking mouth. Gets you into all kinds of trouble, baby doll.” 

You smirked and finally sunk on top of him. His cock slid past your folds and bottomed out inside of you, making you shudder and Ben groan in relief. 

You did exactly as you promised. With your hands braced on his shoulders, you moved over him nice and slow. 

Well, nice for you. Torturous for him. 

He cast his head back to the headboard as he fought not to make you move. 

“You’re fuckin’ killing me here,” he growled.

Your mouth curved into a grin. 

“Alert the media,” you said. “We’ve got the ultimate weapon against Soldier Boy: a slow ride on his dick.”

Ben’s rich laugh rumbled out, crinkling his eyes at the corners and making you smile. You felt the impact of his laughter deep inside you, which wasn’t unpleasant. But you had mercy on him and finally picked up the pace. He grabbed a fistful of your hair for leverage while your lovely tits bounced in his face.

Then his fingers slid between you, parting your folds to rub at your clit. It made your hips stutter as you let out a mangled moan. Your inner walls started to tighten around him, earning you another muttered curse. He couldn’t help but thrust up inside you, mostly in time with your movements. 

But he got impatient.

He grabbed your hips tighter and flipped you over, with your thighs wrapped around his hips. 

“The moment I saw you, I knew I’d have you,” he gritted out. “Fuck, just like this.”

You gasped as he pounded deeper inside you. You felt like the bed was going to swallow you up. But you pressed your heels into his lower back and held on for the rest of the ride.

Within moments, Ben spilled into you so hard and fast that it took both of you by surprise. It felt hot and tingling inside you, making you shudder again. 

Thank God for IUDs, you thought. 

And when his fingers found your clit again in time with his last wild thrusts, it was enough to tumble you over along with him.

Afterwards, Ben braced himself on the headboard as a line of sweat dripped down the column of his neck. You grabbed onto his free hand while you caught your breath. His lips tugged at a smirk, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. 

“And we’re not done,” he said. “Not by a long shot.”

Ben woke to the annoying sound of coffee percolating. A normal man would have slept right through it, but thanks to his sensitive ears, he was up at… 

Christ, it’s 11 in the morning. He noted the digital clock on the nightstand and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He actually slept all night. And all morning. 

Up until recently, that had been impossible. 

He heard puttering in the kitchen, knew it was you because of your soft humming. It drew a smile to his face without him realizing. 

He climbed out of bed, showered, shaved and trimmed off the wilder parts of his beard, and dressed casually with the clothing he found in the closet. Wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do for now.

This house was also not what he was used to. It was small, and too “suburban dad” for his taste. But he guessed it was better than an underground glass prison cell.

He ventured into the kitchen, where the smell of good food made his mouth water, and the sight of you frying bacon (trying not to get burned by the sparking grease) deepened his grin.

All you wore was his discarded shirt from yesterday, presumably over your underwear as it hung around your thighs, and a pair of slippers you must’ve found in the closet. 

Maybe you heard him coming, because you glanced back over your shoulder and met him with a smile. But it soon edged into a more serious look as you turned and leveled him with your spatula. 

“Okay. I don’t want any smartass remarks,” you warned. “I did make breakfast, because I’m a nice person, but don’t expect this for every meal.” 

Ben raised a wry brow.

“Morning to you too,” he drawled. He rested a hand on your lower back as he looked over your shoulder, surveying the plate of cooling bacon, the pan of scrambled eggs, and the toast ready to be buttered on the counter, next to a jar of strawberry jam. “Looks good.”

You watched him steal a piece of bacon, your lips quirking.

“Is that a thank you?” you asked. 

He purposefully bit into the bacon instead of answering. You gave him a narrowed look, but you were still amused. 

“Even a child can say please and thank you,” you pointed out. 

Ben turned to you then and hooked an arm around your waist, suddenly pulling you tight against him. 

“All right. How about this?” he replied. His head bowed and kissed you thoroughly. He tasted coffee and jam on your tongue. A surprised moan caught in your throat, and you clung to his arms on instinct. Meanwhile, his other hand went to your hip, bunching the material of the stolen shirt.

When he broke from you, he looked down on your somewhat dazed expression and had to temper his smile. He gave you a nice slap on the ass, shocking a yelp out of you. 

You shot him a dry look.

“Is that please, or thank you?” you teased. 

Ben rolled his eyes and kissed you again, trapping you against the counter this time. But he didn’t allow himself to get carried away (yet). He swept back strands of your hair and let his fingers skim across your cheek, feeling your skin warming under his touch. 

