#part 13

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 13

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

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

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

AN: For those who didn't catch my announcement on Monday, I released Part 12 earlier this week! Now, on to a confrontation I think a lot of you have been waiting for...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Attempted sexual assault. Protective Dean, angst, hurt/comfort.  

Part 13: “Boiling Point”

Usually, Christmas was your absolute favorite time of the year.

This holiday was a baker’s dream, and you and your grandmother used to volunteer at the church bake sale every Christmas Eve. Grandpa George had done his best to help you in the years after she died…but you just didn’t have it in you this year.

You considered it an accomplishment that you pulled down some of the decorations from the attic, putting them up around your house, and buying a little four-foot tree (also hauling it into the house yourself). However, you knew that you wouldn’t be alone on Christmas Day, at least.

Sam and Dean had already invited you over to spend it with them. You would have the chance to get to know Eileen better, and you would even get to meet the famous John Winchester…

But you still had one reason to dread the end of the month.

Nick Savage threw a Christmas party every year. It was equal parts celebration and networking, and as a top performer of the sales division, you were expected to come.

The problem was, this time the party was going to be held at his house.

“You can’t just not go?” Andréa asked, shortly before taking a massive bite of her burrito. The two of you were grabbing dinner together after another long day at the office, followed by a movie later.

You’d realized just how much you had missed your best friend.

“Yeah, that’ll be great for me. Josh will get to chat up the whole team and get them clamoring to kiss his dick. Nick will give him the Sales Manager position just to spite me,” you said, while picking at your taco salad. “He keeps pitting us against each other for his own enjoyment, but I swear to God he harps on me the most.”

Andréa frowned. “Are you sure Nick just doesn’t have a thing for you? It sounds like he’s a little boy, picking on a girl he likes.”

You pursed your lips. She still didn’t know the full extent on your boss’s thing with you. You hadn’t told her about the last time Nick cornered you in his office, dangled a promotion in front of you, and basically gave you an ultimatum: sleep with him, or don’t move up in the company.

You hadn’t told anyone, for that matter.

You were just trying to figure out how to not get fired, while still getting compensated for your hard work. Was that too much to ask? 

Apparently, it was.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what he thinks about me,” you said vehemently.

It earned your friend’s gaze, and her raised eyebrows. 

“Whoa,” she chuckled. “Easy there, Miss Congeniality. That’ll be sure to earn you the promotion.”

“No, really,” you said. You stabbed into your salad with a fork. “I’m so fucking sick and tired of having to tap dance my entire work life around him. He’s a goddamn child who thinks he can have whatever he wants just because Daddy gave him his own little kingdom!”

Andréa eyed you more with concern. Her hand reached for your arm. Meanwhile, you were forcing slower breaths through your nose.

“You okay?” she asked. “I don’t like the ‘crazy town’ look in your eyes right now.”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “Just hangry, I guess.”

You took another bite of your food. Andréa gave you a skeptical look, but she let it go for now, with a smirk.

“Yeah, well. Eat a Snickers, bitch. I don’t need you snapping on me again,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes, but you had to laugh a little. You shoved at her shoulder.

She gripped her own arm in fake panic. “Someone call the cops! This crazy woman just punched me out over a salad!”

You tried to shush her, even though you were giggling. Your head swiveled around in the restaurant, giving apologetic eyes to the people around you.

“Although, $20 for a few sprigs of romaine lettuce and a sliver of chicken? That’s worth punching somebody the fuck out,” she said, throwing down her napkin. “Let’s never come here again.”

“Agreed,” you nodded. “I don’t think they’ll let us back here anyway.”

A few days later, you didn’t want to admit you were stressing out over this night.

“Have I said thank you? Because I mean it. Thank you for taking time off for this,” you said, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles in Dean’s blazer.

He looked good in black. It was classic, and the new suit was smart without being “too much” for him. (Sam had taken him to his “suit guy,” as Dean called it.)

Dean grabbed your arms to stop your slightly flustered hands. He smirked down at you as his eyes once again took in your dark red dress. It was simple and sleeveless, but elegant, falling just above the knee. Of course, you had to be wearing the tallest pair of black heels he’d ever seen.

“It’s no sacrifice, believe me,” he replied.

You smiled, but he noticed something behind your eyes.

“You okay?” he asked. “Seems like you don’t really want to go to this thing.”

“I don’t,” you admitted on a sigh. “But my boss will know if I’m not there…I told you about the open Sales Manager position, right?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean nodded. His smile slid into a frown as he watched you bustle around your room, looking for your purse while you smoothed out the soft waves you’d managed to style your hair in, checking your eyeliner and lipstick too in the mirror.

“As usual, it’s down to me and Josh,” you said. “If I keep my numbers up and use tonight to network with my own team, get the rest of the guys on my side, maybe Nick will see that I’m the right choice.”

Dean came up behind you, resting a hand on your lower back.

“And this manager job…that’s what you want?” he asked.

You turned to him with a questioning look. “Well, yeah. I’ve been working here for five years, busting my ass.”

“And I got no doubt that you’re good at what you do,” Dean said. “But you do know, there hasn’t been a day since I met you that you didn’t have something crap to say about that job, and those people you work with.”

You frowned, and you thought about what he was saying. Sure, you complained about Nick, but did you really talk that much shit about your job?

“Everyone has things they don’t like about their work,” you reasoned. “Even you have your bad days.”

Though he tended to keep those days to himself, you knew when he’d had a tough call at the firehouse. You’d been trying your best to be a listening ear if he needed it, or if not, at least a soothing presence. It was more often the latter with Dean.

He acknowledged your point with a nod. “Okay, fair enough. I don’t know…I just think you’re wasting your talent.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, you’re like…an artist. It’s nothing me, or Sam, or Andréa, or anybody in your life hasn’t told you before,” said Dean. “You went to school to do your dream. And I know life happened. But I also know that when I walk into the firehouse, it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. Can you say that when you walk into the Savage building?”

You took in a breath. You understood what he was saying, but as much as you wanted to indulge the fantasy of owning your own business, being your own boss, creating your own menu, and giving people quality baked goods…you had to live in reality here.

Opening a brick-and-mortar business was expensive. And most restaurants, even bakeries, weren’t profitable for at least one to three years. You still had plenty of bills, and not even a car since the accident.

“I’ve invested too much time here to quit, Dean,” you said.

The conversation died there, but it left something new and awkward between you two. You tried to put it out of your mind while he drove you both over to the “filthy fucking rich” side of town, through a massive gate, and into a wide parking lot that had a valet driver waiting. Nick’s ridiculous house was a monument to trust fund kids everywhere. 

Dean reluctantly handed over the keys to the Impala.

“No donuts in the parking lot.” He eyed the 20-something-year-old valet with all due scrutiny. “Trust me, I’ll know.”

You smirked and slipped your arm around his to tug him up the steps, toward the large double doors of the house.

“Come on, Rambo. Baby’ll be fine without you.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean quipped back. Still, he moved his arm out of yours, just to wrap it around your waist and pull you against his side. His lips pressed against your cheek.

“You look sexy as hell,” he said lowly near your ear. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“No.” Your smile deepened. “But doesn’t hurt to mention again. I might just have to reward my boyfriend for humoring me tonight, getting all dapper himself.”

You and Dean made it up to the porch and you knocked on the door. He shot you a raised brow as his lips tugged upwards.

“Oh, yeah? We talkin’ lace or satin?” he asked. His lips brushed your temple.

You pretended to think. “Little of both, actually. It’s new. And it’s red…and I might just be wearing it right now.”

Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. His gaze subtly dragged over your every curve, as if he had x-ray vision to spy through your dress. You maintained an enigmatic smile.

“Oh, you’re diabolical,” he muttered. His hand moved down to playfully squeeze your ass. You had to bite your lip to stifle the sound you made, as that’s when the doors finally began to swing open.

Dean’s hand moved up a respectable few inches, resting on your waist.

You both smiled and greeted the attendant who let you into the house.

A quick text let you know that Benny and Andréa were already here, each holding a flute of champagne. You and Dean met up with them in the huge living room space (which might has well have been a grand hall, for how large it was).

It held 50 people easily, but the party was already spanning the entire house, of at least two stories. It made your house look like a modest Barbie Dream home, without the pool attachment.

And Nick Savage was at the center of it all, greeting each guest and their “plus ones.”

When he spotted your group, he smoothly excused himself from the conversation with Josh and his wife, and headed over to you.

“Incomiiing,” Andréa quietly sing-songed. She sipped her champagne.

You steeled yourself, and you did your best to give a polite smile when Nick arrived with a pleasant “Merry Christmas.” You forced yourself to remain still when his hand fell on your arm, and he reached out to shake Dean’s hand in greeting, followed by Andréa and Benny. 

“Welcome, you guys,” he said, giving you a smile that hid just a hint of a smirk. “Justin let you know where everything is, right? Lotsa drinks, the good stuff, I promise. Plenty of food, hot chocolate and eggnog fountains, if that’s your thing. And a hell of a lot more out back by the pool.”  

“Great, thank you,” you nodded politely.

“All right! Let’s party,” Nick fist-pumped in the air. He pointed towards you and Dean. “You need a drink in your hand, stat.”

“I’m fine for now. Going to wait until I have something to eat first,” you replied. If you were going to get a glass of wine, it wouldn’t be one that Nick handed to you.

He pouted a little, but he looked at Dean next. “How about you, big guy? What you drinkin’?”

Dean shot you a glance, but before he could respond, Nick interrupted.

“You look like a whiskey guy. Am I right?” he asked.

Dean inclined his head. “Guilty.”

“Perfect. See? I’ve got an instinct for people,” Nick said, tossing you a wink as he headed for the nearby bar. “I’ll be back. You crazy kids relax and have fun.”

You had to admit, he knew how to turn on the charm when he had to. But who the hell said crazy kids under the age of 45?  

“He’s uh…got pep,” Benny remarked.

Andréa snorted and tapped her glass. “He’s a few shots in already.”

“You think?” Dean asked.

You nodded in agreement, rolling your eyes. If there was one thing you could count on, it was for Nick Savage to be drinking.

“He knows how to act when everyone’s watching,” you said. 

You looked up at the high-vaulted ceilings and expensive artwork on the walls, not noticing how Dean glanced at you with the edge of a frown.

At the very least, the food was excellent. It was served in a large back room that served as a banquet hall, meant for entertaining.

There you and Dean actually had a good time, with you sipping on red wine and Dean on a glass of the “good stuff,” all while playing cards with Andréa and Benny and a few of your coworkers on the sales team.

“I just can’t believe Adam quit, to join our main competitor, no less,” said Marv. “I had absolutely no idea he was thinking of leaving.”

He was the team gossip. He prided himself on knowing every coming and going on the sales floor, which confounded you, since Marv was also a bit of a hermit. He either kept to his office like it was a bomb shelter, or you could catch him in the break lounge grabbing yet another coffee, all the while keeping his ear perked up for scraps of conversation.

“Yeah, you did, Marv,” you replied with a smirk. “You’re the one who saw Adam’s resignation letter on his own desk.”

He hadn’t even handed said letter to Nick yet.

“Well, I knew it then, obviously,” Marv said, with his hands open wide. “It leaves us without a manager…which I think, not for long.”

His eyes met yours knowingly.

You smiled. “We’ll see. I think Josh is playing kiss-ass tonight.”

You turned your head and spotted Nick and Josh taking shots of tequila together at the bar, with the latter wincing at the burn with a lime peel in his mouth. Josh’s wife was sitting off to the side, rolling her eyes.

Your gaze focused on your boss for a moment. You shook your head at the state of him, with a loose tie and the top buttons undone on his shirt, laughing boisterously and egging Josh on.

Fucking frat bros.

“That’s your boss, huh?” Benny remarked.

“In all his Cuervo-stained glory,” Marv replied. He shook his head as well.    

It made you realize something.

As nice a time as you’d been having, for about an hour at most, your good mood soured the moment you were reminded of the office politics. Of Josh and Nick and everything in between. Was this really what you wanted for the rest of your career?

The rest of your life?

Maybe Dean was right, you thought. You knew you were good at your job. You knew you were fortunate to even have a job that paid your bills…but maybe “being good” wasn’t enough for you.

If there was one thing you’d learned from your grandfather’s death, it was that peace was precarious. And sacrificing too many parts of yourself, for money, wasn’t a fulfilling life or even a happy one.

You wanted to be happy. You also wanted peace.

So you leaned over and laid a hand on Dean’s, which rested on the round table.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His head bowed near yours. “Hmm?”

“Wanna get out of here?” you asked. He raised his brows at you.

“Really? I thought you needed to stay and schmooze with your people,” he replied.

You smiled and drew your thumb across the inside of his wrist. “I think I’m done.”

Dean looked a bit confused. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. And you brushed your lips against the corner of his mouth. “You were right. It’s not worth it.”

A flicker of a smile began to tug at his lips, but his brows drew together.

“Hey. Are you sure?” he asked. “Don’t bow out just because of me—”

Your hand tightened on his wrist.

“No, baby. It’s me. My choice,” you said. “Let me just use the restroom real quick, and we can go.”

Dean nodded, and you stood.  

“What, are you leaving?” Andréa asked. She was tucked into Benny’s side with a piece of red velvet cake poised on her fork. “You didn’t even finish your cake!”

You laughed. Turning down dessert was a big deal for you, but you’d live.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I just need to call it a night, but I’ll be back in a sec to say goodbye. Hold on.”

Andréa blew out a breath as you walked away from the table.

“She’s gonna miss the White Elephant gift exchange. Last year, someone got a 60” smart TV,” she said.

Benny whistled.

“I wouldn’t mind an upgrade,” he said. He shot Dean a glance. “What do you think the guys would do if we showed up with something like that to the station?”

Dean scoffed. “I think the Chief would have a damn conniption.”

Bobby was old-school. He thought they had enough distractions from the job as it was.

“Probably right,” Benny chuckled.

Andréa smiled in amusement. But her eyes clocked the way Nick glanced your way as you walked by, down the hall and to the right. She sipped at her glass of pinot grigio to wash down the rich cake.

Still, she discreetly watched the man down another shot before he took his leave of the bar. He laughed at something Josh said and waved him off.

She gave Nick credit for not stumbling on his feet, and only swaying slightly on the same path you took down the hall. It didn’t mean he was following you, necessarily. This house was like a small Smithsonian. And yet, something niggled in the back of her mind. 

Andréa remembered how you’d acted at dinner the other day when talking about Nick. And how drained you’d seemed lately when she saw you after work. She’d thought that was just about finding your way after George’s death…

Marv distracted her with a question as Dean and Benny continued to talk, and she answered him with her usual charm. But she kept one eye on the hallway, waiting for you to come back.

She made it about another minute before she turned to Benny and Dean, leaning in close.

“Hey, Dean,” she said. “Maybe you want to check on her? She’s taking a while.”

Dean didn’t look concerned as he checked his watch. It hadn’t been all that long, but he still pulled out his phone to text you.

“She left her purse here,” Andréa said. She started to get up out of her seat. “I’m just gonna go see if she’s okay.”

Benny grabbed her hand before she left the table.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he asked. 

“I’m not sure,” she said, but she met Dean’s confused gaze. “Okay, look. I’ve been noticing some things with her recently. I have no evidence except for how well I know that woman, but something’s off with her. It happens every time she talks about that asshole Nick.”

Dean’s brows furrowed as he tried to read between the lines.

“What’re you saying exactly?” he asked.

Andréa let out a breath. “I’m saying, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

You hummed as you washed your hands in the bathroom. Wine runs right through me. I should know better.

You’d also been trying to quell your anxieties and just get through the night. But you realized now that there was no kind of calm like the peace you had, now that you knew what you needed to do. Starting tomorrow, you were going to start looking for a new job.

A knock at the door made you jolt slightly.

“Someone’s in here!” you called without looking over your shoulder. You finished washing your hands and dried them on the hand towel hanging on a silver wall rack.

The door cracked open, but before you could protest, a man stumbled in.

Of fucking course it was Nick Savage.

“Excuse me?!” you breathed in shock. You watched with wide eyes as he pushed the door closed and seemed to take notice of you for the first time. He smirked.

“Oh, hey,” he said. Somehow, he was only slurring a little. He straightened his white blazer. The black satin shirt he wore was wrinkled and he smelled heavily of tequila, and that was with a couple of feet of distance between you two.

Your shock finally melted into a glare. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Gotta take a leak. It’s my house after all,” he shrugged, leaning a hand on the wall closest to the door for balance.

You shook your head, and with a huff, you tried to get by him.

