#Part 11

[yugogeer012]

Part 10

Part 12

#endless route #undertale au #neutral!frisk #chara #comic #part 11

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

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

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

🔥 Series Masterlist

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

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

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

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

But your life had never been quite that easy.

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

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

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

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

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

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your fault.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

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

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

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

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

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

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

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

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

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

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

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

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

“Normally?” you echoed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you breathed.

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

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

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

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

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

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

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

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

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

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

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

“How’s that?” he asked.

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

Dean’s lips quirked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

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

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

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

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

“Is she all right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me,” he said.

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

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

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

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

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

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

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

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

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he couldn’t leave you. 

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

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

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

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

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

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

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

“That matters to me,” he told you.

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

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

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

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

Next Time:

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

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

Dean smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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#Heart of the Home #Smoke Eater #Part 11 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #Castiel #spn #supernatural #benny lafitte #jo harvelle #ellen harvelle #zepskies writes

[forgers-therapist]

tiny PEOPLE (Part 11)

#part 11 #sxf #spy x family #sxf manga #sxf tiny people #icons #twiyor #anya forger #sxf anya #loid forger #sxf twilight #sxf loid #yor forger #yor briar #sxf thorn princess #bond forger #sxf bond #sxf manga spoilers #thorn princess

[icallhimjoey]

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

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

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

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

Wordcount: 6.7K

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

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

"I know," you were well aware.

"Please let me say-"

"No."

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

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

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

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

"Did you really think I hated you?"

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

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

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

But it was difficult.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deep breaths always helped.

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

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

"What?"

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

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

"You'd rather have me cry?"

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

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

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

"It's the opposite,"

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

"I won't say it."

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

And it had only been a week.

A week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What you had just learnt.

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

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

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

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

But you were at a wedding.

And you were in the bridal party.

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

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

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

But you were at a wedding.

So. You found moments to steal.

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

The day was about Poppy and Mark.

The newly weds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Poppy.

Fucking Poppy and her stupid meddling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You loved Mark.

And Mark had gotten married to the best girl.

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

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

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

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

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

"So you made up? Are you okay?"

"Definitely still angry,"

"My God, what did his stupi–"

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

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

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

You blinked at him a second.

"About you and Joe?"

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

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

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

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

You knew it hadn't been scheduled in.

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

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

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

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

Yea.

Kind of.

Wait. He really kind of did.

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

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

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

That man was in love with you?

Wild, honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Mark and Poppy were little shits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joe dropped his head and had to focus on breathing.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Deep breaths always helped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It just turned you on more.

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

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

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

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

What the fuck was your life right now?

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

You expected Mark to mention it.

To at least say something about it.

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

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

Not Mark.

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

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

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

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

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

His wife.

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

In a flash you realised it. And...

Oh no.

Envy.

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

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

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

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

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

Mark blinked at you.

"Sorry?"

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

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

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

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

It humbled you real fast.

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

So that's what you did.

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

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

Made you want to give him a black eye.

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

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

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

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

"Come on, let's dance,"

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

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

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

"Why did you leave that night?"

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

"You just walked right out,"

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

More.

Like Joe wanted more.

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

You nodded and agreed.

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

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

Big sigh.

Mark and Poppy were not to be trusted.

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

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

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

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

"Okay?"

"Yea. Okay."

So, it was okay.

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

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

Blurted it right out.

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

"I love you."

It hitched your breath immediately.

"No, that's too soon,"

"It's been years,"

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

Do things slow to get them right.

Like normal people would do.

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

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

Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

A hole.

You thought you'd never see the day.

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

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

No.

You were keeping those words in for a stupid moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it was all right.

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

And that was all that mattered.

the end

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellyxo1 @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland  @pepperstories  @phyllosilicate-s  @thebellenouvelle  @luvrsbian  @joesquinns  @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work  @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #icallhimjoey #To Have And To Scold #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #epilogue #part 11

[angelynmoon]

Eldritch Steve

Part 11

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve blushed, "As much as I know."

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

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

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

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

So, Wayne would prepare them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

#steddie #eldritch monster steve #upside down creature steve #mpreg mention #wayne is the real mvp here #the birds and the bees talk #mentioned cannibalism #mentioned child abandonment #infantcide of sorts #culture building #if i can't read fic i will write it instead #ao3 is down #part 11 #From the Rot

[aintinacage]

endless peter parker - part 11

#endless peter parker #peter parker #spiderman #spider man #spider-man #tom holland #robert downey jr #robert downey junior #RDJ #tony stark #Ironman #iron man #civil war #captain america civil war #captain America 3 #part 11

[locitapurplepink]

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

#star wars #star wars rebels #twin suns #jedi night #sw rebels #star wars rebels season 3 #star wars rebels season 4 #star wars polls #sw rebels round 1 #part 11 #sw rebels season 4 #sw rebels season 3

[redpandaramblings]

Like Caramel For Chocolate- An Omega Bakugou x Alpha f!Reader fic. Part 11

Part 1 Here

Masterlist Here

Content Warning: Negative headspace, omegaverse, self deprecation, depressive thoughts, pushy parental figures, ambiguous omegaverse reproduction, non traditional A/B/O dynamics, unhealthy relationships, relationship that could be easily fixed if idiots would use their words and communicate, Shinso/Denki side relationship, Bakugou is a dumbass but so is y/n

Where we left off-

“Denki Kaminari. You are an absolutely amazing omega, and my very dear friend. I think we could have been good together. But what I want the most is for you to be happy with the alpha that makes you happy. You deserve the world, Denks.”

“Well, so do you.”