He finally settled on brushing his thumb across your bottom lip, meeting your eyes.  

“Thank you,” he said.

It had a deeper meaning, you realized from the gravity of his gaze.

“That fucking bitch probably wanted to put me on ice the second they brought me in,” he said. 

You could only assume he meant Grace. 

“You’re probably the reason that didn’t happen,” he continued. “And that I’m here now.” 

Emotion threatened to choke you, beginning to sting your eyes. You cleared your throat and soothed a hand along his forearm. 

“You made the deal,” you pointed out. Ben shook his head.

“You were right. I want the fucking target off my back, once and for all,” he said. He touched where a smattering of bruises from the car accident colored your temple and part of your cheek with fading purple and yellow.

“But I’m getting it off you too," he said gruffly. "You want a deal? Here it is: no one’s fucking touching you again as long as I’m around.”

Your breath hitched as your heart began to hammer in your chest. You wanted to ask what that meant. You wanted to ask if, maybe, he wanted to be with you. If he…

But you lost your nerve.

“The eggs are gonna get cold,” you said in a coarse whisper. 

Ben smirked. 

“That’s really what you’re fucking worried about?” he asked, shortly before he cut off your would-be reply with a heated kiss. 

Your arms twined around his neck, almost of their own volition. He already had you by the waist, and from there he hefted you effortlessly onto a small clean portion of counter space in the kitchen. His hands burned up your thighs, underneath the overlarge shirt. When he encountered nothing but bare ass, his lips curved against yours. 

“What a naughty girl. You’re out here cooking with no fucking panties on?” 

It was your turn to smirk as you held a hand to his cheek. He did in fact trim the beard. 

“You like that, don’t you?” you remarked. 

His dark chuckle was your answer as he spread your thighs wider. Your breath came out a bit shakier as his hand went smoothly up the inside of your thigh and slipped between your folds. 

“Already wet for me, I see,” he said. His smirk only grew as you whined with pleasure at the invasion of his fingers. First just teasing inside your entrance, working you up. Your grip on his neck tightened, your nails digging into his shoulders. 

“Ben…”

“How many fucking times I gotta tell you to be patient?” 

“Ugh.” You dropped your forehead into the crook of his neck. “You are the worst.” 

His resulting chuckle reverberated in your chest and tingled down into your lower belly. Combined with his teasing, it made your inner walls tighten on nothing from anticipation…until two of his fingers suddenly sunk deep into your heat. You cried out into his ear in surprise. 

“Ben,” you breathed, but it ended on a moan as he finally began to give you what you wanted. His thumb found your clit and circled slowly while he thrust and turned his fingers inside you. You gripped at his hair, holding on tighter and tighter as your walls clenched on his hand. 

���That’s it, baby doll. I gotcha,” he muttered. Though you teased a grunt out of him when you snaked a hand between you to palm at the bulge in his jeans. If he was going to give you a good morning, you’d be sure to return the favor. 

He kept working on you, but with shaking hands you unzipped his pants and aimed to free him from those tight boxer briefs. 

Unfortunately, your cell phone ringing halted both of your plans. It was on the kitchen counter, and it vibrated across the tile next to you. 

Butcher calling…

Both of your heavy breathing accompanied the shrill sound. But when you noticed the caller ID, you gave Ben a rueful look. 

He frowned in annoyance, but he withdrew from you, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before he grabbed your phone and answered it (even if it took him two or three angry tries on swiping the green button). You put it on speaker. 

“What?” Ben grouched into the phone.

“Apologies for interrupting what I’m sure is a dewy morning after,” Butcher said with all due sarcasm. “We’ve got a lead on Neuman.”

You raised a brow at that. Tugging down your shirt back over your thighs, you answered, “Where is she?”

“She’s giving a speech at NYU this afternoon.”

You frowned. You knew for a fact he hadn’t run that by the whole team. 

“It’s not a good idea to catch her there. Too exposed. Too many people could get caught in the crossfire,” you said. 

“Her next scheduled outing is a fundraiser for the homeless. That any better?” Butcher asked with mock cheer. “At the least the college kiddos won’t be coughing up a lung because their hepatitis A’s on a flare up.”

Ben’s lips twitched at amusement, but your frown only deepened in irritation. 

“You’re unsavory, you know that?” you said, rubbing at your temple. “…Fine. We’ll catch her at the college.” 