His hand wrapped around your arm. “Hey, we didn’t get a chance to catch up tonight.”

You shoved his hand off of you.

“Don’t you ever in your life touch me again,” you warned him. Your eyes were as hard as your voice. “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet—no. In the whole damn universe who sickens me more than you, Nick Savage.”

Nick straightened a little, frowning at you. Whatever he saw in your gaze, he didn’t seem to like the challenge. When you reached for the doorknob again, he grabbed your arm and shoved you hard into the nearest wall.

You gasped as the air rushed out of your lungs. Before you even realized what was happening, you felt his clammy hands on your bare shoulders, his hot alcoholic breath on your face. You raised your hands in defense, pushing against his chest.

He was taller and stronger and pinned you harder against the wall, with his knee shoving its way between your legs. You stared up with wide eyes of fear, and his hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your scream.

Your nails bit into his arm and wrist, trying to peel back his sweaty hand, just an inch to free your voice and let you breathe. To your left you heard the door bang open.

Please—

And the hand was peeled away entirely.

You could only blink and watch as Dean barreled through, grabbing Nick and bodily hurling him away. Nick opened his mouth to spout something angrily, but Dean continued to stalk forward and grab the man again.

Nick attempted a lazy swing at Dean’s head, but he bat it away. His fist connected roughly with Nick’s face, snapping his head back with a cry.

It was almost too fast for you to track what was happening right in front of you, but Dean dragged the drunkard the rest of the way across the bathroom, even over the tub, and slammed him against the beige tile so hard that it knocked a few of them loose. Nick’s head smacked audibly against them and he groaned at the impact.

The men were around the same height, but Dean was honed by years of firefighting and fueled by rage. One hand gripped high on Nick’s collar, while his arm pressed against the man’s chest. Then into his throat.

“Give me a reason,” Dean said, in a voice much calmer than he felt. Behind his eyes was wildfire.

“What?” Nick choked.

You finally broke through enough of your shock to know you had to do something.

“Dean!” you uttered. You cautiously went to him, but he glanced at you over his shoulder in warning.

“Stay there,” he told you firmly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, even though your voice shook. “Let’s just go.”

Despite the blood dripping down from his likely bruised nose, Nick chortled a laugh. It earned Dean’s slow head turn, returning his attention to the decision at hand. His fist tightened in Nick’s shirt.

“You heard me,” Dean said. His voice was laced with steel. “I said give me a reason not to break your miserable fucking neck.”

“Dean,” you gasped.

“Not sure that’s a good idea, fireman,” Nick slurred. “I clearly don’t have all my wits about me right now. Can’t be held lia…li-ble for my actions, now can I? I’ll have your badge by end of the week.”

You let out a harsh breath and finally went to Dean. You laid a hand on his back. Every muscle was tense and straining under his white dress shirt.

“Dean,” you pressed. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

Nick smirked lazily in Dean’s face. It was the look of a man who was used to getting his way.

“I’d listen to her,” he said, with a mocking glint in his eyes. “Or I could just fire her on Monday. Make it easy on myself.”

Dean seethed. His forearm slowly rolled harder into the man’s neck, pressing on his windpipe. The sounds of choked air were satisfying.

“Yeah, or I’ll have the police down here in ten minutes or less,” said Dean. “I’ll clue you in on a little something. My dad’s a cop. I’ll reckon he’ll be happy to put a fucking douchebag like you in the can with the real charmers.”

Dean gave a mocking glance to Nick’s silk shirt, his gold pinky ring and loafers.

“How long do you think it’ll take for one of ‘em to make you their little bitch?” Dean said.

Nick glared back at him, with a frisson of intimidation behind his eyes. He glanced at you over his shoulder. Dean noticed and tightened his hold.

“Don’t you look at her, you piece of shit!” he warned. His voice was low and dangerous. “Make your choice. You gonna come down to the station easy, or difficult? Please say difficult.”

Nick held up placating hands. He shifted uncomfortably against the wall; one foot was planted on the ground while the other was in the tub. The shower curtain was half off its hooks.

Dean eased up enough for Nick to take a breath.

“Okay, let’s say we do that,” he said, with a cough. “I’ll get bail. Then I’ll fucking walk, ‘cause I own this town.” 

“You mean your dad does,” you snapped.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Same name, same shit, sweetheart.”

Dean grit his teeth and tightened his grip again in warning. You wrapped your hand around his arm, but he didn’t budge.

Nick met his eyes.

“How about this. Get your greasy fucking hands off me, and we’ll call tonight a wash,” he proposed. “No foul, we all take our balls and go home.”

He then snorted at his own joke. “Balls…”

Dean tilted his head, but didn’t move a muscle. “Or?”

Once again, Nick smirked.

“I’ll report you to your boss for assaulting me in my own house. And uh, she’ll be fired, obviously.” He shrugged. “By the time my lawyers get done with her, she won’t be able to sling lattes at Starbucks.”

Dean’s face was stony, tight with outrage. His whole body was coiled like a spring as every cell in his body fought against ripping this man apart.

But he still felt your hands around his arm, trying to pull him back.

“Dean, don’t. He’s not worth your career. Please,” you begged.

The bathroom door pushed open again, and he heard Benny’s voice.

“Hey, brother.” He dropped a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Come on, now. You got him. Ease up now.”

Dean’s teeth ground together. He looked down, and his stare bored into Nick’s. Dean pressed his forearm into the other man’s throat again, enough to almost feel the give as the man struggled for breath.

“Remember how that feels,” Dean said icily. “20579, Dean Winchester. The next time you want to threaten my badge, that’s my number.”

Nick’s eyes widened slightly. At the time, Dean took it as fear. But really, it was recognition.

Winchester, Nick thought.

Dean then leaned in closer, so only Nick would hear his next lowered words.

“First and last warning,” Dean said. “If you touch her again. If I hear anything more about you giving her a hard time, not a dime in the world is gonna save you from me.”

When Dean finally pulled his arm away and let go, Nick’s face was red and spluttering as he coughed and slumped into the bathtub.

Dean turned on his heel in anger and disgust. Andréa was supporting you with her arm around yours, but she released you to let Dean take over. You stared up at him with tearful eyes, and you reached for his hand.

He took it with his left, holding you steady. He then wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you out of the bathroom.

The air was tense and silent inside the Impala. It was a long drive back to your house, and Dean hadn’t looked at you once in 20 minutes. His gaze was firmly on the road. He hadn’t even turned on the radio.

You had his suit jacket draped around your frame, but your insides still felt cold. You glanced over at him and stared at his profile for a moment, wishing you knew what to say to break the silence. To reassure him that you were fine. (Even though it would've been a lie.)

He felt your stare and turned his head towards you.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked. His voice was gruff. “Andréa said she’s been noticing something off about you for a while.”

Your lips pressed together. “Can this part wait until we get home…please?”

Dean’s jaw ticked, but he turned back to the road ahead.

The car was silent for the rest of the hour.

It was a relief to turn the key into the door lock and step through the threshold of your house. Dean followed you inside and tossed his wallet and car keys on the side table by the door.

Somehow he always managed to miss the little basket you put there for exactly those things, but you weren’t about to remind him.

You slipped off your heels and went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, to steady yourself. Dean leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. He didn’t say anything, but you still felt his eyes on you.

With a sigh, you turned and met his gaze.

“Just tell me,” he said. “How long?”

You took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“It started before I even met you, Dean.” 

His brows raised high. He tilted his head at you as incredulous anger tightened his face.

“What?” he said. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You shook your head and grabbed his arm. “Okay, come here.”

You led him into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. You explained that it started small, with compliments on your clothes, your hair. Then it was lingering looks, “innocent” brushes of his hand, touching your arm, your shoulder.

When you’d tried to put distance between you and Nick, the drunken shenanigans began. The comments grew heinous and sickening, and so did his threats.

And nothing you did worked. Not distance and professionalism. Not refusing his advances outright. Not threatening to go to HR.

All while you spoke, Dean was quiet, but on edge. You saw it in how he gripped his knee, with his other hand fisted against his mouth, elbow resting on his thigh.

But the hardest part of the conversation came when you told Dean about the day of the car accident—how Nick had demanded you come to his office and gave you a sickening ultimatum.

At that, Dean could no longer remain still. He got up and started to pace across the living room. He was a man of action, you knew, and his reaction was almost everything you’d feared.

I should've told him, you thought. You knew.

Although you now felt relieved, even in your guilt, you also knew this next part wasn’t going to be fun either. Because Dean finally erupted.

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” he asked.

Briefly, you closed your eyes. “No.”

“Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” His hand buried itself in his hair as his jaw clenched. Even if your friend Andréa hadn’t known, she’d still seen enough to suspect something. It completely blew his mind, in the worst of ways.

“Jesus Christ!” he shook his head. “Why am I always the last one to know when something’s going on with you?”

Tears watered in your eyes as you looked up at him. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“I mean, really. What are we doing here, huh?” he exclaimed, his hands open wide. “Honestly, tell me. Because if you can’t trust me, then I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Your eyes widened, a trill of panic lacing down your spine. You stood up and went to him. 

“Dean, please, it wasn’t about that,” you said. You implored him with your eyes to understand. “I wanted to tell someone…God, you don’t know how bad I wanted to tell you. But I knew how you’d react. Just like this. I didn’t want to make the situation worse!”

He frowned deeply. “You didn’t want help? You didn’t want me to protect you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you snapped. But then, you sucked in a shaking breath, trying to calm yourself. You got closer and rested a hand against his chest.

“Of course I’m grateful that you protected me. Dean, I love you for it.”

You grasped the ends of his jacket with both hands. All you really wanted to do was bury yourself in his warmth and sleep for the next ten years. You were still raw and frayed inside.

Dean looked down at you, and his heart clenched. He couldn’t help but hold you back. His arms wound around your lower back as he pulled you against him. His chin rested above your head, and you sighed in relief.

“I thought I could handle it,” you confessed, in a smaller voice. “I worked so damn hard…I wanted to fight for my job. But Nick knew I didn’t have the money or the resources to fight back for real if I reported him, or even if I sued him. And before tonight, I didn’t have enough to take to the police.”

Dean pulled away just enough to see your face. He grasped your arms, gentle but firm.

“I’ll take you to the station right now,” he said. “My dad can help you. Hell, Sam can help you.”

You bit your lip and shook your head.   

“You heard him, Dean. With his money and connections, he’ll get off. And then he’ll make both of our lives hell,” you said. “He’ll go after your badge—”

“He can fucking try,” he snapped.

“Stop, okay? I don’t want that,” you pleaded.

A sharp breath escaped through his nose, and he let you go.

“You’re fucking impossible, you know that?” he said. “How can I help you if you won’t let me?”

He was beside himself with frustration, and even hurt. You knew it in the way he tried to walk away from you, but you reached for his arm to stop him, with tears burning in your eyes. You didn’t want him to think that you didn’t want his support. That you didn’t trust him.

Because that couldn’t have been any farther from the truth.

“I’m sorry!” Your tears finally escaped, trailing down your cheeks. You tugged him back towards you, earning his furrowed glance. “I was…scared. I…I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I just didn’t want to deal with it at all.”

The longer Dean looked at your face, the more he crumbled.

Once again, he turned to gather you back into his arms. And there your tears fell in earnest. Your body trembled with quiet sobs, and he held you tighter. His heart broke a little more as his hand soothed over your hair. He shushed you more gently, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Okay. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. You shouldn’t have had to deal with this, let alone for this damn long,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward for a moment as he mentally kicked himself. You didn’t deserve this, or his anger either. 

He just couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed any signs, like Andréa had. All these months… It threatened to drive him up a fucking wall.

“You’re safe, and I’ve got you,” he said, continuing to hold you securely against him. “We’ll handle this, like everything else.”

After a moment, you nodded, letting out another shaky breath. You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into his chest.

You already knew you must’ve looked a state, after the night you’d had, but you didn’t truly realize it until you were looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Mascara and lipstick smudged, hair disheveled, tears staining your cheeks.

Ugh. You hastily scrubbed your face clean with makeup wipes. Then you tamed your hair, brushing through the frizz and calming it back into relative normalcy.

You went for the zipper of your dress next, but you couldn’t get it down all the way. You turned to look over your shoulder.

“Dean,” you called. 

He was in your room, rifling through his bag to grab the clothes he’d brought to sleep in.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Come ‘ere a sec?”

He obliged you, drawing into the bathroom. His white dress shirt was only half unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up. You met his eyes in the mirror.

“Can you unzip me?” you asked.

Dean looked down where your hands were holding both sides of the zipper on your dress. He took one side from you and unzipped it the rest of the way, stopping at the small of your back. He caught sight of the red, sheer lingerie underneath.

Noticing the way he paused, you smiled slightly. You turned toward him and tugged the dress down the rest of the way, so he could see the rest of the ensemble. It was a simple corset-style nightie, but true to your word, the lace was paired with satin trim lines.

Your hands ran up his sternum and undid the last buttons on his shirt. You grasped near his collar and leaned up on your toes for a slow kiss. Dean unconsciously held you to him by your shoulders, his eyes closing at the feel of you.

But when they next opened, he caught sight of the bruise on your shoulder. It was about the size of a thumbprint.

His throat tightened. After a moment, he parted from you, but he didn’t continue where you left off. You looked up at him in confusion.

“Baby?” you asked.

Dean shook his head. He couldn’t answer you; couldn’t even articulate what the hell was in his head. So he just turned and went back into the room for his change of clothes. It left you frowning, bereft, and worried.

You changed into an old shirt and some shorts before you got into bed. You slipped under the covers and watched Dean. He sat with his back to you as he unclipped his watch and set it down on the nightstand. By now he’d changed into his faded, gray Lawrence Fire Department shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

Your throat constricted with emotion, namely with anxiety.

“Are you still mad at me?” you asked.

Dean paused. He glanced back at you, saw you laying there with a hand gripped into the covers. His brows furrowed when he saw your shining tears.

He turned and got into bed with you. He slid his arm under your head and wordlessly encouraged you to come closer. His free hand soothed across your arm.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said at last. But he was still upset, and deeply unsettled. As the night replayed in his mind, he knew that at the root of his fury, there was fear. 

“I just keep thinking,” he said. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t called out of work tonight.”

You looked down at that. You laid a hand on his chest.

“I wouldn’t have gone to the party,” you said. Though if you were honest with yourself, you probably would’ve thought yourself safe with Benny and Andréa. “I just…I really didn’t think he would try to—”

You tried to take a breath to steady yourself, but it was a tremulous release. The memory flashed behind your eyes, the remnants of panic and fear under your skin.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Dean’s hand was caressing your cheek, brushing away your tears.

“All right, shhh. I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s over,” he said. Once again, he pulled you into his arms and held you close. Guilt hit him between the ribs for upsetting you all over again. “I promise you’re safe, and I’ve got you.”

You did your best to take in deep breaths, letting them out more steadily. Dean wanted to put the matter to bed for tonight. He really did…but he couldn’t help pressing one last thing.

“Just tell me you’re not going back there on Monday, unless it’s to HR,” he said. 

You paused, shook your head a little. You didn’t want to rev him up again, but you knew Nick. 

“He doesn’t make idle threats, Dean,” you reminded him. “But there’s a reason why he waited until tonight, at his house. He’s not going to try his luck at the office, where everyone’s watching.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean retorted.

You saw his point, but you almost didn’t want to acknowledge it. You couldn’t afford to quit.

“I still need my job, for now,” you said. “But I will start looking for something else, so I can get out as soon as possible. I promise.”

Dean wasn’t happy. Both of you knew it. You also sensed that he wanted to argue more, but was holding back for now. You appreciated that.

You truly didn’t want to get into it anymore with him. You just wanted to close your eyes and try to forget about tonight, knowing that you’d fail. 

Dean still held you, with his hands rubbing up and down your back. His touch and his heartbeat soothed you until you managed to fall asleep. 

AN: Dean knows, and it ain't pretty. What did you think of the confrontation? Unfortunately, I'm drawing from real events here (not myself).