You smiled at each other, still holding hands and just basking in the comfort of each other’s presence. That is until a pair of fists slammed down onto the table with enough force to upset the cups sitting there. You jolted in shock as you looked up to meet a pair of angry, ruby red eyes.

You and Denki watched the liquid running off the table with wide eyes, before turning your gazes back to the enraged man before you.  His tall, bulky frame blocked you from the rest of the restaurant, leaving you feeling trapped and vulnerable.  His shoulders heaved as he took deep breath, trying and only partially succeeding in calming himself.

“What the FUCK do you two thing you’re doing?”

You swallowed, unable to speak as two ruby eyes seemed to sear their way into your soul.

“It….”  Denki stuttered, nervously shrinking into his chair.  “It isn’t what it looks like?”

“And what exactly do you think, I think this looks like?  Because to me, it looks like you two are slinking around in dark little coffee shops getting cozy while my best friend is curled up at home is his nest, practically catatonic from your shit!”

It was hard to maintain eye contact with the redhead, but you felt you had to.

“What Bakugou does isn’t my concern anymore.”  You spoke lowly, an eerie calm to your voice.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?!?!  And you, don’t think you’re going anyway, either!”  Denki sunk back into his seat, his escape attempt thwarted.  Kiri’s raised voice was drawing a few glances and murmurs.

“Look,” you sigh as you catch the looks coming your way “can we do this somewhere else?  Anywhere else?”

Kiri looked around, his cheeks tinged pink as he caught on to the attention focused your way.  He nodded once.  “Agency.  Now.”

You shared a glance with Denki and nodded.  It took a few moments to gather your things and settle your bill.  Kiri glowered from the door when he noticed you paid for both yourself and Denki.  The walk to the agency Kiri worked at seemed longer than it was due to the heavy silence.  Denki wrung his hands, trying to catch your eye, but you keep your stare straight ahead, not really focusing on anything.  Your brain picking at the bits of information Kiri had inadvertently thrown your way.  Bakugou wasn’t doing well?  He was nesting outside of his heat, which was unusual.  Or was it?  The dark hurt part of your brain whispered to you that you didn’t know because you’d never been allowed to see any nest.  Kirishima was actually visibly pissed, so it had to be serious…  Or maybe this was just what the first part of What Kiri and Katsuki getting together would look like.  Katsuki actually letting someone in.  Kiri being allowed to show the protective alpha side you had always been forced to repress.  Half felt like this is exactly how things were supposed to be.

But if that was the case, why did it hurt so much?

You continued to brood as the looming building of Kirishima and Bakugou’s agency got closer with every step.  Knowing that this would be the first time you were going to be allowed in didn’t help your mood in the slightest.  Kirishima led you and Denki down a side alley and through an unassuming back door.  A few turns down a hallway, and you were in a small workout room, by the look of it.  Kirishima locked the door behind you before whirling towards you and Denki, eyes blazing.

“Now, you two are going to tell me exactly what the FUCK is going on here!”

Denki cringed, half hiding behind you.  Your own nose crinkled from the strong angry scent pouring off of Kirishima.  And frankly?  It was starting to piss you off.

“Well you see,” you drawled as you glared right back at Kirishima, “my friend and I were enjoying a nice peaceful afternoon snack, when suddenly a huge stinking pheremoned out alpha came, knocked over our drinks, and started yelling at us.”  Your own scent was turning burnt and acrid as your volume increased.

“Jesus Christ, y/n…”  Denki threw up his hands, and backed away from you.  He could see where this was going, and he made sure to put some of the weight lifting machines between himself and the two angry alphas in the room.  Kirishima took a small step back, momentarily startled by your reaction before rage filled him stronger than before.  So you wanted a fight, huh?  Well, good.

“You know what I mean!  You go off in the middle of Bakugou’s heat.  Then a few weeks later, he’s damn near working himself to death, and when he’s not working, he’s curled up in his nest, refusing to talk to anybody!  And you’re nowhere!!!  Your omega is in pain, and you’re nowhere!”

The two of you had begun to circle each other slowly, glaring at each other.  The burnt smell of your combined anger was clogging the air.  Denki was covering his nose and mouth with his sleeve to keep himself from gagging.  You weren’t going to back down, though.  Why was this red headed rock sticking his nose into your business?  Hadn’t he got what he wanted?  Hadn’t Bakugou gotten what he wanted?  You were so tired of people telling you what to do, what’s best for you.  You were tired of being viewed as nothing but docile, someone who would just take what was given and not complain.  Well, you still were an alpha.  And you had had enough.  You could feel your fangs dropping down, the sharp tips nicking your lip.

“He’s not my omega anymore!”  You hissed at Kirishima.

“Why not?  So you can run around behind his back with his fucking pack mate?!?”  Kirishima roared back at you, inching closer with his teeth bared.

You laughed mirthlessly.  “Oh, please.  I just gave him and you exactly what you wanted.”

Kirshima shook his head, momentarily confused.  “Wait, what?  What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

As Eijiro’s anger cooled, yours only burned hotter.

“You heard me!”  You snarled, stepping closer until you were right in Kiri’s face.  “I.  Just.  Gave.  Him.  What.  He.  Wanted.  And he doesn’t want me.  Hasn’t for years.  All yours now!  Take him!  You were always going to anyway!”

Kirishima stared wide eyed, confusion having replaced all of his anger.  “y/n, what are you talking about?”

Maybe it was that your mood was running hot.  Maybe it was the stress.  Maybe it was because you had chemically suppressed your ruts for the last decade.  Maybe it was because you had been suppressing your alpha instincts for just as long.  It could have been any combination of those things.  But for whatever reason, that question from Kirishima was the thing to snap your teetering control.  With a frustrated scream of alpha rage, you swung, aiming at Eijiro’s jaw.  Your fist connected.  Unfortunately for your hand, years of hero training meant that Kirishima had hardened the area out of instinct.