“Wasn’t really up for fuckin’ debate,” Butcher replied. “We head out in two hours.”

This isn’t going to be easy, you thought. 

You were teamed up with M.M., Annie, and Hughie on surveillance, sitting in Frenchie’s van on one of the side streets outside the auditorium where Victoria Neuman was giving her speech.   

Kimiko and Frenchie had formed a perimeter with Butcher on the campus. After the speech came to a close, Butcher, M.M., and Frenchie had worked out where Victoria would likely be escorted out to get back to her limo. 

But you forced yourself to take deep breaths. You watched the various camera angles you and M.M. had been able to hook up to the monitors inside the van. On one of the screens was Ben in his full Soldier Boy gear, sans helmet, waiting for his cue.

You felt M.M. glancing at you, and you met his stare. His expression was tight, but mostly stoic. Still, you had a feeling you knew what he was thinking. 

“He can do this,” you said. 

M.M. shook his head and faced the screens. “You think you can fucking change him.”

“No,” you said. “But he just might surprise you.”

You weren’t trying to change him, nor were you trying to free yourself anymore. He’d caught you, in more ways than one. 

Now, you were just trying to help him. And maybe, help yourself. 

“I don’t give a fuck,” M.M. bit out. Annie and Hughie glanced at both of you in thinly veiled concern. You just quirked a humorless smile. 

“I think you do,” you replied. 

“All right, look alive,” Butcher said on the comm. Victoria’s speech was over. She was shepherded off the stage by her bodyguards while the president of NYU got up to make closing remarks. 

She got as far as the hallway leading to the back door of the auditorium before Frenchie and Butcher sniped out her guards. You watched Victoria gasp and flinch at the bullets flying all too close to her. She looked around sharply, but finding no one there, she made a run for the exit. 

That was when Ben ambushed her from the side, grabbing her from behind and shoving her through the door of the next room before she could aim her gaze at any part of him. 

Ben stalked in after her. You adjusted the camera monitors to connect to the science lab they’d burst into. Every muscle in your body tensed as you watched. 

Meanwhile, Ben was wary but not afraid as he kept his shield in front of his face. Victoria raised a hand to a her now bruised arm, but she scrambled in her navy pencil dress and heels to pick herself up. 

She looked up at the supe striding toward her, taking in his head protecting his upper body. So she focused her gaze on his right thigh, making him falter as her power made her eyes roll into her head and blast at his suit. 

The skin underneath was durable though. It felt like a nasty sunburn, one that Ben could ignore. He approached until he could grab her by the hair and turn her face away from him. She cried out, clawing back at his hand. 

He placed his shield onto the holster on his back and got a hold on the back of her neck. He forced her onto her knees while he made her keep looking at the ground. 

“Soldier Boy,” she panted. “Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Cut the fucking chit-chat. Where the fuck is Stan, that dick tease?”  

He was about to start squeezing his grip, when he was suddenly thrown into the far wall. He fell into a mess of student desks, beakers, and various scientific instruments. 

“Zoe!” he heard Victoria shout. Apparently the woman’s daughter was a supe too. A telekinetic, by the looks of it.

With an angry growl, he picked himself up and shook off the glass from his shoulders. By the time he looked up, Victoria was ushering her daughter out the opposite door. 

Ben ran after them, following them into what seemed to be another classroom. This one was full of students busy taking a test, and a professor grading a large stack of papers. Ben zipped through and ignored the gasps and shocked faces, along with a couple of kids that recognized him and immediately took out their phones. 

He also didn’t care that his elbow knocked the stack of papers to the ground (to the professor’s outrage). 

He bulldozed his way into another empty classroom, where he threw his shield at Victoria’s back. With a cry, she tripped and fell into a desk, and was separated from her daughter.

“Mom!” Zoe cried and reached out for her, but Victoria raised a frantic hand. 

“Stay there!” she shouted back at her. Her attention focused back on Ben. 

She razed at his face and chest with her powers. Ben winced as heat flared across his skin, blistering to the point of second-degree burns on his arm after protecting his face. He strode forward and grabbed her again, this time with a thumb pressing over one eye. 

“You wanna keep your fucking eyes, or you want to tell me where your father is?” he demanded. 

“No!” Zoe shouted. She raised her hands, and a violet glow of energy spread between them. Ben picked up his shield, ready to use it as a projectile against the girl. 

Until your voice sounded in the comm in his ear.