Next Time:

The mystery of "Azazel" thickens, Dean deals with another tricky fire, and the reader has a realization of her own...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep Reading: PART 14

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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[forgers-therapist]

tiny PEOPLE (part 13)

#chapter 94 #icons #part 13 #spy x family #sxf #sxf manga #sxf tiny people #loid forger #sxf loid #sxf twilight #yor forger #sxf yor #yor briar #sxf thorn princess #anya forger #sxf anya #sxf bond #bond forger #manga #thorn princess #sxf chapter 94 #twiyor

[aintinacage]

endless will turner - part 13

#endless will turner #will turner #william turner #orlando bloom #captain jack sparrow #jack sparrow #johnny depp #pirates of the caribbean #potc #pirates of the Caribbean 1 #pirates of the Caribbean curse of the black pearl #potc curse of the black pearl #potc 1 #curse of the black pearl #cotbp #potc cotbp #part 13

[angelynmoon]

-hello from the void

Eldritch Steve

Part 13

-

Karen Wheeler is not Stupid, though at times she certainly feels like it. She certainly feels it on her fifth Anniversy, just after Nancy was born and she waited up all night for her husband, Nancy at a babysitters and the fancy dinner she made going cold as the candles she lit burned themselves out. Ted had been gone three days, a surprise business trip he had forgotten to tell her about. He hadn't acknowledged their Anniversery either.

But Karen is far from stupid, she may have gotten only a Mrs. Degree from her college experience but she'd had gotten there with high grades and two classes left for her degree in nursing.

So, she notices when Mrs. Harrington suddenly has a son only a year older than her Nancy, she notices there is only a passing resemblance between them and none with Mr. Harrington.

At first she thinks, and is not the only one, that Mrs Harrington, had an Affair for a child her husband couldn't provide, at one point she even considered that Mrs Harrington bought the boy to raise him.

And then Nancy brought him home and Karen knows. She's not stupid, not unobservant. She learns very quickly after that first introduction that Steve Harrington is not human, at least not any more than Wayne Munson is. They are alike in that Karen realises.

But while Wayne's time in their world hardened him to humanity except for his nephew, Steve's Softened him. There is a gentleness to Steve that Karen's instincts tell her do not belong, instincts that tell her to flee, take her daughters and son and run and pray that Steve does not give chase.

Her observations, however, tell her that Steve will die before harm comes to her children and for better or worse she has decided to trust what she can see over what she feels. Even if eventually Steve harms Nancy or Mike she knows that he won't hurt Holly, he'll protect her before all others, in a way Karen believes that Steve considers Holly his own child. She knows this in her heart, has prepared that if anything should happen to her Holly will go to Steve over Ted, over Nancy, over her entire family.

Steve gets Holly, Karen made sure of that. Steve might be some kind of monster but he has a soft spot for children, her Holly especially even after Nancy chose Jonathan.

Karen knows Steve Harrington is a monster, just like Wayne Munson is.

But she knows he won't harm her children.

Karen Wheeler is not Stupid, she can't help trusting Steve to keep her children safe, she knows he won't fail.

-

A/n: still not adding more peopleto tag list but keeping the old one

@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

#eldritch monster steve #upside down creature steve #karen wheeler #steve harrington #part 13 #From the Rot #technically Steddie #because of the rest of the story

[fensherohair]

The Maraurders & The Metamorphic Witch (Part 13)

Words: 1.8k Warning: None Pronouns Used: She/Her - Use of Y/N

Things seemed to quiet down in Gryffindor Tower as the summer holidays approached. However, the same couldn't be said outside of it. Allegra and her group of friends had quickly built a reputation, a bad one at that. Their ideas of "jokes" often resulted in tears or things only the group of girls found funny, although they ceased to see amusement in any of it the moment the same logic was turned on them, normally by the Marauders, although Severus had occasionally done it in defense of Lily. 

"You guys promise to write over the holidays?" asked Isolde, a soft tone to her voice as she looked around her group of friends. From the boys who so often caused mischief to the girls, she shared a dorm with. Sure, not all of them got along, but at least it wasn't World War Three. Lily and James were often going back and forth about something, with James all but pining after Lily and the fiery redhead ignoring him in favor of her friendship with Severus. The Marauders had bestowed each other with little nicknames and slowly started to find themselves over the last year. Their friendship had grown, and each had started to notice those around them more. 

"Who else am I going to pester?" asked (Y/N) with a mischievous grin. "Plus, you know Hunter is gonna send letters, too," she added, as laughter rang from her lips. Isolde's cheeks heated up with a pinkish/red highlight as she was reminded of her friends knowing about her dating life. 

"You can pester me," commented Sirius as he came to sit next to (Y/N), Remus squashing himself between (Y/N) and Marlene with a victorious grin. Marlene smiled sweetly as she reached for a bowl of her favorite jelly. 

"Save me the nightmares and just date already," commented James, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose before pulling out the parchment once stashed away in the inside pocket of his robes. "Wait, where's Lily? Didn't she come down with you girls?" he asked, ruffling his hair as if to give the illusion he'd just stepped off his broom again. 

"Careful Prongs, your image is slipping," replied Peter, as if to poke fun at one of his best friends. Once again, he wore his favorite striped sweater, the one with Gryffindors colors. 

"What image is that exactly?" asked Marlene, a playful grin appearing across her lips before the laughter escaped her. James could only send her a deadpan glare, although a smile soon cracked through. Of course, the girls would take the opportunity to poke fun at him; he'd done the same over the school year, particularly in the quiet moments. 

"The poet?" questioned (Y/N).

"I was thinking the lady's man ... you know, the one with the terrible flirting," commented Isolde with her own smile. 

"Be serious, guys," started Remus, happy to join in the fun. "Peter obliviously meant the bookworm image James had been working on over the year."

"And here I thought it was the star Quidditch Player and Master Mischief Maker one," voiced Sirius. 

"You guys are hurting my feelings," declared James, "Peter clearly meant my tough guy image. I can't help but care for you lot, even when you are experimenting and blowing things up regularly." 

"Come now, I hardly blow anything up these days. It's more boogy traps and pranks," replied (Y/N) with a small chuckle. "And helping you four with all your witchy needs when the time calls for it," she added, her smile unmoved as her eyes sparkled that little bit more. 

"Or in detention," replied Peter quickly, receiving another chuckle from (Y/N), and she nodded in confirmation and pointed over as if to declare he was right. 

"Ow!" exclaimed Isolde as something collided with the side of her head. Looking at the table, she was met with a screwed-up piece of parchment that appeared to have tape wrapped around it. However, when she picked it up, it seemed heavier than normal, as if something had been hidden inside it, perhaps a stone or a smaller rock. 

Peter let out a tiny, scared squeak the moment his eyes landed on the group of girls set on terrorizing the castle, him included. He'd still yet to get over Samantha's claim of dating. Nor had he been able to shake the rumors of such the rest of the girls had been spreading. Despite his best efforts, the young wizard has yet to work out what they want from him. He couldn't offer them anything, he wasn't popular, there was nothing special about him. He was just another pureblood wizard, terrified of being alone and the brewing war; he just wanted to live his days at Hogwarts, learn to be a wizard, and figure out what he wanted to do when he left school. 

"You okay, Peter?" asked Hunter upon joining the group and taking Lily's place. As was the norm, the redhead girl sat on the opposite side of the hall with Severus. There was little doubt the two were making plans for the holidays. The same thing he did with his friends from Hufflepuff and with Isolde. At least when the family wasn't on trips, whether to muggle amusement parks or attend family functions. 

"I still don't get it," said James as he looked between the Wolffe siblings. He could see the similarities and features they shared—everyone could—yet they were so different everywhere else. One was a well-rounded fifth-year student, popular and smart, and a seeker for Hufflepuff, a school prefect. The other was a mischievous third-year, clumsy but incredibly smart, a thorn in the side of professors and fellow students alike but a brilliant chaser for Gryffindor's Quidditch team. 

"Get what?" asked Remus, allowing curiosity to get the better of him. He soon understood the comment when he followed James' line of sight as it flicked between Hunter and (Y/N). 

"(Y/N)'s a metamorphagi, so she's naturally more clumsy, mischievous, and curious. Mom and Dad neutered it and encouraged us both to be who we are," answered Hunter, reaching to tighten his red bandana, waving to a few students of his own year when they passed. "Mom always said the mischief came from Dad's side of the family," laughed Hunter, recalling his parents' back-and-forth comments, normally as part of their banter. 

"Can't believe I'm only just asking this, but what do your parents do?" asked Sirius, asking the question he was sure Marlene, Isolde, or Lily would have asked long before now. Yet none of the boys had; it hadn't even crossed his mind to ask. Mainly because his own parents did little with all their free time; his mother rattled around the large house yelling about something; his father would be holed up in the office, attempting to write some book he'd been working on for years. 

"Mom's a potions master, and Dad's a magizoologist," replied (Y/N). "I get my curiosity about potions from her. There was always a bang or two when Mom was in the basement. A couple of smoke clouds on the odd occasion," she laughed as she remembered her mom calling. She was fine from the basement when something exploded. 

"That explains a lot," commented Peter. "You know we should all meet up sometime during the holidays," he added, his eyes lighting up at the idea. Sirius, Remus, and James were his best friends, but the girls were also close to him. Hunter, too, was growing on him. He didn't appear often, but when he did, it was easy to get along with him, as if it had been with (Y/N) before that. 

"Good idea," started Isolde, a soft grin coming to her lips as she nudged Hunter gently as if saying she'd be happy to spend more time with him. "You lot can swear me in on your secret plans," she laughed. "Lily, too, if we can ever get her back." 

"Secret plans?" asked Hunter, his attention quickly turning to his little sister again, just in time to see her ruffle Sirius's fluffy hair. It didn't seem to stop him from playing with her ever-changing locks, though. Instead, the pure-blood wizard flicked it on occasion before ruffling hers with a grin. 

"I think they mean the mischievous ones," replied Remus, knowing several plans were in place to cause more havoc and chaos during the following school year. Old Filch and the wicked witches Allegra had joined were the main targets, along with the odd Slytherin and anyone else who just happened to walk into the firing zone, whether that be a professor or a student. 

"Sure, it wasn't the laughing potion and snapping quill one?" asked Marlene in response, seeing utter confusion pass over James and Peter's features, much to the amusement of Sirius and (Y/N) when they finally paid attention. 

"Am I invited to your little pity party?" asked Allegra as she waltzed over to collect the screwed-up piece of paper with the rock tightly bound inside. She and her new friends had hoped to transfigure it into something else, something Isolde was terrified of, but it hadn't worked out that way. Every attempt had failed to hit its target. 

"Who's the Pumpkin Head over there?" asked Isolde, looking over to where Allegra's friends were gathered, only to see one of them with a Pumpkin Head, two of them struggling to move with jelly legs, and another two dangling upside down, as if an invisible line was holding them there. The other wasn't fairing any better, as it appeared as if her front teeth were growing larger by the second. 

"Process of elimination, I'd say that was Ulrica," replied James. 

"Snape and a few of his buddies are being idiots again," angrily spoke Allegra, missing Hunter's quiet sniggers, as if he knew the group of Slytherin boys weren't entirely responsible, at least not for all of it. Another two charms hit her before Allegra could continue with her rant or make the rude demands of those before her. One had a white shimmer to it, and the other had a blue spark. The first locked her legs together, causing her to tumble forward, whereas the other was by far the worst for Allegra, a singing charm. 

"Hunter" called (Y/N), as she tried to contain her laughter. 

"I'll hold my hands up to the Pumpkin Head, but the rest I'm surprisingly innocent of," replied Hunter, spotting Regulus and Mason giggling among their group of friends while pointing to the larger group of girls. 

"I guess you two rubbed off on Mason and Regulus," Marlene commented with a chuckle. She finds her brother's actions sweet in a way, although she feels as if she should be protecting him. He seemed determined to get payback on her bullies, particularly Allegra, who'd tormented her throughout their second year. 

"I'm so proud right now," said Sirius, although he'd unlikely say that in front of his parents. He would happily say it to Regulus before the train home reached Kings Cross. 

Series Masterlist

#wizarding world #x reader #sirius black #james potter #metamorphic reader #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #reader insert #sirius black x reader #lily evans #marlene mckinnon #marauders era #marauders #the marauders #oc characters #regulus black #cross posted on quotev #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on ao3 #part 13

[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 #spark of rebellion #ghost of geonosis #sw rebels #star wars rebels season 1 #star wars rebels season 3 #star wars polls #sw rebels season 1 #sw rebels season 3 #sw rebels round 1 #part 13

[universitypenguin]

Chapter XIII

The Princess & The Lawyer

Summary: A scare with her stalker causes Princess to take matters into her own hands. Meanwhile in Idaho, Lloyd finds himself between a rock and hard place.

Word Count: 8,058

Masterlist

Warnings: Description of a physical assault with a blunt weapon, stalking, harassment, dangerous encounter with a semi-wild animal, cowboy/ranch work, illegal drug trade, and corruption. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors. 

Author’s Note: I wish this installment hadn’t taken so long, but between going on interviews and then changing jobs, the past few months have been crazy. Thank you for waiting, encouraging me, and sticking with this story.

Chapter XIII 

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

You were counting down the seconds until you could end this call but Weston Tafferty was in prime form tonight. Even though you’d clocked out thirty minutes ago, he seemed to think your personal time was fair game for work-related conversation. He continued to fire off questions as you struggled to fill in your eyebrows and carry your end of the conversation. If he didn’t wrap this up soon, you’d still be on the phone with him during your belated family birthday dinner.

“Why wasn’t I cc’d on your emails to Detective Roth?” Weston asked. 

“I’m not using my work account for those messages. Roth set me up on their encrypted server.” 

“And this prevents you from emailing me how?”

“Wes, that information is too sensitive to share.” 

“Hmmm. I’ll give you a pass for now, but next time, make sure I’m in the loop. I also noticed you haven’t been using my spreadsheet system. If you don’t comply with departmental requirements, I’ll have to write you up.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Okay. Listen, I’m already off work and I have plans. Email me the details and I’ll take it up with HR.” 

A while ago this sort of micromanagement would’ve sent you through the roof. Tonight, other stresses were taking up too much mental space for you to care. And thanks to Weston’s call, you were running ten minutes late. You tapped your phone to check the time and realized ten minutes had become fifteen. Great. Your Mom would kill you if you were late to your own party. 

Another icon on the home screen caught your eye. There was no little red number hoovering in the corner of your message app to announce new texts. 

There had been no new messages for a week. 

Aiden had just… stopped. It should feel good, but your nervous system was screaming. An impending sense of doom settled over you and kept you trapped in the house all week. Your gut said this ceasefire was temporary and Aiden was biding his time. 

You’d filed a complaint with the police and he'd gone no contact. It was disorienting. Just when you started taking Aiden’s threats seriously, he stopped making them. Filling out the paperwork at Metro had stripped away the delusion you’d maintained last week. Writing the incidents in black and white on police forms laid waste to your sense of security. As the silence had stretched from one day into two, and then into four, fear sank deeper into your consciousness. 

Staying locked in Lloyd’s house forever wasn’t an option. If it were, you’d do just that. But your parents had already delayed your birthday celebration because of the Singapore trip, and backing out now would demand an explanation you weren’t prepared to give. 

Checking your reflection in the full-length mirror, you frowned. Thanks to Aiden’s threats about your apartment, you’d avoided going home, so the only dinner outfit you had was the dress Lloyd gave you in Singapore. Unfortunately, the skirt didn’t cover your knees. Self-defense lessons with Landon and Jake had left them covered in ugly bruises. 

There was no way Vivan wouldn’t notice and then your mother would make a fuss. You tried covering the marks with concealer. As you were applying setting powder, your phone buzzed. Hands full of makeup, you glanced at the screen.

A message read: Here. 

You were expecting Jake and tapped ‘K’ in reply.

There was a noise from below as the front door opened, then the scuff of sneakers on tile. You tossed the concealer into your makeup bag and rinsed your hands before heading downstairs. 

“Hey, Jake! Guess what? No new messages today. He’s gone from obsessed to silent. It’s crazy…” 

You turned the corner and froze. The visitor wasn’t Jake.

“Zach!”

He removed his sunglasses, hooking them on the top button of his shirt. 

“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t know you were coming by,” you said. 

“I texted. Jake’s working late. He asked me to check in, said there’d been trouble with raccoons knocking over garbage cans.” 

“Yes… Racoons.” 

“Everything okay?” Zach asked. 

“Absolutely.”

He cocked his head. “Yeah? Who were you talking about before?”

“Uh… I was scheduling a follow up with a witness. A witness in another case. He was responsive at first, like, obnoxiously, but suddenly… you know. He’s ghosting me.” 

“You seem nervous.”

You needed to lie - convincingly. 

“I’m fighting with Vivian, and my birthday dinner is tonight. It’s going to be interesting.” 

“That’s all?”

“Yeah. Just family drama.” 

“Hmmm. Jake’s been cracking his knuckles all week, which is never a good sign. I checked the location history on our work phones and saw Landon and Jake have been stopping by regularly. What gives, Y/N?” 