“Fuck!” You yelped as you felt the bones in your fingers crunch.  The pain mostly brought you back to your senses.  You took a few steps back, sinking to the ground and clutching your injured hand to your chest.  Denki hurried up behind you, hovering and worriedly asking you questions that you didn’t really hear, let alone respond to.  Kirishima hesitated a moment before kneeling in front of you, his worry evident.  When he went to take your hand to look it over, you let him, the fight draining out of you.  He gently poked and prodded, as your breath hitched from pain.  Denki rubbed your back trying to sooth you.  After a moment, Kirishima spoke.

“Well, you broke it.”

You nodded with a snort.  “Figured.”

“Feel better now?”

You gave a sad half smile.  “I mean, my hand is killing me, but yeah.  Sorry about that.”

“Well, sorry my face broke your hand.  But seriously.  Just… What is going on, Y/N?  Because right now I’m really lost.  You and Bakubro love each other.  I know you two do.  But now he isn’t talking and what you’re saying is making exactly zero sense.  So can you please just walk me through it from the beginning?  I promise to hear you out.”

“God,” you sigh, tilting your head back.  “I don’t even know where the beginning is…  This whole shit show has been a long time coming.  I guess the most important thing is Bakugou and I broke up.  He’s very obviously wanted to for a while.  So he’s finally free to date you.  Then Denki and I were engaged though that was mostly our family’s fault for setting us up on a marriage date.  Then Denki got bonded, but not to me.  And then you showed up and I punched you in the face.”

You blinked up at Kiri as if that explained everything.  Kirishima looked at Denki with hopeless confusion.  Denki sighed.

“Come on.  Let’s get her hand looked at and then go to your office.  I’ll tell you as mush of everything as I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were sitting on the couch, nursing your bandaged hand as Denki was wrapping up.

“... And then Shinso and I ended up bonding after the hospital let me go home.  Y/N was just taking me out for a celebration lunch when you showed up.”

Kiri leaned back in his seat, letting out a long breath.  “Okay.  Right.”  He said.  “That explains a lot.  Not everything, but a lot.”  He sat up again and looked directly at you.  “Though I want to know where the heck you got the idea that I want Bakubro as an omega.”

You couldn’t quite meet Kirishima’s gaze as you replied.  “It’s not a stupid idea.  He’s comfortable around you.  Much more comfortable around you than he’s ever been around me.  He lets you scent him.  He calls you his pack.  He not only lets you see his nests, he lets you into them sometimes.  I barely am allowed in his apartment, let alone being able to see his nest.  We haven’t scented each other with any regularity since high school.  You see him so much more than I do, and you understand him and his job in a way that I’ll never be able to.  You look good together.  He doesn’t mind when you act like an alpha with him.”

Kirishima blew out a breath.  “Okay… Okay, I can see what you’re getting at.  But seriously.  Bakubro is a bro.  I’ve never thought of him like that.”

You nodded, looking at the floor.  “Okay.  If you say so, I’ll believe you.  But it doesn’t change the fact that Bakugou has wanted out of the relationship for a while.”

“And did he tell you that?  Like actually tell you that?”  Kiri asked.

“He didn’t have to.  He made himself very clear.”

“And when was the last time you two sat down and seriously talked?”

You didn’t have a reply.  Kirishima sighed and rubbed his eyes.  “I don’t get paid enough for this.” he mumbled to himself.  “Alright!”  He said, clapping his hands together and standing up.  “You!” he said, pointing to you.  “You’re coming with me.”  And you!” he pointed to Denki, “You’re coming with too to make sure she doesn’t try to get out of this.”

You and Denki looked at each other in confusion, as you both stood up slowly.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Denki asked as he followed after you and Kirishima.

“To do something I should have done a long time ago, but I thought the two knuckleheads would be able to sort things out for themselves, without outside interference.  Guess I was wrong in that regard.”

He ushered you and Denki into the back of an agency car, before getting into the driver’s seat.  You questioned where he was taking you, but Kirishima just shook his head and kept driving.  It was a surprise when you ended up in the parking garage of your apartment.  Kiri got out, and opened up the door to the backseat.  “Out!”  He said.  You only hesitated a moment before you slide yourself out the the car, Denki following close behind.  Understanding was starting to creep across Denki’s expression.  

“Eiji, what?” your question was cut short with a yelp as Kirishima threw you over his shoulder.  He strode quickly to the elevator, Denki following close behind.  You beat your good hand against Kiri’s back as you tried to squirm your way out of his grasp.  Denki hit the elevator buttons, knowing what to do without being told.

“Eijiro Kirishima, you put me down!  What the hell?!”

Kirishima shook his head.  “Nope.  Not til we get where we’re going.  Consider this payback for the punch.”

The elevator dinged, and Kiri was off once again.  He fished in his pocket and handed a set of keys to Denki.  Denki run ahead and began unlocking a door.  Seconds later, you were landing on your butt, having just been unceremoniously chucked through the doorway.

Kirishima stood blocking the doorway.  “I’m not going to let you leave until the two of you actually talk.  I’m not letting anyone in my pack ruin their lives because they can’t put on adult pants and have a proper conversation.  And for the record, y/n?  You’ve always been pack.  You always will be.  Now go talk to your damn omega!”

And with that, Kirishima slammed the door shut, leaving you sitting wide eyed and shellshocked on the floor of Bakugou’s apartment.

Hello everyone! I'm well aware that It's been a while. Very sorry for the delay. Lot of life stuff. I hope that this in small part makes up for it. Ended up having to radically change my plans for this bit, but I'm pretty sure I like how it came out. Enjoy!