“Go easy, Ben. She’s not the target,” you warned. He hesitated, his lips twisting in annoyance. 

“Zoe,” Victoria warned. His thumb still pressed threateningly against one of her eyes. The other looked up at him, defiant. But her lower lip was trembling. 

“You really want your daughter to be a part of this?” Ben asked darkly. 

You were on pins and needles. While you watched the screen, M.M. glanced at you. 

“We need to do something,” Annie said. She had been antsy the entire time, and when Hughie tried to grab her shoulder, she shrugged him off. 

“We can’t extract the girl without Neuman seeing us,” you said. But you weren’t happy about it. 

Annie gave you an incredulous look. “So you’re okay with that psycho killing a little girl?” 

“Of course not, Annie!” you snapped. “But this is the reality of catching criminals. They rarely go down by themselves.” 

She frowned angrily at you. 

“That sounds like an excuse for murder,” she said. 

There was a tense moment, in which you and Annie stared back at one another. You eventually relented. 

“Okay, go. But stay on standby with Kimiko and Frenchie. They’re outside the classroom, 112B,” you told her. She and Hughie raced out, and you let out a breath while you turned back to the tense scene in front of you. 

“Look, I don’t know where he is,” Victoria said. “We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms.”

“Then get him on the fucking phone,” Ben snapped. 

A tear streamed down her eye, the one that briefly closed, then looked up at him. 

“He’s not a bad man,” she said. “Not…entirely.” 

Ben snorted in response. “Well, aside from trying to replace me with a bullshit knockoff, shipping me off to motherfucking Siberia. He stole from me. My life. And the bitch of the whole bunch, tried to kill me with a fucking clone, with the help of my own DNA. So excuse me if I’m past the fucking point of forgive and forget.” 

“Fine! Fine,” she said, when he started squeezing in earnest. “Let my daughter go, and I’ll help you.” 

Ben glanced up at the girl. She was frightened, with her glowing hands still poised to try and take him out. He still had half a mind to knock her out first. 

“She’s just a kid, Ben. Let her go,” you said in his ear.

After another tense moment, Ben nodded.

Annie burst into the classroom, followed by Butcher, Frenchie, and Kimiko. Annie reached Zoe with a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she shared a look with Victoria. 

“She’ll be okay,” Annie told Victoria, who nodded as more tears slipped down her cheeks. Ben held her firm by the shoulders when Butcher came with a device, no doubt provided by the CIA. It looked like a large metal band that clicked into place around Victoria’s head, covering her eyes. 

Kimiko and Frenchie led her out, while Annie and Hughie did the same for Zoe. Butcher shared an appraising look with Ben, who stared back at him coolly.

Meanwhile, you let out a deep breath. You sat back in your seat and ignored the way M.M. gave you some cursory side-eye. 

Thank Christ that’s over.

Back at Supe Affairs, Victoria gave them addresses to her adoptive father’s known safehouses. Not because they expected to find him there, but because they might find even more material to leverage against him before they attempted to arrest the man. 

 While Butcher and the rest of the team ran down the leads, you and Annie made sure Victoria’s daughter Zoe was put in protective custody, again, with Grace’s help.

Afterwards, Ben was waiting for you in the car that would bring you both back to the safe house. You rode there in silence. 

When you got inside the house and made your way to the bedroom, Ben followed you. It seemed he couldn’t help himself. His arms were crossed, and his face was tight. You waited on him to speak as you started rummaging in the dresser for a shirt and pair of jeans to change into after a shower.  

“I don’t need you yapping in my ear when I’m trying to get shit done,” he said. 

You paused in your search, and you turned to him, raising an incredulous brow. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to stick to the plan. Targeted kills only, remember? Zoe wasn’t the target.”

His frown soured. “She hit me first.”

You stared back at him. Then you raised your eyes heavenward, praying for strength. And you let out a breath. 

“She was trying to help her mother, Ben.”

“If you’re grown enough to throw a punch, you’re grown enough to take one,” he argued. 

“You’ve never hit me once,” you pointed out. “Is it different because she’s a supe? Were you really going to kill a child?”

“I never said that,” he said, glaring at you. 

“Would you have killed Ryan too?” you asked.

Ben expelled a sigh of exasperation. “Would you shut up already?” 

“No,” you refused. And you followed him into the living room when he stormed out. “You’re not going to weasel your way out of this. Would you have killed Ryan?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped. “He was Homelander’s fucking kid.”

“And that makes it all right?”