“That sounds like an invasion of privacy,” you said.

“They’re my phones. Speaking of… give me yours.” 

He held out his hand. 

“No way.” 

“Suppose the racoons aren’t just racoons, Princess. Give me your phone. I won’t check the location without cause.” 

You hesitated.

Zach wiggled his fingers. “Give it.” 

You handed him the phone. Zach tapped in commands as you collected your purse. By the time you’d checked your wallet and keys, he’d installed the app. 

“When did you hear the racoons?”

“Ten-thirty.”

“Did the floodlights come on?” Zach asked.

“Ah… I don’t remember.” 

You wished Jake had given you a heads up about the cover story. Zach passed you the phone. 

“I’ll take a look. Don’t let me keep you, I’ve got my own keys.” 

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

“Charlene, don’t be a bitch. Let’s talk about this before you do something crazy.”

Lloyd tried to make his tone as cajoling as possible. Facing down the bad-tempered female with death in her tawny eyes, he was willing to press any advantage he could, including charm.

The cow snorted and bobbed her head. He recognized that look and untethered his rope from the saddle horn in response. Through the act his eyes stayed locked on Charlene. She might be a Charolais heifer, but her temperament rivaled the most vicious Jersey bull. He uncoiled his rope and extended the loop to allow for her horns. While he understood his father had been sick, it was a crime not to have de-horned this monster when she was born. Her attitude was defense enough without having weapons attached to her head. 

He swung the lasso a few times, getting it into shape.

“Charlene” – so named because all Charolais heifers were Charlene in his book – pawed the ground. Getting her out of the pasture hadn’t been easy and herding her through the corrals was an event he’d rather forget. But he hadn’t expected the sight of the narrow alley into the loading chute would turn her into a psychotic demon. 

The rail-road tie fencing of the alley was six feet high and not much wider inside. Charlene had made up her mind about it in an instant, despite the fact she’d probably never seen such a thing before in her life. He’d found most of his father’s herd balked at the loading chute. Even in the pasture they acted half-wild, like they hadn’t seen a human in years. After that discovery he’d installed a series of gates in the alleyway for better control. The first was at the entrance and another positioned in the middle to prevent cows from backing up or creating a crowd-crush. The system worked, assuming the animal went in. 

Charlene bellowed and raised her head, puffing herself up. Jane, the quarter horse under him, shuffled back a step. He hoped she had nerves of steel because the last thing he wanted was to snap his neck getting bucked off and finding out what the business end of Charlene’s horns felt like was equally unappealing.

“Can you hurry it up? We’re behind schedule!”

The semi-truck driver called to him over the fence and Lloyd ignored him. He adjusted the rope and turned it so the loop’s bottom strand flipped over his wrist. When he raised his arm, muscle memory kicked in. Without a conscious thought his thumb clenched and his fingers curled, while his elbow and shoulder rolled in a familiar motion. He stood up and put most of his weight into the left stirrup, preparing for the throw. When Charlene’s muscles rippled, he angled the lasso down and threw the loop, relishing the speed as it flew over his hand. 

He was still focused on the mechanics of the action when Jane spooked. He’d leaned into the throw which placed his weight in the opposite direction of where she’d run. When she bucked again, he swore and lost a stirrup. Lloyd grabbed the saddle horn and fought to keep his seat. 

The lasso sailed over Charlene’s horns despite Jane’s fit. He drew it snug and anchored the rope to his saddle horn. When the little roan under him felt the rope pull, she spun around, leaning back on her haunches. Charlene tossed her head, fighting the restraint.

“Good girl, Jane. You’re a roping horse, aren't you?” 

The mare flicked her ears in appreciation. He laughed, surprised at his good fortune. His father hadn’t had many good traits but his taste in horses was impeccable. Lloyd twisted the rope back and forth. Charlene bellowed as it rubbed and moved forward. When he clicked his tongue, Jane backed into the narrow alleyway, dragging Charlene along. 

“Hey, kid!” Lloyd called to the driver’s assistant. 

“Yes, sir?”

“Shut that gate!” 

This was the farthest he’d gotten her. If he lost his grip on the rope, he’d rather chase her in the confinement of the alley than around the corral. When the gate clanged shut behind her, the heifer kicked at it and made contact, causing the panel to clang against the chain fastener.

Charlene lunged at Jane. 

The horse reared and Lloyd leaned into the movement just in time to avoid a tumble. Jane turned in mid-air and landed facing the gate that had just been shut. Lloyd yanked his rope over the saddle horn, and leapt off. He smacked Jane’s hind quarters, sending her galloping, and whistled at the heifer to keep her attention while the kid opened the gate for the horse. 

Whistling really pissed Charlene off. 

He turned and sprinted for the fence and felt her breath on his back pocket just as his foot hit the railing. He managed to climb halfway up before she slammed into his leg. Lloyd gasped at the burst of pain. When the pressure let up, he jumped down and rolled under the second gate. 

“Holy shit, you’ve got a death wish,” the driver said. “I’m not taking this one!” 

“She’ll calm down. She just doesn’t like trailers,” Lloyd said.

He had no idea if that was true, but he wasn’t about to keep her around to find out. 

Charlene paced back and forth, eyeing him on the other side of the gate, dragging the rope he’d dropped through the mud. Lloyd stood up. She shook her head and bellowed, making the rope whip around. By a stroke of good luck he caught the end and pulled it under the gate. 

As the alley narrowed, barricade posts set inside the high fence guided the cattle into the loading chute. He wound the rope around one and tugged, testing its strength. Charlene was big and this post wasn’t built to withstand that kind of weight. Lloyd wrapped the rope around again. 

“If this cow kills me, I’ll sue you,” the driver said from the other side of the fence.

“I don’t think you’re the one she’s looking to kill.”

The assistant climbed over from the corral and landed beside his boss. He looked at Lloyd. 

“You okay? Did she break anything?”

“No, I’m good. Do me a favor. Be ready to shut that trailer, fast.”

“What?” 

Lloyd unchained the gate and moved to the far side of the alley. He glanced at the kid.

“Ready?” 

The assistant ran to the trailer. Lloyd tightened the rope around the post, lashed it around his hand for good measure, and unlatched the second gate. He moved to the other side of the alley, parallel to the barrier post, and kicked the gate open, making it crash against the fence. This time the noise didn’t spook Charlene. She was too focused on Lloyd to care. 

He stood there and let her charge. The barrier post served as a pivot point, creating a zig-zag that shortened the rope. Charlene was just a few feet away when she ran out of length and was swung around by the force of her own momentum. She stumbled into the loading chute and Lloyd shoved the metal panel into place behind her. He climbed up the fence and pulled the rope off her horns. When it was off, he whistled. She bolted in the only direction she could, straight into the trailer. The kid slammed the door shut.

Jane was waiting by the gate, exactly where she’d run after he’d jumped off. Lloyd led her out of the corral around to the cattle truck. The assistant watched him secure his rope to the saddle with obvious interest. 

“Do you rodeo, sir?”

“Nope, never have.”

The kid’s expression was disbelieving. “Why?” 

“My father preferred to train and sell horses instead of competing with them.” 

“You could’ve made a killing at jackpot ropings!” 

Lloyd chuckled, amused by the kid’s enthusiasm. 

The driver scowled. “We’re behind schedule.”

“That’s the pleasure of working with animals,” Lloyd said.

“I’m charging you for the delay. You should’ve shot this one, she’s going to kill somebody.”  

“She’ll be fine once you unload her. Do you have everything you need?”

The kid answered. “We just need your signature.”

The driver fetched the paperwork while Lloyd fielded the kid’s roping questions. It surprised him to find he enjoyed giving the advice. 

When the livestock haulers were off, he walked Jane to the barn.

“You earned some oats for not breaking my neck,” Lloyd said.

Jane snorted and picked up her pace. 

In front of the barn, he noticed marks in the dirt. He looped Jane’s reins through a hitching ring without bothering to secure them and crouched to study the boot prints. The mixture of clay and loam soil held its shape well, and the sun had baked the dirt into a detailed cast. He’d found similar impressions on Tuesday morning which had motivated him to spend the next few days herding cattle on the outskirts of the ranch. 

The sneaky, unwanted visitor didn’t surprise him. 

Settling the ranch’s affairs was his duty. Dealing with his father’s illegal side business wasn’t. He’d be insane to get involved in a drug running operation and risk a second strike on his record. 

Lloyd studied the print. He knew it wasn’t from him. The first thing he’d done when he’d arrived was dig out his cowboy boots and start cleaning the barn. His boots were leather soled, designed to slide easily in and out of stirrups. They left a distinct heel and triangular forefoot print. The visitor’s boots had a tread pattern that was usually found on rubber soles. Whoever wore these shoes spent his days on city streets, not on a ranch. A sinking feeling settled in his chest. He had a strong hunch about the visitor’s identity, but hoped he was wrong. Lloyd dusted off his jeans, and went to untack Jane. He placed the saddle and blanket over the door of an empty stall. 

He glanced toward the tack room and his stomach clenched. Inhaling sharply, he turned away. 

After Jane was settled with a bale of grass hay and a bucket of oats, he walked to the small pen where a sick calf was bedded down in the straw. His eyes and nose were running with thick green mucus that left no doubt infection had taken hold. Lloyd checked his water. It hadn’t been touched. 

“Whatever bug you’re fighting might not kill you, but dehydration sure will.” 

The calf wheezed. 

Lloyd shook his head. “You need a vet.”

His ears twitched at the words, but he didn’t raise his head. After changing the calf’s water Lloyd went to the house and used the landline to call Anderson’s Feed Store. 

Henry Anderson picked up on the first ring. Of course, he not only knew the local vet, but promised he’d have them swing by around six. Then he started firing off questions with the zeal of a Spanish Inquisitor. How was college? Did he like Harvard, or did he wish he’d gone to Notre Dame? What had he enjoyed about England? How much did it rain over there? Did he know Coach Olsen had hung a framed picture of him receiving the Bushnell Cup in the gym lobby?

Lloyd sat down at the kitchen table and answered the inquiries. He noticed when Mr. Anderson skipped over questions about his post-college years and fast forwarded to current events. The effortless way he sidestepped the uncomfortable subject squeezed Lloyd’s heart. His unseemly history didn’t warrant such a tactful maneuver and because of it, Henry’s easy grace hit him like a three hundred pound linebacker. 

“I knew that determination would take you places. I haven’t employed another highschool kid for four years straight since you.” 

At that time, he’d done his best to stay out of Joe’s way which meant the long hours at Henry’s store were a perk. Later, their fully stocked breakroom fridge had allowed him to avoid going home for days at a time.

“How’s April doing?” 

He finally asked about the topic he’d been expecting would come up, but hadn’t. 

“She’s doing well. Married a boy from Portland and now we’ve got four grandchildren. The oldest is a senior this fall, and the middle one starts seventh grade. The second youngest is in kindergarten and the baby turns two in a month.”  

“Wow… that’s a range of ages.” 

“The baby is her Mama’s spitting image. It took four tries, but her genes finally hit copy paste.” 

Henry laughed at his own joke while Lloyd tried to imagine it.

“I’m sure you’ll catch up with her, but I’ve got to let you go. A load of grain just pulled in. The vet says they’ll be by after 5:30, probably closer to 6.” 

“Thanks, Henry.” 

He hung up and tried to wrap his head around the bombshell that April Anderson was married with four kids. He wondered why Henry had suggested they catch up. It seemed to imply she still lived in the area. Lloyd shook off the curiosity and grabbed the truck keys. He didn’t have time for a social call. Already, it was mid-afternoon and his errands in town couldn’t be put off any longer. 

Lloyd paused at the door and reached into the side table drawer. As expected, his father’s loaded .22 Sig Sauer was inside, encased in a leather shoulder holster that held two extra magazines in a pocket on the right strap. Being a felon, he wasn’t legally allowed to carry a gun, let alone a concealed gun. He thought of the boot prints and his suspicions about the night-time visitor, then removed his denim shirt and slipped on the holster. He covered it with the shirt and checked his reflection. The loose garment and compact weapon rendered the bulge under his arm almost invisible. He put on his sunglasses and grabbed a baseball cap from the shelf. 

It was just a quick trip to town. He’d be in and out before anyone knew he was there. 

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

You tugged at your skirt, trying in vain to shield your bruised knees. Even with setting powder, the concealer hadn’t provided the coverage you’d hoped for. 

Vivian stirred her yogurt and watched you from the corner of her eye. Your birthday dinner had gone better than expected. For dessert you’d taken the family out for frozen yogurt and, at your Mom’s suggestion, walked down to the park so Alyssa could run around. She’d behaved well at the restaurant, but after two hours of sitting, she was getting antsy. 

With the efficiency of a general, Mom had taken charge of Sam and ordered Juan to mind Alyssa. She had sent you and Vivian off to ‘enjoy the peace and quiet,’ which was code for ‘go make up because I said so.’ From a shady bench you watched Mom encouraging Sam to walk through the splash pad spray. She was bent over, letting him hold both her hands for balance, uncaring of the mist soaking the lower half of her linen pants. Hector, Caleb, and Diego were kicking a soccer ball in the grass and Juan was hovering nearby, watching Alyssa play in the landscaping.

“What’s Alyssa doing?” you asked Vivian. 

“Playing with rocks. I don’t know why, but if you give her a rock, she’ll look at it for hours.” 

“Huh. Interesting.” 

“What happened to your knees?” Vivian asked. 

“I fell.”

“Were you drinking?”

“Vivian!” 

“What, you’re not uncoordinated. Were you drinking?”

“No!”

“Well, I have to ask. You’ve been acting super weird lately,” she said. 

That was true. You cringed under her scrutiny and decided to change the topic.

“I’m sorry, Vivian.” 

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“My reaction to your pregnancy was uncalled for. I overstepped, and I’m sorry.”

“I dropped it on you like a ton of bricks, so there’s that. You don’t handle change well and I should’ve known to break the news gently.” 

“Hey! I’m great with change.” 

“Absolutely, you just roll with the punches.” Vivian snickered, and dissolved into giggles. Then her gaze shifted to your frozen yogurt. “Can I have a bite?”

You held out the cup. She sampled it and made a face.

“Yuck.”  

“First you insult my adaptability, then my taste buds.”

“Speaking of taste, congratulations on the break up.”

It took you a second to realize what she meant. “When did I tell you about that?”

“You told Caleb, which is like telling the whole family.”

“Right.”

“Does your boss live in the Historic District of Alexandria? By those swanky townhouses?” Vivian asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

Her eyes gleamed. “Last night I checked your location on Life360. Guess where you were?”

Oh, crap…

“Why were you at your boss’s house at three a.m?”

“I’m house sitting,” you said. 

“For three weeks? Bullshit.”

“Damn it, I’m going to delete that stupid app. I thought I already did-”

“I stole your phone and reinstalled it. Before you ask, yes, I check your location every night. Are you dating your boss?”

“He’s not my boss. Technically, Weston Tafferty is my supervisor.” 

“Lloyd’s last name is Hansen, right?”

You frowned. “Did you Google him?”

“I really should apply to the FBI someday,” Vivian said, grinning. 

“Listen, you can’t believe everything on the internet…”

She was already opening a website on her phone.

“Have you seen this?” 

You braced yourself to explain Lloyd’s escapades, but it was an article from the Boston Globe sports section dated 26 October 2001. The headline read “Harvard Beats Penn, Cinches Ivy Title” and the photo underneath showed a group of sweaty men in tight white pants and hulking shoulder pads. Lloyd was in the middle. He’d taken his helmet off, revealing a clean shaven jaw and hair three shades lighter than it was now, but there was no mistaking that bone structure. 

“Look at that man. He is fine,” Vivian drew the middle vowel of ‘fine’ into a throaty purr. 

“It’s not like that, I’m-”

“You’re sleeping with him, just spill.” 

You groaned and covered your face.

“Y/N, please? It’s just us. And unlike Caleb, I can keep a secret. I can keep all the secrets, so tell me everything.” 

Your sister was absolutely reliable as a confidant, but your relationship with Lloyd was so new and undefined. Then again, maybe you could use some outside perspective on the matter. It would probably go a long way toward repairing the rift between you. 

“Okay. So, Aiden ended things-”

“Shut up! He broke up with you?!”

Her outrage was a delight. “Unfortunately. Lloyd took me out for dinner and you’ll never guess what happened then…”

By the time you left the park, dusk was falling. Talking to Vivian had settled your mind about the crazy twist your relationship with Lloyd had taken and confirmed that you were enjoying the new status quo, as tenuous as it might be. 