TAGLIST- @yzviea, @not-a-pushover, @thelilypieforever, @kumihayu, @aomi04, @ladybakugouu, @luajosephdun-blog, @hakunamatatayqueen, @my-thoughts-are-weird, @left-alone-yuki, @officialtrashbusiness, @lonelyheart-clubband, @katsuki-cait, @moonwritters26, @animexholic, @kyrah-williams, @emilymikado, @wolvesblaxe360, @ficklemcselfish, @helena-way07, @fandomsaremylifesposts, @baby-bakuhoe, @sukeraa, l@ucypevensie11, @idk-sam, @katsuki-cait, @weirdestlove, @sasa-slayer, @anime-for-live, @kaidousimp, @bluesdustyflames, @vitheria, @milktea0208, @maristaymulti, @whatdidshesayyy, @memesbyeloise , @fandomsgotmefucked, @killmehe, @shy-panda02 , @skylan666, @missmolliemoo, @misssugarless, @arcticsakura, @queenondeezmatatas, @lordmypantsaresocool, @bluesdustyflames, @am-198, @hornelittleweeblet2, @joonie-centric, @sunascrew, @etainstreams, @shadoweepingscream, @midostinny, @superblyspeedydragon, @lostinbooksblog, @moonroyalt, @superladypeach, @bandaged-despair, @shslcheshirecat, @idkdude44, @the-shota-king-masayuki,

@sup-zfam, @bitchyzombienacho, @roku-for-the-win, @veeasmo, @notsiva , @faresestrada, @concubus143, @auroramae0, @star029, @sleepy-frenchvanilla, @imatrisk, @adventures-in-a-heartbeat, @heirloom09gem , @thisuserlovesyouandyouandyou @nothing2113 @bokutojuicyass @reallysparklychaos @katbug37 @faerikitty, @horivl, @crazytacokoala, @mata0-0mata, @ember1205, @meinu-m, @minori-taiga1, @saturn-falls, @dmn-fields, @enchantark, @kjjkn

Just a reminder, if you want tagged make sure you have the ability to be tagged turned on; and I’d have to be informed if your blog name changes! Cheers, Darlings!

#reader insert #bnha reader insert #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou angst #bakugou x reader #reader insert angst #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #omegaverse #omega bakugou #alpha reader #multi part fic #denki #fake dating #fake engagement #like caramel for chocolate #part 11

[dspd]

Malevolent is so fucking funny. One minute Arthur is impersonating a black cat without the braincell and the next, he's playing the romantic lead.

*Arthur & John running from monster*

John, horrified: oh no, we're in it's lair

Arthur, clueless: who's lair?

*literally one minute later, romantic piano in the background*

Arthur, breathily: we're in this together babe

#malevolent podcast #arthur lester #this guy amirite #part 11

[writercole]

Leaving

Summary: It's not what she thinks.

Squares: Unwanted @anyfandomangstbingo

Words: 2034

Warnings: Angst, misunderstandings

A/N: I'm kinda sorry for this part, actually. It hurt like hell to write.

Tag list is done. Please follow @coleslibrary and turn on notifications for story updates.

Jake was furious that Suze had had the audacity to show up. Her parents were friends with his, but still she had some nerve thinking she was welcome there too.  But when she started insulting Valkyrie, that was the last straw, and it took all his willpower not to let his ire explode from within.

“We aren’t together,” he told her calmly, pointing between himself and his ex for clarity., “There’s nothing between us, so you don’t need to be jealous. Hell, even when we were together, you were barely present. It was a mistake the first time and it’ll never happen again.”

Suze stood staring at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I didn’t mean -”

“I don’t care what you meant or didn’t mean,” he spat. “Y/N is my best friend, and we may not be official, but  I’ve found everything I was missing in her. She’s the one I want by my side, always has been.”

Suze’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped, regret flashing over her features.

“Do me a favor and forget I exist. Forget my family exists. And if you’re ever invited to another party, respectfully decline. No one wants you here, it was a courtesy to your parents.”

Jake stormed off, forgetting the drinks the bartender had just finished making. He was on a mission to find Valkyrie and get out of there. Suze ruined the entire party for him but he knew it was a situation easily remedied by an impromptu road trip to their favorite lake with a bottle of whiskey. 

“Val?” he called as he searched the crowd, stopping to ask his siblings and his parents if they’d seen her, only to be grabbed by the party planner and dragged on stage for a speech. 

She was grateful that Admiral Simpson was sympathetic to her pleas. Maybe it’s because he heard the sniffles or the lump in her throat. Either way, he told her he would do his best to get her duty station changed sooner than the rest of the Dagger team. 

She packed her bags and ordered a car to take her to the airport. Waiting in the room until she got the notification of the cab's arrival she tried her hardest not to cry.  Her phone buzzed and she steeled her nerves as she set her suitcase down on the floor. The crowd outside applauded as if they agreed she was doing the right thing. One deep breath later and she was rolling it down the hallway towards the front door.

“You’re leaving?” Jake said from behind her as she reached for the knob.

“Fuck,” she whispered, straightening her shoulders and turning around. “Yeah, Simpson needs me back immediately. My flight’s already booked,” she lied, her hand still around the handle of her suitcase.

“Well, I’ll drive you to the airport,” he offered as he fished his keys from his pocket.

“No, you stay here with your family,” she declined, “I’ve already called an uber.”

“I really need to talk to you,” he implored, the desperation in his face breaking her heart.

“My car’s already here,” she announced before she spun on her heel and rushed out the front door, ignoring Jake calling her name. She was in the backseat telling the driver to just go before he could catch her.