“Yeah, are you gonna say that in a few years? If he turns out just like Homelander, are you going to come crying to me to take him out?”

You glared at him. He was making a valid point you couldn’t refute, but that didn’t change what he was trying to do. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You shook your head and crossed your arms. “You’re actually justifying this.”

“Whether you want to admit it or not, a supe is a supe,” Ben said, raising a finger. “No matter how old they are, they’re a threat.”

“It doesn’t mean a child shouldn’t be protected, Soldier Boy,” you countered. “A life is a life.”

“Hey, if you want to be sanctimonious, good for fucking you,” he shot back. “But don’t tell me how to do my fucking job.”

“I’m asking you to keep your word,” you said. “For both of our sakes.”

That managed to shut him up. With a sigh, you tried to ease up by taking his hand with both of yours, holding it with care. His glove was busted, the skin underneath was red and raw. He allowed it, but he still looked down on you with reserved irritation.

You knew you didn’t have to remind him what breaking Grace’s agreement would mean, for both of you. 

“Just follow the plan,” you implored. “Targeted kills only. No collateral damage.”

After Ben came out of the shower, he went into the bedroom to change with a towel wrapped around his waist.

You were already cleaned up, a messy bun atop your head, wearing a plain shirt and some shorts, and sitting up in the bed with your new laptop. But you subtly watched him move around the room.   

You noticed the burns across his chest. You were still irritated with him, but you couldn’t help it. You set your laptop aside and went to him. 

Ben saw you coming through the large mirror above the dresser. His head turned to you just as you raised a tentative hand near the burns across his chest.

“Does it hurt?” you asked with furrowed brows. Your fingertips were light in touching his chest. 

It did sting, but it wasn’t that bad. 

Still, all Ben said was, “No. They’ll probably be gone in a few hours anyway.”

Your lower lip stuck out a little, like you didn’t quite believe him as you inspected the various burns. 

Ben eyed you. He still couldn’t fucking figure you out. 

He knew you were into him…and evidently, you cared about him. 

Still, you fought him on virtually everything. There were times when you seemed almost disgusted by him, but when he fucked you, you acted like he was the eighth wonder of the world.

Even now, that perfect damn mouth of yours was frowning while your fingers moved delicately over his skin.

“You want some aloe vera?” you asked. 

He knew by your face that you were completely sincere. It made him chuckle. You looked up at him in confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

Not unlike this morning, he picked you up (smirking at your squeal) and set you down on the dresser. His hands rested on your hips while yours laid gently on a non-burnt area of his chest.

“For someone as breakable as you, you seem to be real concerned about me,” he said. “...You’re really not afraid of me, are you?”

Your fingertips ran down his skin, unintentionally raising goosebumps. Though you considered his question with a tilt of your head. 

“Why, are you going to break me?” you teased.

Ben huffed in amusement. His lips drew near yours, hovering but not yet claiming. He wanted you to come to him this time. Wanted you to let him know if this thing, whatever it was between you two, was heading where he thought it was…

And you didn’t disappoint him. 

You reached out and framed his face with both hands, and pulled him into a kiss. For once, neither of you were in a hurry as one languid kiss turned into another. 

Your tongue slipped into his mouth, and he welcomed you with a deep, reverberating hum, along with your thighs slipping around his hips. He took a firm grip of you there, while your fingers carded through his hair. 

“Still not tired of this?” you whispered against his lips. 

He backed off enough to look at you. Really look at you. His brown hair fell above his brows, and as was your habit, you swept some of it out of his eyes. 

You read his answer there without him having to say it in words. 

So you pulled him back in.

AN: 😏 Was their reunion everything you wanted it to be? Let me know in the comments!

(And do you wanna know where we're going next?)

Next Time:

“Good morning,” Stan greeted, raising his mug. “Care for a cup? Perhaps a donut.”

“Still fucking smarmy,” Ben said. He stood in front of the man’s desk, flexing his half-gloved fingers. He glanced up at the walls of this office, this tower in the sky. “We’ve been doing this dance for a long time, you and I.”

“And yet, on entirely different tempos,” Stan replied. “How can I help you, Soldier Boy?”

Keep Reading: PART 15

Special Note:

I'm releasing a new one-shot soon, set in this story-verse called "Love Actually." It's part of @deanwinchesterswitch's Christmas in July fic event running this month!

Go here to check it out and participate (as a writer/artist or a reader)!

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Pants is imperial oppression