There was a flier stuck under your windshield wiper. Assuming it was an advertisement, you grabbed it, slid behind the wheel and turned on the air conditioner, then unfolded the page. Breath froze in your lungs and your heart dropped like a stone as blood drained from your face so fast your vision blurred.

It was a photo of you and Vivian on the park bench. You scanned it for clues, trying to decipher the angle it had been taken from and realized the photographer must have been on the other side of the splash pad from where you’d been sitting. A shiver ran down your spine. You scanned the street, with its long shadows and fluorescent lamps. Aiden could be anywhere. Fragments of the messages he’d sent flashed through your mind, raising goosebumps on your arms. Your hands clenched into fists. This was no way to live. You couldn’t tolerate it.

Trying to calm your racing heart, you took several deep breaths. After the pressure eased in your chest and you felt clear-headed again, you evaluated your options. There was the obvious choice - contact Detective Diskant at metro and give him the photo. But hadn’t you already done that? Aiden had responded by stepping up his game. Not only had he followed you, he’d followed your family and been bold enough to leave behind photographic evidence of the act.

The message was clear: I’m watching, and you can’t stop me.

Reporting him had made things worse. You threw the car into reverse; it was time to show Aiden who he was dealing with. 

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

His errands took longer than expected. 

The health district office was slammed, and he’d waited more than an hour for copies of his father’s death certificate. Paying property taxes in person was a bureaucratic nightmare, and so was settling the funeral home bill. His last stop was the priest, and he’d cut that visit short. To make sure they wouldn’t cancel Joe’s service because of his rudeness, he’d added a zero to his donation. With one eye on the clock, he made the final turn towards home. The clock ticked off another minute. Not wanting to miss the vet, he sped up.

Sirens wailed.

Lloyd hissed. He hadn’t risked speeding on the interstate after spotting the black and white vehicle tailing him, but he’d thought he had shaken them miles ago. Red and blue flashing lights followed him to the edge of the road as he pulled over. 

Great. What a fantastic ending to an afternoon filled with unpleasant errands. He’d handed over a small fortune to the county and fucking donated to an organization that owned more land than Bill Gates. Like an ice cream sundae wouldn’t be complete without the cherry on top, this miserable day couldn’t be finished with anything less than a traffic stop. 

He parked a few meters from the ranch’s front gate. The police truck didn’t pull in behind him; instead, it maneuvered around and turned into his driveway. It swung to the right and reversed into a parallel park, blocking the road. 

The side decal on the pickup read ‘SHERIFF’ in bold print. 

Lloyd watched the driver climb out. Even at a distance, he recognized the well-built man thanks to the distinctive outline of his Montana crease cowboy hat. This one was pecan colored instead of gray. It matched the tan uniform better than his old one, Lloyd noted. 

He rolled down the window and propped his elbow on the ledge to hide the holster under his arm.

“Evening, Sheriff. Was I speeding?”

“License and registration.”

Lloyd took his time finding the papers and handed them over, one by one.

“You’re looking well, Holbrook. It’s like you haven’t aged a day.”

The jab made the Sheriff’s upper lip curl, but he didn’t bat an eye as he examined the papers. Charles Holbrook was his senior by twelve years, though the way he wore those years made it look like twenty. His bulky aviators didn’t cover the wrinkles around his eyes and what Lloyd could see of his hair had gone gray. 

Holbrook tilted his hat back. 

“Where were you headed in such a hurry, son?”

“I’ve got a sick calf and the vet’s due any minute.” 

The Sheriff looked to the passenger seat where the file of tax papers lay.

“What’s in the folder?”

“If you’ve got a warrant you can look, but if not…” 

“Where are you coming back from?”

“Town.”

Holbrook ran his tongue around his teeth. “You sure about that? Just town? Nowhere else?”

It seemed his instinct about being followed had been correct. He wished he hadn’t slipped their tail earlier, because it had given them the chance to set up this speed trap. 

Lloyd shrugged. “I’m just trying to get home and take care of my animals, Sheriff.”

Knowing who he was dealing with helped Lloyd keep his temper in check. Thirty years ago, when he’d been a young deputy, Charles Holbrook had joined Joe’s drug running operation. Harsher sentencing guidelines made his father cautious enough to find an insurance policy and Holbrook fit the bill. He proved himself effective and ambitious, which was why Lloyd hadn’t been surprised to hear they’d had a falling out after he’d left for college. Rumor was, the Sheriff and Joe had spent the past twenty years at war, fighting over control of the intermountain west drug trade.

Holbrook grasped the butt of his gun. Lloyd tensed, then a blur of action drew his attention. The passenger door of the police truck flew open. A young man in a deputy’s uniform burst out with a pump action rifle.

Shit. 

The .22 under his arm wouldn’t be any defense if the deputy was a good shot and given that Holbrook was nobody’s fool, especially in these matters… carrying illegally had been a colossal mistake. The tiniest infarction would be an excuse to throw him in jail. Lloyd’s jaw clenched as he appreciated that in this scenario, Holbrook’s definition of “jail” would mean “the bottom of Redfish Lake.” 

“Watch your back, Lloyd. You know the rules in these parts.” 

Rage bubbled in his chest at the threat. His nostrils flared as he took a sharp breath, struggling against the urge to fight. The Sheriff smirked. 

“It’d be a shame if there were two Hansen funerals this week, Lloyd. Don’t do anything stupid. We need to have a serious chat about-”

Holbrook cut off at the sound of gravel crunching behind them. Lloyd saw another vehicle had pulled up behind his truck and scowled. He couldn’t decide if he should be amused or annoyed that he warranted backup. This was a run of the mill shake down, not… Damn it. His gaze swung to the rearview mirror. The white pickup had boxed him in. With the sheriff on his left, the deputy in front of him, and the newcomer behind, he was trapped. 

It was a straight shot through the windshield with the pump action rifle. Lloyd figured he could shoot Holbrook and take cover behind the engine block, but that left him vulnerable to the occupant of the white pickup. By the time he got off a shot he’d have six rounds in his back.

“Luke! Put that away!” 

Holbrook straightened up and faced the new arrival. 

Lloyd didn’t blink, eyes tracking the deputy’s every move, while he complied with the request. His attention stayed on the rifle until it was out of sight. Only then did his attention return to the Sheriff, who wore a welcoming smile for the approaching woman. She wore a navy baseball cap, plaid button down, and Levi’s tucked into cowboy boots. There was something familiar about her that tickled the edge of his memory. 

“Dr. Ward! Haven’t I told you it’s not wise to interrupt police business?” 

Holbrook’s tone was the same one used to discipline golden retrievers - exasperated, but indulgent. 

“Well, Sheriff, this time it’s you interrupting my business. I’ve got a sick calf to see and you’re blocking the road.” 

She nodded at the police truck, and when she turned her head, he spotted the auburn ponytail. Lloyd’s jaw dropped. 

“April? April Anderson?”

“It’s Ward now,” she said, grinning. “Dad mentioned you had an emergency, but this isn’t the kind of emergency I expected.”

“Nah, no emergency here. Sheriff Holbrook was letting me off with a warning.”

“That’s sweet of you, Sheriff. Do you mind clearing the road?” 

Holbrook’s lips twisted into a sour pucker, but he touched two fingers to the brim of his hat and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

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

You sat in your car, gripping the steering wheel tight. 

Just being parked on this street felt dangerous. Despite the risk, anger was more powerful than logic in your current frame of mind. You hung onto that fury. If the past few days had taught you anything, it was that living in fear wasn’t sustainable. Rage felt like a suitable alternative - it was certainly more pleasant than terror. 

Thoughts of rage turned your mind to Lloyd. If he knew about your situation, he’d be apocalyptic. He’d protected you in Singapore with no consideration for himself and that recklessness worried you. If he flew off the handle there was a decent chance he’d end up facing a second round of felony charges. The prospect of Lloyd being sent to jail because of your mistakes was untenable. You needed to handle Aiden yourself. 

From the spot you’d parked, on the opposite side of the street to Aiden’s house, you had a perfect view into the living room. He was inside and based on what you’d seen in the last thirty minutes, he was alone. Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage and imagined you were Lloyd. You thought of the irritable man who’d stormed into the paralegal office and invaded your life. The image filled your mind, thrilling and comforting in equal measure. You remembered the boisterous, almost wild energy that version of Lloyd had carried into a room.

Thinking of his confidence helped ease the tug of caution that insisted you’d be safer turning around and driving back to Virginia. You twisted your neck, warming up the muscles and taking deep, steady breaths. In less than a minute, your shoulders relaxed and your jaw unclenched as the last clouds of doubt rolled away. 

Moving with purpose, you stepped out of the car and stalked across the street toward the two-story brick colonial with an immaculate front lawn. Your heart was hammering, but the fear was buried under a thick fog of anger. You were going to demolish Aiden. 

You rang the bell and waited. The door opened and Aiden looked irritated to see you. The sight of him made your lip curl into a snarl.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you leave me alone?” 

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

You shoved the photo in his face. 

“This, Aiden. I’m talking about this!”

“Huh?”

“I found it on the hood of my car an hour ago. You took this picture and left it to threaten me.” 

“I didn’t do anything!” 

“Don’t lie.”

Aiden scoffed. “You’re crazy. It’s just a picture.” 

“You’re harassing me. You’ve been texting me, stalking my building, and trying to make me uncomfortable. Well, guess what? I’ve already forwarded the texts to your father and filed a complaint with the police. Even with all that, you don’t seem to be getting the message, so here it is. Stop. Bothering. Me.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Trust me, Aiden. If you make my life hell, I’ll be happy to return the favor - in triplicate.” 

“You’re a drama queen, you know that, right? I’m not the one who came to your house. You should be glad I’m giving you the time of day - it’s not like you’d do the same.”

“I know you sent the texts. You’re taking your problems out on me, and if you keep doing it, you’ll find out that I punch back. Stay away from me. Stay away from my family. This is the last time I’ll say it - next time you find out I mean what I say.” 

He crossed his arms, straightening. “You should watch your mouth, bitch.” 

“And you should watch your back. You’re going to leave me alone. If you don't, I’ll put you in a world of hurt.”

“See if I care.” 

“You should. Because if you don’t, I’ll give you a reason to.” 

“Whatever.” 

You raised your chin.

“I don’t need you to believe me. Because whether or not you think I’m serious, I am. This is me giving you the chance to turn things around. Go very far away from me and stay there. If you don’t, you have no one to blame but yourself for what happens next.” 

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

The calf ended up with a prescription for long-term antibiotics, and he persuaded April to have a beer with him. He couldn’t help but stare as they sat on opposite sides of the small kitchen table. She broke the silence first. 

“Nice mustache. It ages you, but somehow it suits you.”

“Thanks. I can’t believe you’re still here. I figured some city boy would sweep you off your feet and take you to Seattle or Boise.” 

“He did, but I took him home instead of the other way around.”

“I guess your taste in men improved after high school,” Lloyd teased. 

“Given my starting point, it couldn’t have gotten much worse.” 

He laughed. “After Tyler, I was a step up.” 

Tyler Claffey had been April’s first boyfriend. He played defensive tackle to Lloyd’s quarterback and they’d been on the same team since fifth grade. Their hatred of each other ran deeper than the traditional offense vs. defense rivalry every football team suffered. Tyler still held the distinction of being the most insecure person Lloyd had ever known. For his part, Tyler hated Lloyd’s sullen disposition, lack of regard for other people’s opinions, and most of all, for being a superior athlete. 

When he was caught cheating on her the week before junior prom, April had asked Lloyd to be her date. He knew the goal was to twist the knife in Tyler’s side and had accepted the invitation. They went to prom together and ended up dating until graduation. 

“Tell me about your husband,” Lloyd said. 

“Michael. We met in college, but didn’t date until after. He’s a lawyer.” 

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” 

“Is he tall, dark, and handsome… with a mustache?”

April snorted. “No, no, yes, and absolutely not. I know you aren’t married, because no woman would tolerate that facial hair. You should grow a beard.” 

“My girlfriend doesn’t mind it.”

Lloyd felt a ripple of concern at how naturally the word ‘girlfriend’ rolled off his tongue, but pushed it aside. He considered April - the first and last woman to hold that title - and shook his head. 

“I can’t believe you stuck around.” 

“I didn’t hate it here, you did.”

“I had to get away. You know why.” 

April nodded. She picked at the label on her drink and lowered her voice.

“How did you feel, when they told you he was dead?”

“Shocked, disbelieving. More of the latter, to be honest. The hospital called and explained but I just… I thought he couldn’t die.”

“Are you okay, being back? Like, here, in this house?” 

Lloyd shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Have you been in touch with your family?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m it.”

April raised an eyebrow. “Your sisters?”

He looked away. 

“You never searched for them? After all these years? I…” she broke off. “Lloyd? Did something happen to them?” 

“I can’t say for sure. I didn’t look them up because I knew what I’d find.” 

“What do you mean?”

“My mother couldn’t take care of them. Even back then, I knew.” 

“She left the summer before fifth grade, right?”

“Yeah. My father was away, it was just me and the girls. The house was peaceful. That’s what I remember most about those last days.” 

April’s brow creased in confusion, so he explained.

“She didn’t have any of her normal outbursts, episodes, whatever you’d call them. Looking back, she must have started on some kind of antipsychotic meds. A few days before Dad returned I woke up to an empty house.” 

He looked out at the barnyard and saw it as it was thirty years ago. Almost exactly thirty years to the day, he realized with a jolt. 

“Her car was gone. Josephine’s closet was empty and so was Ingrid’s. Only some of my mother’s things had been taken, but when I saw the suitcases were missing, I knew they weren’t coming back.”

“I’m sorry,” April whispered. 

She reached across the table and covered his hand. Lloyd folded his fingers around hers.

“I hate remembering. I can’t go through the barn without thinking of Ingrid and that evil little Shetland who bit everyone. I taught her to saddle him, but I think I put on his bridle every time she wanted to ride.”

“Clever girl.”

Lloyd smiled. “She’d hunt for arrowheads with me. Josie used to go with us because if we didn’t take her, she’d cry and that would set Mom off. She liked to collect flowers and press them in parchment. The first night here, I went into her room and…” 

Emotion choked him. A piece of wax paper had fallen from the pages of one of her story books. It was a bright, cheerful Black-eyed Susan. He’d stood there staring at it, as if it were a rattlesnake. 

Lloyd shuddered. 

“My mother may as well have driven them off a cliff, instead of off the ranch. I never looked them up… not knowing is easier.” 

April squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“When I was in prison, the psychiatrist asked me if I’d ever felt love. The question made me furious. I couldn’t believe he’d think me incapable of such a basic emotion, but then I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt love - no offense -”

“None taken.”

“I knew my reaction was genuine, but until Monday night when I saw the rocking chair, I couldn’t figure out where it had come from.” 

Their eyes drifted to the pine rocker by the front window.

“That’s where they let me hold Josie for the first time.”

April squeezed his hand. “Is your girlfriend coming for the funeral? I’d love to meet her.”

“No. I didn’t want her to see me like this.”

Lloyd turned his hand, bringing hers to rest on top, and studied the impressive diamond ring on her left finger. 

“Nice rock.”

“It spends most of its time on a chain around my neck. That’s what he gets for marrying a vet.” 

He used his thumb to turn the ring left and right, admiring the way it caught the light.

“I knew we wouldn’t last, but I loved you, April.”

“Not really. We were good friends, Lloyd. But it didn’t run deeper than that on either side and you were turning bitter.” 

She paused, eyeing him curiously as her tongue traced the edge of her upper teeth.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What happened between you and Coach Olsen?”

Lloyd slipped his hand free at the naming of his former football coach. “You don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s been decades and I’m still curious.”

“Olsen took bribes. USC paid him to make sure I didn’t sign with Harvard.”

“But you liked Harvard the most.” 

“He was stringing them along, making it sound like I hadn’t decided so the money kept flowing. Obviously, that’s not kosher with the NCAA.” 

“He put your scholarship at risk. I understand why you cut ties.”

His lips twisted. 

“It was more than that. I got a call from USC in July, which was odd because I’d already committed to Harvard. Their rep let it slip about Olsen. I was livid. Mind meltingly furious, unlike anything I’d felt before.” 

The memory made his stomach pitch. Something visceral had come over him and he’d felt his mind loosen, allowing the monster to emerge. The dam holding back years of rage burst and nothing could stem the tide.

“I’d worried I was like Joe, but until that night I wasn’t sure. Whatever had held me in check snapped. I don’t remember the drive into town, just walking across the field and seeing lights on in the shed. Olsen was in the office, working. The football shed wasn’t air conditioned back then, so the garage door was open.” 