Jake stood staring after the car, his heart shattered as he tried to figure out what just happened. He really needed to talk to her, for his best friend to know that his words had been true; that she had always been by his side and he wanted to make it official that she’d be there forever. But it was more than that.

He had never felt this way about anyone before. He’d watched people walk in and out of his life for years without this aching feeling in his chest, without feeling like the world had stopped spinning. When tears started falling down his face, he wiped his cheeks and stared at his glistening fingers with his head tilted and his brows furrowed, unsure how he even got to this point.

The one person who could help him figure it out had left. So what did he do now? He tried to call Val’s cell, but it went straight to voicemail. He couldn’t have this conversation with a robot so he hung up without leaving a message.

After standing in the road for what felt like hours, he walked back to the bar and swiped the first full bottle of whiskey he could find, taking it with him up to the garage loft where he used to hide when he was a kid. He had finished half of the bottle with his back against the wall, staring out the small window and watching the party dwindle. 

His vision started to blur as the light in the room waned. Jake didn’t know how long he'd been there, drinking his sorrows away, but he knew he’d be content to stay there for the rest of his life. A clicking sound began to echo closer and closer, the overhead light flipping on moments before his mother’s head peeked above the ladder.

“Twenty years later and you’re still using the loft to hide away when you’re upset,” she observed as she hoisted herself up across from him. 

“Good spot,” he slurred as he took another swing from the rapidly emptying bottle.

“Are you gonna talk to me about it?” she pressed as she settled back against a stack of boxes.

Jake sighed shakily as he put the bottle down next to him, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Why don’t you tell me why your girlfriend left?” she prompted.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he scoffed.

“We’ll come back to that,” his mom smiled. “But why did she leave?”

“I don’t know why,” he admitted as tears started falling down his cheeks. “I came in after my speech and she was at the door with her suitcase. She said that the Admiral wanted her back but that’s a lie.” He swiped at his face angrily, a futile effort to dry the tears that were falling steadily from his eyes.

“How do you know it was a lie?”

“Because she was different. She wasn’t herself,” he told her, his voice raising as he spoke. “She was leaving without saying goodbye. She’s never done that.”

“So you just let her go?”

“I tried to stop her,” he said quietly, voice cracking. “I ran after her but…” He was cut off by a sob escaping his chest. He buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking as he sat in his childhood hiding spot and cried quietly.

A pair of arms wrapped around him and his mother’s voice hummed the old lullaby she would sing when he was a boy. She pulled him close to her chest and he leaned into her, letting her warmth and her familiar scent wash over him. 

As he calmed, he sat straighter, his head clearer than when his mom found him. He wiped his face with his sleeve and looked at her. “Oh, Mom, I ruined your dress,” he said as he looked at the wetness on her shoulder.

“My son needed me. That’s more important than a swath of fabric.” She looked at him with a softness reserved for a child, the way a mother looks when she knows her child is hurting and is unable to take the pain away. “Now, you said she’s not your girlfriend. But I noticed her bed hasn’t been slept in.”

“I, uh, um…” he stuttered.

“Jake,” she sighed, taking his hands in her own. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. I’ve seen the way you look at that girl. I’ve seen it since you first brought her here for that physics project in 9th grade. And I don’t think you even realized it yet, but you’ve been in love with her since you were fourteen years old.

“I have watched you grow into probably the best man I’ve ever seen, and that includes your father. You’ve got the career you always dreamed of, son, but you’re not happy unless she’s with you. I have never seen you smile and laugh as much as you have in these last two days. 

“Whatever you have to do to prove that she’s it for you, do it. And fast. Because that girl,” she stressed, pointing in a random direction over his shoulder, “that girl is not going to be lonely for long.”

It wasn’t often that she missed her parents. They’d never had a great relationship and when she told them that she was joining the Navy, they lost it. She hadn’t spoken to them since that night. But it was taking every ounce of willpower she had not to call her momma. 

The one person she would normally call for motherly advice was busy at her anniversary party, probably congratulating her son on getting back with his supermodel girlfriend. She refused to take her away from an important day like that just to listen to someone - who wasn’t even family - whine about her broken heart.

She sat on the uncomfortable mattress and picked at the threadbare comforter and watched as her phone rang and rang, Jake’s photo on the screen. She couldn’t bear to talk to him right now. 

The ringing stopped and she began receiving texts, one after another, all from Jake. The ringing started again and she reached over to turn it off, pausing when she saw who was calling. She swiped to answer and quickly put the phone to her ear.

“Valkyrie,” she identified, her voice rough and ragged.

“Lieutenant, we have switched you back to your old squadron. You’ll be going back to New Orleans,” Admiral Simpson explained. “Transport will leave at 1200 tomorrow.”

“I can make that work,” she agreed, “thank you, sir.”

Jake landed in San Diego at 2 PM on Sunday afternoon, having switched to an earlier flight to try and fix whatever he had done to make her leave. He got back to Miramar and headed straight for the dorms, ignoring the calls of his friends.

He skidded to a stop in front of her door, finding it wide open, the room completely cleaned out. He checked the number and confirmed that it was her room, running his hand through his hair as he tried to figure out his next move. 

An idea came to him and he took off to the administrative offices. Admittedly, this was a hail mary of a long shot but maybe he’d be able to get some information.

“Admiral Simpson, sir, do you have a moment?” Jake asked as he stood in the doorway of the his superior’s office.

“What is it, Seresin?” he barked without looking up from his paperwork.

“I was just wondering if you could tell me where Valkyrie is,” he said as he stepped into the office.