The scene played behind his eyes, undistorted by time. He saw the white cinder block shed and felt the thrill of finding his prey. Later, that feeling had become an addiction, better than cocaine and longer lasting than ecstasy. 

“I snuck under the garage door into the storage area. They’d brought in the baseball equipment and there was a rack of bats beside the door. On my way through, I grabbed one. He turned when I stepped into the office and started to speak. I swung for his head but he ducked, so I only clipped him. He rushed me, and I struck his right knee, got him on the ground, and then…”

He remembered it in flashes. The sound of bones crunching, screams, then agonized cries. 

When he’d snapped out of the trance there were blisters on his palms.

“I thought I’d killed him. That’s why I left for college a month early. When the team went to state a few years later, I read he was still their coach. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.”

April stared at him. “That was you?! We thought there was a psychopath running around town!”

“There was.”

“I don’t agree with everything you did, but your reaction was understandable.” 

“The only thing I regret is not saying goodbye to you.”

“I figured you wanted a clean break. Once I accepted it was what you needed, I got over it. But I worried about you. I figured we’d stay in touch, you know?” 

He hadn’t wanted anyone too close to him, not after realizing what he was capable of. If he was a monster then the safest place for April was far away from him. Hence, why she remained his first and last girlfriend. 

“Speaking of the past…” April frowned. “Have you spoken to Elliot lately?”

Lloyd’s eyebrows rose. “Elliot? No.” 

The mention of his cousin surprised him. 

Elliot Hansen was the illegitimate son of his father’s sister and some drug dealer from Boise. The drug dealer had vanished upon learning of the pregnancy and two years later, his aunt committed suicide, orphaning her young son. Joe refused to acknowledge him and Elliot became a ward of the state. Like his parents, Elliot got hooked on drugs early and by the end of highschool, he’d been a certified junkie.

“He went to rehab and was working down in Nevada. When your father took a turn for the worse, he came back to help. For the past few months he’s been on Sheriff Holbrook’s list.” 

“Is he on drugs again?” 

“No. I knew Holbrook was shaking you down when I saw the traffic stop because he did the same thing to Elliot.”

“Which earned you a warning to stay out of police business,” Lloyd said. 

“I pay my taxes, I have the right to be nosy.” 

“Damn it, April. I told you Holbrook was dangerous. Why would you put yourself in his line of fire for that lowlife?” 

Her glare was withering. “He kicked meth without anyone’s help and re-built his life from nothing. Don’t call him names.” 

“Fine.” Lloyd held up his hands. “No name calling. Please, continue.”

“I caught the end of their argument. There was something about the ranch and ‘mercury’ but I couldn’t hear anything more.” 

“Did you ask Elliot about it?” 

She shook her head. “No, because I haven’t seen Elliot in two weeks. I’m worried about him, Lloyd. I think something’s happened to him.” 

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

Next - Part XIV

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

Masterlist

Tag List: 

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@denisemarieangelina @before-we-get-started @buckysteveloki-me @patzammit @badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @thiskindahotkindamusic @jesgisborne

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#the princess and the lawyer #lloyd hansen x princess #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen fic #lloyd hansen smut #chris evans characters #chris evans character au #chris evans character #series: the princess & the lawyer #the princess & the lawyer #part 13 #the gray man fanfic #the gray man fanfiction #smut series #no minors #minors dni

[darknutmeg]

Something about the image of a tree growing on a hand makes me wildly uncomfortable. 😵‍💫

But the forest wanted an offering, they definitely gave it more than that.

Also the trader was a very intriguing character. I wonder if he made trades with all who entered the Dreamland.

#malevolent relisten #malevolent #malevolent podcast #part 13

[ejzah]

The Other Shoe, Part 13

***

Before Kensi could completely fall apart, there was a knock on the door, and a familiar voice asked, “Hey, you mind some company?”

“Nell, Callen,” Kensi said, rushing to greet them. She hastily wiped at her eyes as she embraced Nell, and then took a step back. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Like we’d be anywhere else,” Nell scoffed gently. “Eric would have come, but he had a business call he couldn’t reschedule.

“And I always love seeing Sam on pain meds,” Callen added, patting Kensi’s back. “He gets very very laid back.”

“I thought he said he didn’t want anyone visiting.”

Callen nodded enthusiastically at Kensi’s comment. “Exactly. Coming for Deeks is the perfect excuse.”

Smiling at both of them, Kensi leaned in to hug Nell again. She didn’t know what she would have done without the entire team supporting them, but having Nell back had been the confident and shoulder to cry on she needed.

“Thanks, guy.” Heaving a sigh, she gestured at the single chair in the room. “The accommodations and they just took Deeks down, so it’s going to be a while.”

“Well, then let’s grab some coffee, take a walk, antagonize the nurses,” Callen shrugged. “I think I saw some unattended wheelchairs in the hallway.”

“Grisha, we talked about this: we don’t want to get kicked out,” Nell reminded him.

“Hey, I don’t play on getting caught.”

As much as Kensi appreciated the banter, she didn’t have the energy to join in. Or socialize. “I’m not sure I should leave. Just in case they have any updates, you know.”

“They’ll send you texts, right?” Nell asked, and Kensi nodded. “Then it’ll be good for you to get out for a little bit.”

She almost declined, but then she pictured spending the next 4 or 5 hours in this room. Constantly reminded of Deeks’ absence, worrying.

“Ok,” she sighed. “But I get the first ride on the wheelchair.”

***

They ended up in the hospital’s poor excuse for a cafe with watery, bitter cups of coffee. What had started out as an attempt to distract Kensi, had devolved into rehashing every ridiculous and fantastical story involving Sam or Deeks they could think of.

“I thought for sure Sam wasn’t going to make it, but at the very last moment, he disarmed that bomb,” Callen recalled, shaking his head.

“A good thing since I was inside and Callen fighting off the driver,” Kensi commented.

“Sometimes I swear he takes his time just so he can show off his bomb expertise.”

“Yeah, he does love his bombs,” Nell agreed. She smiled, nudging Callen’s shoulder. “Hey, what about the first time Deeks brought Monty in to help find an explosive device?”

“We never knew thought it would actually work. When it did, Sam was furious to be shown up by a dog. And Deeks’ dog at that,” Kensi said, shaking her head.

“Things sure have changed,” Nell mused.

Callen made a soft sound, his gaze a little distant. “I don’t think any of us could have predicted that ten years later, one of them would be giving the other an organ.”

“A lot has changed since then.”

Nell drummed on the table with her knuckles, disrupting the solemn quiet that had fallen with the shift in conversation. “Ok, who wants more stale muffins?”

“Ooh, grab me a chocolate—”

“Mrs. Blye?” One of the nurses who’d taken Deeks to operating room approached the table.

Kensi stood up, the coffee in her stomach instantly souring and any levity of the last few hours evaporating. “Yes. Is everything ok? I didn’t get any texts. She fumbled for her phone, even though she’d just checked it a minute ago.

“Your husband and Mr. Hanna are both out of surgery. It went very well,” the nurse assured her, and Kensi stumbled back a step. Fortunately, Nell and Sam were there to brace her.

“Can we see them?”

“Mr. Deeks should be in recovery in about 20 minutes. You’ll have to wait until Mr. Hanna is awake since he requested no visitors earlier.”

“Thank you,” Kensi murmured. The nurse reached out and squeezed her hand, her smile comforting.

“You’re very welcome. Come up when you’re ready.”

With a final smile, she left.

Kensi pressed her hand to her mouth. She didn’t have words to express the dizzying relief she felt. Nell seemed to understand this, pulling Kensi down for a hug, her arms wrapping tightly around her waist.

“It’s over,” Nell whispered.

***

A/N: Yay, Deeks finally has his new kidney! I anticipate a couple kore chapters for this one.

#ncis la fanfiction #kensi blye #nell jones #g callen #mentions of Deeks #and Sam #angst #Deeks sick fic #the other shoe #part 13 #au #ejzah fanfiction

[offsidekineticist]

This one is unusually short, but it feels the right length.

CW: estrangement, ableism, chronic pain, lack of access to medication, very negative self-talk.

Without Results

Qweck has always reminded you of your brother. Her eyes–those bright, golden eyes–were so much like your brother's eyes. Her intensity could easily match your brother's at his most obsessed. Neither were the type to stand aside if there was something out in the world that needed fixing. Qweck was barely 13 when you were struck by the sobering realization that she would leave Brastlewark just as your brother did. At first you were so afraid you would lose her the same way you lost him, lashing out in pain when she left you forever, so you resolved that this time would be different. You had decades to come to terms with her place being beyond Brastlewark, to teach her that her path was hers to tread, and you would love her wherever it led her. And it worked–when she left, you accompanied Qweck to Ostenso, supported her as she petitioned to be accepted into the monastery, and then, when she was accepted, you said your goodbyes and returned home. She didn't write as often as you'd hoped, but you understood: she had her own life now, and you were relieved–and proud–to realize you didn't resent her for it as you had resented your brother. Qweck had left, but she wasn't lost. She still visited you. Still wrote to you. Still loved you.

And now you've gone and fucked it up.

“Pathetic. No self control, no discipline.”

He is not like he was when he left Brastlewark. Like you, he has lost much of the expressiveness of your youth, and what was once a frenetic energy demanding expression through fidgeting and pacing now appears as a coiled spring, carefully controlled but ready to explode at a moment's notice. But his voice is the same. His cadence is the same.

“I'm sorry,” you choke out, and it’s such a pathetic fraction of what you should tell him after what you said all those years ago, but it’s all you can manage when just the sight of him makes your hands hurt and your heart pound and your ears ring.

Your brother sneers at you. “‘Sorry’ means nothing without results. You’ve already proven you can’t change. You just hid behind the bleaching and pretended you had.”

He’s right. He knows he’s right, and so do you. It’s why you never bothered apologizing for your outbursts–how can you say you’re sorry for something you know you won’t stop doing? But you can’t accept that. You’re too broken to accept that, so you feel the rage rise up in you and take control and–

“And you hid behind your armor and your ‘duty’ and just abandoned your people to build a world where we can’t live!” you hiss through grit teeth. “When exactly did you decide you hated yourself so much that anyone like you didn’t deserve to live?”

But your brother is not who he was when he left Brastlewark. Your words don’t pierce him as they did then. He doesn’t fear your disapproval anymore. He doesn’t love you anymore.

“We both know,” he says, rolling his eyes, “that you are wildly extrapolating from your scant knowledge of Axis to justify why my leaving upset you. Why don’t you tell the truth for once, Theoven? Admit what it is that really frightens you?”

A coldness grips your heart, but still you barrel forward, hearing yourself repeat your worst mistakes. “Nothing frightens me anymore! I am a bleachling–the worst thing I could imagine has happened to me, and I’m still here. What do you think you could possibly do to me that would be worse?!”

“‘The worst thing you could imagine?’ Really?” He arches a brow sardonically. “The bleaching was never your worst fear. Your worst fear is one you have, by some miracle, avoided all these years: chasing away everyone who might have been willing to tolerate you. But even miracles must end. You’ve lost Brastlewark, and now you’ve lost Cleric Varnaj in the same way you lost me. How long until you’ve chased the halfling away, I wonder?”

You would clench your fists if they weren’t splinted. “Shut up,” you growl.

“You act like he’s beneath you,” your brother continues. “The fact that he hasn’t left you for that alone is a miracle. Given your reaction to his declaration of love, he likely holds even less affection for you than I do. Most likely he is held here by some guilt over his lies, or some obligation to care for you when you have nobody else. But how long do you think he will last now that he has to tolerate you alone?”

“I said shut up!”

“He’s going to realize soon that he can do better for himself. That he doesn’t have to stay and be treated this way. And when that happens, he will leave. You will be all alone, helpless, worthless, useless. Do you know what I think of that, Theoven?” A shark-like grin spreads across your brother’s face. “I think you’ll deserve it.”

The rage is too much. You need to get it out, but your body isn’t strong enough–it never was before the bleaching, either. That doesn’t mean you won’t try. You spring forward from your bed, reaching for your brother's neck to grab and squeeze until that disgusting smile slips from his face and he realizes what a mistake he’s made becoming your enemy.

You are awake. Arms are wrapped around you as you squirm, what was intended to be a howl of rage instead only a whisper.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok! You’re ok, Thay. You’re ok. It’s just me.”

“Regill?” you whisper.

“It’s me, Thay. It's Gilly.” You relax. Another nightmare, that’s all. You should have realized–words always became too heavy to speak when you saw him in Rivad, of course it was only a nightmare. You’ve already begun to forget what it was about, beyond the fact that your brother was there. You’re safe. Gilly is here, so you’re safe.

Gilly holds your head to his chest, one hand carding through your hair with the other on your shoulder, holding you close. “You’re alright. You’re alright,” he whispers softly, over and over, and you melt into his arms. You’re safe. Gilly is here, so you’re safe.

And then you remember why that should make you feel bad.

During the time apart, you had hoped that in time your feelings would fade. You don’t know if it’s because of everything that’s happened or if you are just innately weak, but you’re even more attached now than you were before. Even beyond the fact that he dresses you and feeds you and assists you in everything including basic bodily functions, you can barely bring yourself to sleep without him. When he goes out to buy food or takes a job, you spend the whole time on the edge of panic, curled up in a fetal position on the bed, wondering if he will come back. So far he always has.

You can’t be like this. You need to be stronger. Someday–someday soon–it’s going to be time for him to ‘pay rent,’ and he will damn another innocent to hell. You refuse to be party to that. You need to be strong enough to tell him no. You need to be strong enough to do the right thing. You need to be strong enough to send him away.

There’s a sudden, painful spasm in your right hand. It’s so intense, even compared to the usual ache, that you can’t help the half strangled moan that comes out of your mouth.

Giliys freezes. “Hands?” he asks. You nod into his chest.

“Hurts,” you whimper, disgusted with your weakness. “Medicine.”

He sighs. “I’m sorry, Thay. I can’t give you more.” You growl at that–actually growl, like an animal. You know why he says this–you don’t have access to medicinal flayleaf, so he’s dosing out an illegal recreational drug for you as a substitute. If the dosage ever goes too high, the drug will start working as intended and cause hallucinations. And given what you tend to see when you hallucinate, it’s probably better to endure the pain. But your hands don’t understand that, and neither does whatever takes over when you get like this.

“Then what use are you?” you watch yourself snap. Giliys starts carding his hand through your hair again, but you’re not having it. You push him away and settle on your side with your back to him, wincing at another throb of pain from your hands.

You hear a quiet sigh. “I’m sorry,” Giliys repeats quietly, almost defeatedly.

“‘Sorry’ means nothing without results,” you say, a faint sense of deja vu washing over you. “Now shut up and let me sleep.” There’s a long pause.

“Okay,” Giliys finally says. “Sleep well, Thay.”

You take a deep breath before closing your eyes. You will sleep through this pain. You will sleep through this anger. You will sleep without his comfort. You will learn to live like this. You will learn to live without him. You have to, or you’ll die.

#pathfinder wotr #pwotr pals #oc: theoven derenge #oc: giliys #knight-commander oc #The (completely platonic!) Breakup arc #part 13

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 13

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

Word Count: 6,500 Tags/Warnings: Peril, hurt/comfort, angst, and a deal… 

Part 13: A Generous Deal

Frank, Ben’s former henchman, gave you a quirking smile.

Beside him was Loco, who tossed you a wink. He carried a semi-automatic weapon in his hands. 

“You look good, corazón,” Loco said, reaching for your sister. “Let’s get you guys out of here, no?”

“Who the hell is trying to kill us?” Louisa said, accepting his hand after you guided her up from the ground. Frank covered you all while firing back at the shooters. 

Loco snorted in amusement. “Vought. Who else?” 

“Jesus, fuck,” you muttered. “What do they want with me? It’s Ben they were after.”

“Who’s Ben?” Louisa asked. Meanwhile, Loco guided you both out of the apartment and down the stairs. Frank covered you guys from the back as he followed. 

“El capitán, Soldier Boy,” Loco supplied as he pointed to himself and Frank with his gun, “Our boss.”

“Soldier Boy?!” Louisa shot you an incredulous look. You gave her a wan smile before you glared at Loco, pointing his gun away. 

“Watch where you aim that thing,” you reminded him. Loco just scoffed. He covered you when you stepped out of the apartment building, leading you to a black SUV parked illegally on the side of the road. 

Right now, you were grateful for that as bullets seemed to rain down from everywhere. But with Frank and Loco’s expertise, the four of you made it into the car. Frank was your chauffer, and he sped off down the street.