Admiral Simpson sighed and set down his pen, turning his attention to the lieutenant standing before him. “Even if I were permitted by the Navy to give you that information, which I am not, I have been asked by your former team leader to keep all of you in the dark in regards to her whereabouts.”

“What are you,” Jake snapped but remembered his place quickly. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand.” he corrected, hoping the Admiral would forgive the attitude, while his stomach flipped and threatened to jump out of his throat.

“She called me and asked to be reassigned immediately with the stipulation that I tell no one, including you, where that would be to. She mentioned you by name, Seresin. Care to take a guess at why that would be?” Admiral Simpson looked at him with raised eyebrows, folding his hands in his lap as he maintained eye contact.

“I don’t know, sir,” Jake replied quietly, “thank you for your time, sir.” He turned and walked out of the room, going to the only place he could think of that might take his mind off of his predicament.

Everything: @thelastpyle @deangirl93 @evergreencowboy @katelyn--renee @fictional-affairs @paintlavillered @buckys-zomdoll @polireader @b3autyfuldisast3r @welcometothefandommultiverse @mlovesstories @supraveng @xoxabs88xox

Top Gun: @princessmisery666 @evansrogerskitten @bradshaw-fanclub @saiyanprincessswanie @luckyladycreator2 @princessphilly @ahockeywrites @clints-lucky-arrow @wildbornsiren @shanimallina87 @fuckyeahhangman @blue-aconite @hope-love-equality2 @peachiicherries @marvelousmermaid @therebeccaw @green-socks @imjess-themess @jostystyles @callsignaries @a-reader-and-a-writer @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

#writercole #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman seresin #hangman angst #the best benefits #part 11 #top gun maverick #tgm

[windrelyn]

[Second Age and Third Age Parody 2022]

Part 11: Three Rings (read from the left)

Special thanks for my translator Eikyuu Yuki. Please do not repost without my permission ! ! ! (especially Facebook groups/pages)

#galadriel #gil galad #cirdan #tolkien #silmarillion #lord of the rings #elves #lotr #my art #middle earth #second age and third age 4koma 2022 #part 11

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 11

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

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

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

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

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

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

Part 11: The Lion’s Den

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben frowned. 

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

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

And in front of them all was Black Noir. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben pressed a finger to the comm in his ear. 

“Frank, you got eyes on her?”

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

“She needs help,” he said gravely.

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

Shit, Ben thought. He needed to end this. 

Right fucking now. 

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

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

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

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

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

You were still standing though. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you struggled to breathe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was my idea,” you admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the resulting backlash was overwhelming.

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

Stan Edgar. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right,” Ben scoffed. “How’s that?”

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

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

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

Stan’s lips made a wry turn. 

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

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

Stan didn’t seem bothered by the clear threat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben had nothing to say to that.

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

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

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

“Hey, sweetheart.”

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

Shit. Novichok, you surmised with a frown.

“You okay?” you asked. 

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

“Why, thank you,” you replied wryly.

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“How’d you get caught?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are colds bad criminals?” you asked. 

Ben just blinked at you. “What?”

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

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

Your neighbor just stared back at you, unimpressed.

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

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

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

“Why was 6 afraid of 7?” you asked. 

“Jesus Christ, enough…” he muttered. 

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

“All right,” he said at last. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to remember a joke he’d heard Loco tell. “How do you make a pool table laugh?”

You smiled. “How?”

“Tickle its balls,” Ben said. Your answering snort deepened his smile into a smirk. 

“Playing bridge is just like sex,” you said. Ben shook his head. His grandmother used to play fucking bridge.  

But regardless, he took the bait.

“How’s that?”

“If you don’t have a good partner, you better have a good hand,” you said with a smirk. 

Ben made a sound of amusement, though it wasn’t quite a laugh. You traded these back and forth, each trying to make the other crack with progressively dirtier jokes (though you suspected Ben was just trying to disgust you). 

You considered yourself the winner when Ben finally chortled a deep, belly laugh that showed his charming smile. 

It made you smile in return. 

Ben rested a hand on his chest, but when his mirth died down, he realized just how tired he was. Still, he wasn’t ready to let go of this. His connection with you tethered him to reality, even if reality sucked dick right now.

His gaze met yours. “Why don’t you sing something, crooner?” 

You bit your lip once again. “Like what?” 

Ben’s eyes closed.

“You know the one,” he said. A softer smile graced your lips, though he couldn’t see it. 

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” you teased. He chuckled. 

“Just sing, for fuck’s sake.” 

His brows were knitted, like he was trying all he could to stay awake. You took pity on him.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say…” you began to sing softly. “If I didn’t care…would I feel this way?”

Every extended note was painful, but it was worth it to see his face relax.  

Stan Edgar’s lips pursed, and he set down his cell phone on his desk. Victoria was screening his calls.

Disappointing, he thought, but not unexpected. He surveyed the cleanup crew wiping up debris, glass, and blood from the lounge area with a dispassionate gaze. 

This was going to take a while.

So after drumming his fingers on the mahogany surface, Stan decided to push up from his desk and head downstairs via the elevator. It took him all the way down to Level 0, the home of one of Vought’s most secure R&D labs. 

There his most trusted scientist, Dr. Tonya Baker, was at the helm with her team at work on various projects. Most of which were not sanctioned by the government. 

Stan folded his hands behind his back and reached her side, and she set down a beaker filled with a green, buzzing liquid. 

“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted. 

“Tonya, you know what I’m about to ask,” he said. She bobbed her head and turned to face him in her rolling desk chair. 

“We’re still working on solutions. Without his cooperation, safely extracting Soldier Boy’s DNA is a tricky thing,” she said. 

“You don’t say?” Stan said dryly. “What are our options?”

“Well, needles will only break, as you know,” said Dr. Baker. “The scientists in Russia found that only Soldier Boy is strong enough to break his own skin.”

“And I doubt he’ll open a vein for us,” Stan said, “even if we threaten to put him to sleep.” 

He didn’t even think leveraging with the girl would aid, more than complicate their goals. While it was something to consider, Stan would rather find the path of least resistance here. Soldier Boy was…volatile at best. 

“How much of Homelander’s blood remains?” he asked. 

“None,” the doctor replied. “We used the last of it to clone Black Noir. And a hair sample is not enough to create additional subjects…at the very least, a urine sample. Even Dr. Vogelbaum managed that.”

Stan sent her shrewd look. If only he still had Dr. Vogelbaum in his employ. If only the man were still alive.

What a waste of a talented, resourceful man.

“That will be a problem,” Stan said. 

“Not necessarily.” Dr. Baker adjusted a monitor screen at her desk. It displayed the feed from Soldier Boy’s cell. 

She pointed to the toilet in the corner of the cell. Then she called over one of her assistants.

“Tell Maintenance to cut the water, and then a section of the pipes.”

AN: Okay. 😅 I know I'm gonna get some mixed reviews on this one (Let me know what you thought!).

But despite the teaser, I think you'll enjoy where the story's headed next...

Next Time:

They wheeled in what looked like a large metal casket. You had only seen one of these in pictures, but it had to be a cryochamber.

A doctor in her mid-fifties accompanied them, giving directions on how to safely enter Ben’s cell. Your eyes widened.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shouted.

Panic trilled down your spine as the guards fitted themselves with special suits and gas masks. The doctor turned toward you as the guards led you out of your cell and into the hall.

“You’re being transported,” she informed you.

Keep Reading: PART 12

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[ejzah]

Ain’t It A Kick In The Head, Part 11

***

If Kensi hadn’t seen Deeks bleeding out and barely able to move just a few hours ago, she almost wouldn’t believe it. He moved with the same confident strut as always, giving no hint of any pain as they walked to the meeting point. The tailored suit did go a long way to projecting that image.

“You ready?” Deeks asked, looking over his shoulder. Kensi’s apprehension must have shown, because he actually stopped, and took her arm. “Hey, if you think that you can’t pull this off at all, you need to tell me now.”

A part of her wanted to be outraged by his assumption, but she repressed it. Their lives depended on both their abilities to convince the Kaisers they were legitimate buyers.

“I can handle it,” she insisted. “I’ll follow your lead.”

“Remember, we don’t push too hard.”

“In that case, I won’t tell them I have a million dollars on me and more where that came from,” Kensi muttered sarcastically. That got the barest hint of a smile out of him.

While he’d recovered on the couch, Deeks had called Andre, and convinced him to contact Dimitri Kaiser again, and ask for a meeting. Deeks didn’t didn’t like the idea of seeming too desperate and showing their hand, but he truly felt like they had no other choice. After so many months, LAPD wouldn’t take kindly to the operation falling apart. Not to mention his own need to take a drug ring out of circulation.

Kensi stayed close to Deeks’ side as they approached a dark parking lot. A single black Volvo was parked conspicuously in the middle of the lot at an angle. Once they were within five yards of the vehicle, all four doors opened, and four men emerged.

Two of the men stayed back while the other two stepped forward. Kensi noted that the two guards were visibly armed.

“Dimitri, Paul,” Deeks greeted them.

The Kaiser brothers were both tall and incredibly thin. While they weren’t physically imposing, there was something undeniably dangerous about them.

“Mr. Gentry, I’m surprised to see you so soon,” Dimitri Kaiser said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his long coat. He flicked his eyes over Kensi without any change in expression. “I haven’t met your friend before.” He had a soft, slightly raspy voice that made Kensi’s skin crawl.

“This is Bella Mendez,” Deeks answered. “She’s a colleague.”

“I thought you preferred working alone, Max.”

“He made an exception for me,” Kensi spoke up, giving him a cool smile. Dimitri regarded her with distaste while Paul’s expression didn’t change.

“Max, you know I don’t like surprises. I didn’t agree to anyone else coming.”

“Dimitri.” Deeks spread his arms wide. “It hurts that you don’t trust me.”

“You know I don’t trust anyone.” Gesturing with two fingers, he beckoned, and one of the guards came forward. “Check them, Jacob.”

Jacob frisked Deeks first, his search thorough, and based on Deeks’ brief wince, roughly.

“Watch your hands,” she told Jacob when he moved on to her. He winked, a sliding his hands down the outside of her thighs more slowly. She sincerely hoped she got the chance to kick him in his smirking mouth.

“They’re clean, no wires,” Paul said, stepping back.

“You think we’re cops?” Deeks asked with an incredulous and mocking laugh.

“Oh, that’s the last straw,” Kensi huffed, following his lead. “I will not be disrespected in this way.”

“Bella,” Deeks protested softly, turning to face Kensi. He grasped her wrist gently.

“No. We can take our business elsewhere. I told you that this was a terrible idea.”

Deeks gave her the slightest nod of encouragement, and she shook his hand off.

“Ms. Mendez, we do apologize. You understand that people like us need to work with an abundance of caution,” Paul Kaiser interrupted, speaking for the first time.

Kensi tipped her chin up, regarding him for several moments.

“I’m not accustomed to being mauled,” she informed him. “The next person who touches me will find out how skilled I am with a knife.”

Paul leaned back slightly, glancing to Deeks, who shrugged.

“She has many skills. Personally, I wouldn’t test it.”

Paul looked between them for a few more seconds, then unexpectedly, threw his head back, and laughed. Kensk held her ground, hand dropping to the back of her waistband where her gun was concealed, but before she could touch it, she felt Deeks’ fingers just barely brush her arm. Thankfully, Paul didn’t seem to notice her slip.