“How the hell are you alive?” you asked Frank. “You were shot point blank in the chest.” 

“Was wearing Kevlar,” he said. “And I was on V24.”

“So he fucked those mall cops in the ass with hot lead and broke me out of prison,” Loco supplied, shooting you a grin. 

You smiled back at him, but when you looked over at your sister, gripping the inside of the car door for dear life with petrified eyes, you grabbed her hand to steady her. 

You turned back to Frank. “We need to pick up my mom. If they’re after me too, then she’s not safe.”

“Where?” he asked. You gave him the address of the hospital where your mother worked. Frank turned a corner sharply in order to change course, making you grip the car handle yourself. 

“Jesus, Frank. Go a little smoother on the wheels, yeah?” Loco quipped. 

“You want a nice kiddy ride, or you want to get there alive?” Frank retorted. “We’ve got a narrow window, even less now that we’ve got a second stop.” 

“It’s not that far. Lower West Side,” you said. And you continued to instruct him through the New York traffic. He was an adept driver, but he wasn’t a New Yorker. You pointed out the best roads to take to get there within half an hour. 

Loco stayed with Louisa in the car (albeit, first with a lot of reassuring that she would be safe with this perfect stranger that she could only suspect was a criminal).

Frank escorted you inside, where you found your mom at the reception desk (thankfully) on the first floor. Her eyes lit up when she saw you. 

“Oh my God, you’re back! How are you, sweetheart? Oh, come here,” your mother said, getting up from her desk to pull you into a hug. You accepted it with a smile, but you grabbed her shoulders firmly and made her see the sense of urgency in your eyes. 

“Mom, I need you to come with me,” you said in hushed tones. She looked around, from you to her confused coworker at the desk beside her.

“What? Honey, I can’t. I’m at work—”

“Now, Mom. I’ll explain later.”

“Marie, you going on lunch break?” asked her coworker. 

“Yep, I’m taking her out,” you supplied, looping your mother’s arm with yours. “Come on! I found this cute little French bistro a few blocks away.”

“Honey,” your mom tried to whisper. She didn’t like the look of Frank hovering beside you. He was a tall man, broad and wearing a long black trench coat—and a gun concealed within. 

“Just trust me,” you told her, gripping her hand tight.  

Somehow you made it to the car without incident. But once the five of you were on the road, with all three women squished in the backseat, Louisa turned to you. 

“So you’re actually helping Soldier Boy now?” she asked, and with a sly raise of her brow, “Or should I say Ben?”

Your face began to heat up, but you clung to your stoicism. 

“Soldier Boy,” Marie gasped. “Didn’t he kill Homelander?”

“May that prick get fucked in the ass for all eternity in hell,” you muttered. Once again, your mother gasped. 

“Young lady. I don’t like that,” she said, with all due side eye. 

“You don’t like anything, Mother,” you quipped.

“Wait, wait. You’re not getting out of this.” Louisa leaned over and grabbed your hand. “What’s the deal with you and Soldier Boy? I thought the whole point of your mission was to capture him.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. 

“I was on the job, things went sideways, I got captured, and things got…complicated.” 

Frank huffed. “I think the kids are calling it Frenemies with Benefits.” 

Louisa uttered an incredulous laugh.

“Excuse me?” said Marie. You gave the man a withering look.

“Don’t help me, Frank.”

An amused smile tugged at his lips. But then it was wiped away. 

“Incoming. Three tails,” he said. Loco looked in the side mirror, and his muttered curse was a confirmation: they were being followed. 

“Where are we headed?” you asked. 

“Supe Affairs,” Frank said. He took evasive measures, banking on corners and doing his best to beat the cars tailing them through traffic. 

Until the mid-size SUV was side swiped by an even larger black one. It slammed into your side of the car, making it spin out. You all screamed as the car flipped over once and managed to land. 

You had to blink drops of blood out of your double vision, but when it cleared, you saw Black Noir had landed on the hood of the car. Your eyes widened. 

Noir raised his gun and shot through the windshield, but while Loco shot right back at him, Frank put the car into reverse—into the path of a coming bus. 

He actually sped towards it. And at the last moment, he sharply turned the car to try and fling the supe off the hood. 

It worked, somewhat. Noir was forced to stop the bus from hitting him directly, causing the front of the bus to fold up like an accordion against his hands. And while he was distracted, Loco threw a projectile at the supe’s face. 

Noir caught it with ease, but he didn’t expect the way it erupted with nerve gas in his face. Before it could affect the normal humans in the car, Frank reversed again and finally managed to dislodge the supe. 

He turned the car around and was able to get the car back into Drive, but the entire windshield was gone, and breathing felt like agony once again. If you had to guess, it was your broken ribs flaring up after the initial impact. 

Your shoulder also ached like a bitch. You didn’t think it was dislocated, but at the very least, severely bruised.

Not broken, at least, you thought bitterly. 

“Oh my God. You okay?” Louisa asked, gasping once she looked over and saw you clutching your arm.

You could also feel blood dripping over your brow and down the side of your face. Your mom also had a knock to the side of her head, but she and Louisa looked more or less fine, if scared out of their minds. 

“I’m okay,” you said, giving them a reassuring smile. You directed it at Frank next, when he glanced back at you with concern.

You fished into your pocket and found your cell phone unscathed. Letting out a relieved breath, you found Grace Mallory’s personal cell in your contacts and started the call.

She picked up on the third ring. 

“Who is this?”

“Grace, it’s me. I—”

“How did you get this number?” she asked.

“Stole it from M.M.’s phone,” you replied impatiently. “Listen, I have a situation—”

“You’re already on thin ice,” she said. “This better be fucking good.”

At that, the narrow thread of your temper snapped.

“I’m playing bumper cars with Black Noir in the Lower West Side. How’s that for fucking good?” you said, raising your voice. “He’s trying to kill me and my entire family. I need your help, right now!”

A beat of silence, and Grace replied. 

“Understood. What are the cross streets?”

“We’re in a black SUV,” you replied, and you gave her the closest streets as they passed by. “We’re heading toward the S.A.”

“Backup will arrive shortly,” she said. Then she hung up on you. 

It was a good thing too, because you lost your grip on your cell when another car bumped into the SUV, this time from the driver’s side. Your eyes widened as you saw Black Noir again, this time with a grenade launcher. 

“Heads down!” you screamed, reaching for your sister.

Just as he would’ve shot at the car, a helicopter flew overhead and shot directly at the supe. CIA units swarmed in in various cars, and it allowed Frank the distraction he needed to slip away from the supe.

Frank and Loco escorted your family to the double doors of the Supe Affairs building. You hung back real quick once they were inside, knowing the men couldn’t go in. They would likely be apprehended. 

“Thank you,” you told them. Emotion made your eyes glassy. Loco gave you a smile and rubbed your non-injured shoulder.

“Just get yourself checked out,” Frank said. He gave you a scrap of paper with two cell phone numbers on it. 

“Reach us here if anything changes,” he said. With Soldier Boy, his tone implied. You nodded and took the numbers from him. Loco left to start up the car, but you grabbed Frank’s arm, holding him back a minute.

“Why’d you come find me?” you asked. “You guys…didn’t owe me anything. You don’t even owe Ben.”

“He does technically owe us,” Frank said. 

You nodded at that. “Well, you could just cut your losses…is it that good a payout?”

His dry smile told you yes, it would be that good.  

“But that doesn’t explain me,” you pointed out.

Frank considered you, as if contemplating the reason himself. 

“We knew if Soldier Boy was going to break out, it would be because of you,” he said. “We happened to be watching you when we saw Black Noir casing your building.”

“Doesn’t totally explain why you’d risk your lives for me,” you said. 

Frank seemed uncomfortable with the question. So you let him off the hook with a smile. 

“Thank you. Again,” you said. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

His lips curved at that. “Me too, kid.”

You ushered your mom and sister through the S.A. building, ignoring the odd and concerned looks from people going about their workday.

You knew the three of you made quite a sight, especially when your face was literally dripping blood, and your arm was pinned to your side. 

You noticed Butcher striding down the hall with M.M., and you called out to him loudly.

“Still think Black Noir isn’t a fucking priority?” you shouted.

Both men noticed you in surprise, but while Butcher was mostly curious, M.M. was concerned. You then ignored them and started guiding your family up to Grace’s office. 

As it turned out, you didn’t have to. She stepped off the elevator and led the three of you into a private office. She had already requested an on-call doctor for you, and he was there waiting with his supplies. 

Marie helped you into a chair, where you let out a shaky breath. The doctor came over to check your shoulder, during which Marie stroked your good arm and Luisa brushed your sweaty hair from your face.

“Not broken or dislocated,” he confirmed. “Just bruised. You’ll need to ice it for a few days.”

“What happened?” Grace asked at last. You met her blue-eyed gaze.

“I told you. Black Noir tried to kill us. I assume I was the target, because he found me at my apartment,” you said with a wince, rubbing at your aching ribs while the doctor wrapped your arm in a temporary sling. He next worked on blotting and stitching up your head wound, which he remarked was shallower than it seemed.

What you needed were some painkillers. 

“I want my mom and my sister placed in protective custody,” you told Grace. 

Both women protested at first. 

“What are you going to do?” Luisa asked incredulously. “You can’t do this by yourself.”

“We’ll take care of this,” you tried to reassure her. 

“And what about school? I can’t just drop out for God-knows how long.”

“I’ll talk to NYU, get them to let you complete your classes online.”

“What about me? My job isn’t so flexible,” Marie pointed out. You frowned, at a loss for what to say. Your guilt was growing by the moment; not only had your family been put in danger because of you, but their lives were about to be completely uprooted. 

“We’ll work it out with your employer as well,” Grace said. 

You gave her an appreciative look. Grace could be a bitch, but it seemed she wasn’t a complete asshole.

When you turned back to your family, hot tears welled up in your eyes and slid down your cheeks unbidden. 

“I’m so sorry,” you choked on a sob. “This is on me.”

Luisa tearfully shook her head, holding your hand. Your mom was in a similar state as she wiped your tears away. 

“I just want you to be safe,” Marie said. “Promise me you’ll be safe.” 

You nodded, but you couldn’t force yourself to lie to her this time. 

In a few hours, you saw your mother and sister off as Grace directed them into protective custody. They would be taken to a safe house tonight, and would remain there until the matter of Black Noir was settled. 

You were exhausted, in pain, and emotionally spent, and you were going to need a safe house of your own. But you agreed to spend the night here at the S.A. building, where there were cots available upstairs for when supes where occasionally held overnight. 

You debated the idea growing your mind, whether it would be good for you in this moment…

But you couldn’t help yourself. 

You had to see him. 

Your steps were slow, but you eventually made it to the “cellar.” 

The guards raised their brows at the state of you, still with dried blood, bruises, and your arm in a temporary sling. Your hard gaze warned them to mind their fucking business. 

“Open it up,” you said, raising an expectant brow. After glancing at one another, one of the guards shrugged. He pressed the button to disengage the outer walls, which parted for your entry. 

You stepped inside, this time grateful for the way those walls closed behind you. You knew the guards would be watching regardless, but the semblance of privacy was enough for you.

Ben was sitting up in his cot, back against the wall with his arms crossed. The stance was familiar to you; he was probably awake, but trying not to fall asleep due to the nerve gas making him drowsy. 

His eyes opened when he heard you coming. His mouth opened, poised to be snarky, until he actually caught sight of you. Whatever acidic words he’d been about to say died on his tongue as he took in your injuries, from stitched and bandaged head to your arm in a sling. 

He got up and approached you, until only the glass separated you two by a few feet. 

“What the fuck happened?” he asked. His voice was gruff, but you thought you detected concern behind his green eyes. 

“Black Noir,” you rasped.

You explained to him what happened from the very beginning. Your sister showing up at your apartment, followed by Noir shooting at you, then Frank and Loco showing up to extract you from the building.

“Those fuckers are still alive?” Ben noted with surprise. You could see that he was pleased by the news, and you smiled. 

“Yeah, they saved me,” you admitted. But then, your lips trembled. “Black Noir tried to take me out. Me and my whole family.”

Ben watched you tear up, his jaw tightening. The fury lighting in his blood gave him new energy as he contemplated just how slowly and painfully he’d take Stan Edgar apart for this. He had no right to sick that damn bootlicker on you. 

And probably just to get to him.

Ben began to pace. He had no other way to vent his frustration, other than hurling up his cot against the wall with a guttural sound of rage. (Which he did, not seeing how it made you flinch.)

He was in this cage, and meanwhile, you were out there. Unprotected. Taking bullets that should be his…and his alone. 

He wiped a hand over his mouth and looked back at you. You were wide-eyed, vulnerable, not sure what to make of his reaction. 

Ben wanted to continue blaming you for his imprisonment…but deep down, he knew you weren’t the one who put him here. He also knew why you wouldn’t break him out either. 

You were stubborn about your convictions—something that frustrated him to no end. But ultimately, he admired you for how you always held your ground, even against him. 

Especially against him.

But right now, you looked exhausted, in pain. He just couldn’t do anything about it. And that irritated him, he discovered.

“Did your dad order the hit?” he asked. “Stan said he was still alive.”

You tilted your head, like you hadn’t thought of that before. Despite your lingering tears, your expression briefly became cold as stone.  

“If my father knew about this, he’s a dead man,” you said.  

Ben inclined his head in agreement. It looked like even you had a limit on what was forgivable.

You sighed and stepped closer to the cell. You implored him, first with your eyes, and then with the truth. 

“Ben, I need your help,” you said. “As long as Stan Edgar and Vought still stand, it’s a target on your back. Now it’s on mine too. My mom, and my sister. Please.” 

Ben seemed to consider it, as his gaze left your face. 

Then, he came up closer to the glass window. 

“Call your boss. Tell her it’s time for a talk,” he said. 

You sighed in relief, covering your eyes with a hand as your tears fell anew. You looked up at Ben, trying and failing to get ahold of yourself. 

“Thank you,” you said.

Ben’s anger crumbled that much more. He sighed and pressed a fist up to the glass on his side to lean against it. You laid a hand against the glass, opposite his. 

His eyes met yours. As resentment drained out of him, slowly, his fingers uncurled. 

His hand laid on the glass in line with your smaller hand. You could almost pretend the window didn’t exist between you, and the cold glass under your palm was really his. A moment later, Ben let his hand fall and returned to his cot. 

Soon, you wanted to tell him. 

You would make sure of it. 

Grace’s heels clacked on the metal ground as the fortified barriers disengaged, allowing her entrance into the observing area of Soldier Boy’s cell. 

The man himself looked up at her from where he sat on his cot, his hair falling over his brows. He straightened and stood, and he met her at the forefront of the cell.

She stopped a foot behind the glass and crossed her arms. Ben’s gaze seized her up lazily—the gray pantsuit and white blouse, the coif of blonde hair piled on her head, the light layer of lipstick across her thin lips. She looked even less fun now than she had in the 80s.��

“You’ve gotten old as fuck,” he remarked. 

“As I hear it, a few wrinkles don’t bother you in the slightest,” she countered. 

His lips curved. He’d never fuck this broad on mere principle, but she was still easy on those baby blues. 

“So,” she began, “Two options. One: you can sleep in here forever, until you look as old as I am. Or two: you’ll work with my team to bring down Vought, on our terms. Which means executing approved targets only. Collateral damage kept to a narrow minimum.”

Her gaze was unyielding, clinical at best. 

“Operate within the confines of the law. And if by some miracle you pull all of that off…you can publicly retire to South America, never to step foot in the U.S. again,” she said.

“We will leave you alone, provided you don’t actively create havoc. And if you deviate from the plan in any way, we will hunt you down and bring you right back here. You will never know peace.”

Ben stared at her, almost amused at her audacity. “That’s your idea of a goddamn deal?”

She ignored him, her expression turning thoughtful. 

“Oh, yes,” Grace said, a finger tapping on her arm, as if she just remembered something. She mentioned your name, making Ben’s brows furrow.

“Should you fuck up your end of this generous deal, I will also personally make sure that you never see her again,” she said. 

Ben’s jaw tensed, his green eyes narrowing a fraction. 

But he figured his best play here was to bluff.

“What makes you think I give a flying fuck about that?” he said snidely. 

For the first time, a bit of humor lightened Grace as her mouth tugged at a smile.

“Actually, it seems you do. And a great deal of one,” she said. “That you’re considering this agreement at all is because of her.”

Ben’s lips pressed together.

“The fact of the matter is, Benjamin, I can make her disappear,” she stated, “even more thoroughly than I’ll bury you if you cross me.”