“I like her,” Paul decided. “She’s unpredictable like you, Max.” Kensi got the sense that he was trying to charm her, and suddenly wished for Dimitri’s emotionless persona again. “Alright, Max, tell us why we needed to meet so quickly.”

“I’ve parted way with some of my business partners,” Deeks explained. “They’re less…adventurous than I am. In order to keep my previous customers happy, I need more supplies. Soon.”

“I see.” Paul turned to glance towards Dimitri. “How much?”

“Triple my last order.”

“We agree, but it will cost you double for the short notice,” Dimitri said.

“Or, you charge the normal price and I promise to use you exclusively,” Deeks suggested. Kensi’s eyes widened slightly, and she willed him to take the deal before they got shot or one of the Kaisers changed their minds. Instead, Deeks stared Paul and Dimitri down with a challenging glint in his eyes.

“Half extra,” Dimitri countered. “Because Paul likes you.” He held out his hand, and after the briefest of hesitations, Deeks shook it, his grip firm.

“You have yourself a deal. Is tomorrow at noon too early?”

“Give us until two. We’ll meet at our usual location. And bring Ms. Mendez with you,” Paul said. He offered Kensi a smile that sent another shiver up her spine, and she glared back. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you as always.”

“You should come to my poker night,” Deeks drawled as Paul and Dimitri turned to leave, shadowed by their two guards.

Only once they were inside the car and pulling away, did Kensi dare to turn her back on them. “You’re insane,” she informed him in a shaky voice.

“Yeah, but you love it about me,” he said nonchalantly. His delivery was ruined by a wince and him suddenly grasping for her arm. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. I think I’m about to bleed through my bandages.”

Kensi shook her head in disbelief as he unsteadily made his way back to their own vehicle.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #drama #Deeks whump #undercover Deeks #undercover Kensi #ain’t it a kick in the head #part 11 #au

[layersofsymbolism]

Your mouth falls open as you stare at him, wide eyed. You wonder what happened to the shy, self depreciating man that it took you so much patience and effort to even convince to be alone with you. He holds you easily, keeping you stretched around his shaft, head lowered and devouring you with his smoldering gaze. Waiting. He tilts his head, still with that wicked little smile.

His hands tighten on your flanks, claws digging into your flesh, and growls low. He's magnificent. Terrifying. Shaking, you lean forward and press your lips to his and he returns your kiss with shocking gentleness, but he doesn't say anything. Doesn't move. You realize that he needs this. Needs to know how desperately you want him. How utterly overwhelming his presence is. Your mouth wags for a moment and soon a confusion of breathy pleas tumble from your lips.

"Please..." You gasp. "I need you to make me come. I need to feel you... please finish... come inside me. Fill me with your seed, mark me and make me yours. Please, Zevlor, I need you." You finally manage to pry your hands from his horns as you urge him, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull yourself closer, wriggling on him and flexing your thighs as you beg for his favor.

He starts to tremble as you beg for him. As you speak, he grits his teeth with a snarl and lifts you. His nostrils flare as he spreads his knees and leans back toward his heels. At your last words his face contorts with surprise, he gasps, and seems to come back to himself a little. But it's too late for both of you.

"Fuck!"

The first colorful word you've ever heard from him erupts as his hips surge upward and slam into you. You scream as he does what he shouted, no longer teasing or trying to perform, but rutting up into you as hard and fast as he can. He lowers his head and sinks his fangs into your shoulder, drawing another howl from you as you desperately cling to him, wrapping your legs around him. This doesn't slow him, and he's bouncing you against his hips, claws pricking into your flesh.

Perhaps it's the taste of your blood or the sensation of claws rending your skin. You are certainly far beyond caring about a superficial wound on your shoulder or hindquarters. But he quickly changes his grip on you, wrapping one arm around your hips and sliding the other hand into your hair. His mouth moves, biting the side of your throat, drawing blood again. His pace doesn't slow, holding you tight against him as his breath becomes ragged and his rhythm begins to break. At the last moment, he shifts you both so he can spear directly against the aching knot of pleasure inside you. You thrash and shake as your vision blurs and your walls clamp and contract around him. One more quick thrust, and you come apart, and it's enough to bring him with you.

His moans into your neck become more desperate as he chases his release, quickly becoming ragged whimpers. He crushes you to him, stuttering to a shaky halt as his hot seed spurts deep within you. His hips twich a few times as he empties himself completely, holding firmly for a few delicious moments before pulling back to look into your eyes, gasping for breath and shaking like a leaf in the wind. Slowly, he lowers you both back to the bedroll, collapsing on top of you, his arms still tightly around you, softening member still burning inside you. You hold him close, trying to slow your own hammering heart, your legs quivering still on either side of him with the aftershocks of your climax.

#bg3 zevlor #zevlor #zevlor bg3 #afab reader #nsft #teeth and claws #biting #part 11

[darknutmeg]

Running from that spider and the sounds it made. Nightmare fuel. 😵‍💫

Also I find it funny at the end how they were having a heart to heart while trying to decide whether to leave the hotel while a giant spider was probably still looking for them. Maybe leave. Maybe leave and then do that. 🥴

#malevolent #malevolent relisten #malevolent podcast #part 11

[aintinacage]

tom holland tuesday - part 11

#tom holland tuesday #tom holland #thomas holland #puppy interview #buzzfeed #buzzfeed celeb #uncharted #hot celebrities #celebrities #celebs #celebrity #hot celebs #daily celebs #famous actors #famous celebrity #cute #cute man #cute actor #cute guy #part 11