That threat nearly unhinged him. A vein pulsed in his neck as he ground his teeth.

But he managed to keep his cool, smooth as he crossed his arms and stared back at this platinum-haired bitch. 

“See, you can talk big behind that glass. But the truth is, you need me,” he said. “All you bitches do. And you’re all afraid of me. So if you want to threaten me, by all means…just don’t forget who the fuck I am.” 

M.M. carefully watched the archive footage from yesterday between you and Ben from his laptop. He saw the shift in the supe when you walked in, battered with your arm in a temporary sling. M.M. watched the man’s anger build, but for you instead of at you. 

By the time he made it to the end, watching Ben’s hand meet yours on his side of the glass, M.M. sat back in his seat and frowned, resting his chin in his hand. What the hell…

Maybe Soldier Boy did give a fuck about someone other than himself. 

M.M.’s phone buzzed, breaking him out of his reverie. It was Grace. 

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Team meeting,” she said, instructing him to head up to a conference room on the third floor in ten minutes. Sighing, M.M. closed his laptop and made his way up.

Annie and Hughie were already there, followed by Frenchie and Kimiko, and finally Butcher, strolling in to make his entrance as always. 

You were the only one not in attendance, having gone back to full-time in the Surveillance department. Though considering what happened yesterday with Black Noir, he was surprised you weren’t here…

But once Grace started the meeting, explaining what had become of her meeting with Soldier Boy, M.M.’s already precarious mood darkened even further. 

“It’s an insane fucking deal,” Butcher agreed, breaking the steely silence of the room following Grace’s little report. “But it’s one we’ve made before.”

“You’ve made before,” Annie retorted. “This is crazy. We can’t trust Soldier Boy.”

“But we all know who does,” M.M. said. His gaze shifted to the door, where you had just stepped in. It seemed you were invited to the meeting after all.

You were late, quite literally holding Starbucks. It looked like a caramel macchiato, iced, light froth. You sipped it through a green straw and took a seat beside Frenchie, who offered you a smile as he smoked a cigarette. You returned it before you addressed the group.

“Take my personal stake out of the equation,” you said. 

“So you admit it’s personal,” M.M. remarked. You shot him a glance, but you didn’t let him deter you from your point. 

“Ben is our best play against Black Noir. That’s just a fact,” you said. “He was cloned in part with Homelander’s DNA.” 

“Okay, sure,” Hughie said. “Despite all the…potential logistics problems there, what about Stan Edgar? He’s been one step ahead of us this entire time.”

That was a fair point, one you acknowledged with a nod. 

“I think we should look into Victoria Neuman. She turned on Stan once to protect herself, who’s to say she won’t again?” you said. 

“Or, she’ll pop our heads like water balloons,” Frenchie pointed out, letting out a puff of his cigarette. Hughie frowned and waved his hand across the plume.

“Do you have to do that right in my face?” he asked. Frenchie blew a kiss (and a small ring of smoke) at Hughie with a playful smirk. 

Again, you smiled. “Ben can help with that too.” 

Most of them didn’t like the idea. Annie and Kimiko frowned, while Hughie looked unsure. Frenchie might’ve been persuaded…

Butcher actually seemed to agree with you, shockingly. He looked over at M.M., whose stance in all this was obvious.

“You wanna make things safe for your daughter, taking out Vought is fucking it,” Butcher said. It wasn’t what you expected him to say…but maybe the men had had this argument before. 

M.M. was tense, his hand clenching into a fist on the conference table. 

“You don’t have to tell me that shit,” M.M. said tersely. He looked up at Mallory. “I’m assuming as a part of this fuck-ass deal, Soldier Boy walks free after all this is said and done?”

Grace confirmed this with a short nod, though you could see she wasn’t happy about it either. 

“After the work is done, he won’t be allowed to step foot in the U.S. again,” she said. 

You frowned, upset at that little footnote, but you held in your reaction as you watched M.M. rise out of his seat, his chair roughly sliding against the ground. He dented the table with a heavy fist as he strode out of the conference room.  

Ben rolled his eyes as he took the contract. It had been laid on the tray compartment where his meals were usually slotted through.

You, Grace, and Butcher stood on the other side of his cell. You also thought the contract was stupid; you all knew if Ben didn’t comply with this arrangement, a measly piece of paper wasn’t going to do shit. But Mallory was nothing if not thorough. 

He signed it with the pen and shoved both back through the slot. Mallory collected it and turned at Butcher, and then you with her sharp eyes. 

“On your head be it,” she said. Then she departed the cell, where the additional fortifying walls were left open. With a raised brow, Butcher signaled to the guards to cut the nerve gas. 

Once the mist cleared from the inner cell, Ben took his first real breath in a week. He blinked as the heavy fog he’d been resisting for days cleared, and he stood straighter. His green eyes were on you as the cell finally disengaged, sliding open with a hiss. 

You bit your lower lip as he stepped through barefooted. He still wore the clinically white clothing the S.A. provided, like he was the inmate of a psych ward or something. He eyed Butcher warily.

“Ello, gov. Back in business again,” said the Brit. Ben rolled his eyes. 

“Just stay out of my fucking way,” he replied. 

You wanted to pull him into your arms already. But professionalism be damned, you didn’t want to show your vulnerability around Butcher.

Instead, you held up a plastic bag of clothes and shoes for him to change into, meeting him with a smile. The tightness in his face eased a bit when he glanced over at you, then took the bag with a nod.

“Hungry?” you asked. 

Ben’s lips curved into a smirk. “I could eat.” 

You felt heat flare in your face as your mouth dropped open slightly.

Butcher rose a brow as he glanced between you two. He chose to ignore the supe’s blatant eye-fucking. He just wanted to get this over with.

“First off, let’s get something squared away,” Butcher said. 

He then turned his head and released a wet cough that didn’t sound pleasant. The man also looked pale, and if you thought about it, he hadn’t been looking well in the meeting earlier either. You gave him a concerned frown.

“You okay?” you asked. Butcher gave you a side glance.

“Fucking phenomenal. Here.”

He provided Ben with an S.A.-issued cell phone, and you with the address of a safe house.

“His and hers,” Butcher said, handing you the keys. You understood his meaning; since Black Noir was after you as well, it made enough sense to put you and Ben in the same safe house.

“Now, lest you think of pulling another Houdini act, it won’t hurt to remind you that you will be watched,” he said to both of you (but mainly Ben). “I myself, along with other agents, will be checking in from time to time, making sure everything’s on the up and up.”

“Whatever, are we fucking done?” Ben snapped with impatience. He started walking out of the cellar, towards the open door that showed the brighter lit hallway. Once he stepped out though, he wasn’t sure where to go. 

You gave Butcher a parting look before you caught up with Ben in the hall. You laid a hand on his arm and led him to the nearest bathroom so he could change while you waited outside. You texted with the agent that would be your driving detail, making sure the car would be ready. 

After a few minutes of waiting though, you began to get antsy and impatient yourself. You went to the bathroom door and knocked, opening it a crack. 

“Ben, you okay?”

“Yeah. Come in,” he said. 

You paused, not sure if that was a good idea. But you also didn’t know why that was your instinctive thought.

Taking a breath to steady yourself, you hesitantly opened the door to the men’s bathroom and stepped inside. Ben was already dressed, just fixing his belt.

He wore a pair of dark wash jeans, a plain black shirt, and some boots. It wasn’t his normal look, but even this suited him well. He stretched out the shirt in all the right places, particularly the arms. 

But you blushed as you noticed the smirk on his face; he’d totally caught you checking him out. 

“Well, that answers my question,” he remarked.

Your lips flickered at a smile as you drew closer. 

Looks good, you were about to tell him, but nothing came out. Your voice got stuck in your throat as you looked up at him. It seemed this moment was finally hitting you. 

There was still so much unknown shit on the horizon, between Black Noir, Victoria Neuman, Stan Edgar, your family in protective custody, and all the rest. But at least you had helped accomplish one thing today. 

Your eyes stung as they welled up with tears, and you bit your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. 

The smirk on Ben’s face faded. But then his brose rose in surprise as you surged forward and caught him in a hug. Your arms slipped around his middle, and his arms fell around your frame, mostly on instinct. 

When he felt your tears dampening his shirt, heard you crying softly, felt the tremble in your body, he collected you tighter against him, his hands splaying across your back. Something in his chest clenched up…but then it eased. He dropped his lips to your hair. 

“What’s this now?” he asked, somewhat teasing. You shook your head against his chest, not willing to answer. His hand fell to your waist and gave you a squeeze. 

“Come on, baby doll,” he said. He grinned a little, though you couldn’t see it. “Where’s that steely bitch who didn’t cut me any fucking slack this week?”    

You choked on a laugh, despite the tears still slipping down your cheeks. 

“She’s a good actor,” you replied. Ben chuckled and soothed a hand over your hair. It gave you hope that he didn’t resent you too much. You were just so damn relieved. 

“I’m sorry this couldn’t happen sooner,” you whispered. You weren’t sorry for not breaking ranks to get him out, but he had to know you’d never wanted him to go from one cage to another.

Ben’s grin faded. He stayed quiet, unsure of what to say to you. 

After a moment, your cell phone chimed and buzzed in your pocket. Sniffling, you pulled away from him enough to reach into your pocket and read the text. 

“The driver’s ready to take us to the safe house,” you said, pocketing your phone. But you still clung to his shirt with your other hand. You were also avoiding his gaze. Embarrassed, maybe.

It made him smile. He tugged a strand of hair behind your ear, prompting you to finally look up at him. He then bucked a gentle fist under your chin. 

It got a small smile on your face, because you knew then that he didn’t hate you. The rage and contempt he’d levied at you this week, it hadn’t been the real him. This was the man you’d held out for…the man you’d caught glimmers of over the past two months. 

Ben cleared his throat.

“Well. You ready, sweetheart?” he asked, raising a brow. You nodded and let go of him, wiping your face to make sure it was dry before you stepped outside. 

Once the two of you left the bathroom, you led him out of the S.A. building. The car was waiting, another mid-sized SUV, and the driver transported you both to the safe house, which looked like it was going to be outside the city. 

Makes sense, you thought. You turned to Ben, who sat with you in the back. 

“How do you feel?” you asked. Still drowsy? 

He didn’t look it. The moment the Novichok cleared the cell, he seemed to regain his faculties. Now, you were more concerned about the potential psychological effects. You were worried about how the past week might’ve set him back.

But Ben only gave you a wry curve of his lips.

“Like a million bucks,” he replied. His gaze roamed over you, noting your healing cuts and bruises from the car chase yesterday. 

“You’re not wearing the sling,” he commented. You rubbed your bruised shoulder. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you said, downplaying a little. 

Pain meds were doing wonders for you though. Frenchie had slipped you some of the “good stuff” this morning, which had the added benefit of chilling you out for hours. You had come off it a while ago, but you had some normal painkillers in your suitcase. 

You’d been escorted home to collect some of your things, and the suitcase now laid in the trunk. You felt bad that Ben didn’t have anything but the clothes on his back…but you were sure the CIA would provide other things for him once you two got to the safe house. 

Ben surprised you, however, by thumbing an outline around the butterflied cut on your head as he examined it. “Doesn’t look deep.”

“It’s not,” you agreed, blushing a little. “I’m fine, Ben.”

His gaze found yours then, sharp as always. His mouth twitched. 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said. His voice was a rumble, deep and filled with promise. Your cheeks warmed further as you tilted your head at him. 

“What does that mean?” you asked. A smile started to tug at your lips. 

Ben just smirked and crossed his arms, facing the road ahead. You eyed him, but a trill of anticipation ran down your spine. 

It seemed like a small eternity until you reached the safe house, several miles out into Upstate New York. It was a modest, one-story house in the middle of a gated community. 

The outside walls were painted beige with a brown trim. The driveway paved with cobblestone, with a little walkway flanked by small bushes with little red flowers. It was the perfect unassuming place to house the most famous supe alive.  

The driver left you with your bags, which Ben grabbed before you could barely reach out your good arm. He flashed you a grin and waited for you to unlock the front door. 

“Home sweet home,” you breathed as you stepped past the threshold. Your hands fell to your hips while you surveyed your surroundings. 

Behind you, the suitcase and the small duffel bag dropped to the floor. You started to turn towards him, but apparently you weren’t fast enough on the uptake—as Ben hooked an arm around your waist and spun you around.

Before you could even blink, your back was pressed against the door. You’d clung to him on instinct as a gasp fell from your lips. But you looked up into Ben’s smirk, his heated eyes filled with desire, and maybe a flash of relief. 

You felt it too. The sweet craving fulfilled of finally being alone, as he claimed you with a kiss. You made a sound of pleasure, of acceptance as your hand rose to his cheek. 

Your fingers soon slid into his hair as you tilted your head, deepening the kiss. 

Ben braced himself against the door hard enough to shake it on its hinges. It was all you could do to hold onto his arms as his knee pressed between your legs, finding friction against your jeans.

Being with him was a relief, you discovered. And having him inside you was starting to feel like home.

AN: 😏 I know, I'm terrible for ending it there, huh? What did you think of their little reunion here?

Don't worry though, next chapter is the real reunion.

Next Time:

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

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

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

Keep Reading: PART 14

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[capnlinnius]

hey remember when arthur was like "omg i can't wait to shower and shave and eat and sleep in a nice bed"? bnt then he got yeeted down a chute into a city of dreamers and then kicked into the dreamlands and has to hunker down inside a hollow tree. like can this man get a break, will he get to shave soon, eat something that's not cold canned soup, maybe put on some comfy clothes?

#john please be nicer to arthur he's struggling and you're an eldritch creature #malevolent podcast #part 13

[aintinacage]

endless troy bolton - part 13

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[thewritingowl]

Damian was not the first to admit that his family had difficulties with communication.

While he didn't understand the intricacies of it all, Damian thought that with Danny as their newest member that they'd learned to open up a bit. Especially with how open his twin was with the rest of their family. They'd already had more serious talks as a family in the few months Danny had been with them than in the years Damian had been officially with the Waynes. Perhaps he shouldn't have gotten so comfortable.

Danny may be the most open of the Wayne family, but he was still a Wayne at his core.

#But I Want to Be Let In; Not Out #Part 13 #dp x dc crossover #dp dc crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #It's here baby! Took so fucking long but I did it! #I hope you guys like it! I'm really proud of how it turned out. #Now time to sleep for a hundred years

[ceephorsshitshow]

Chapter 1 of ?

Page 13 of 13

Jump to: [chapter 2]

[page 1] [page 2] [page 3] [page 4] [page 5] [page 6] [page 7] [page 8] [page 9] [page 10] [page 11] [page 12] [🌟]

You can’t do it alone. Start with yourself so that you can be open to others. Speak up, reach out. If you are blessed with good friends, run to them.

If you see someone struggling, offer your hand. Do not just call to them to walk out of the void on their own. You’ll never comprehend how much it means to the person that you reached into the muck to find them unless you have also been in the muck yourself and had someone come for you. Kidnap them for a donut. It may be the breath of air they needed.

#steven universe #fanart #art #su fanart #digital #c423art #ceephorart #head canon #personal stuff #comic #self reflection #chapter 1 #page 13 #part 13 #su Steven #su pearl #su amethyst

[brighterdaysarebeforeus]

And the aftermath, in a new world!

@hobiesgender @hadesdaughter2002 @lirulua

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Miles winced hard as he landed on the floor, his back screaming in agony. He’d not anticipated fighting side by side with his counterpart against Kingpin (fighting against Kingpin a second time, even if it was technically a different Kingpin); though the man hadn’t been as big as he’d been in Miles’s universe, he was still much bigger than Miles was and was still hella strong. In addition to his back aching something fierce, his wrist felt like it might have had a hairline fracture, and he could practically feel the way his side was turning purple under his suit.

He twisted to his uninjured side with a groan, pushing himself up on shaking arms and near-immediately giving way to the ground again when he put too much weight on his wrist. Pain went up his arm, sharp and shooting, and he cradled it to his chest the second he was on the ground again.

There was a warm touch to his semi-uninjured side, and Miles flinched away without even thinking. The now-familiar soothing scent washed over him, Hobie doing his best to calm him down even as he reached forward again and grabbed his arm. Miles let him that time, drawing a sharp breath as he felt something firm and unyielding get placed on his wrist. It came out of him in a shudder, but it sort of made his wrist feel better, in a way, so he left it on; when Hobie dropped his arm gently against his chest again, Miles opened his eyes to see a dark brace on his wrist, supporting and compressing it gently.

Then he curled up again, still in pain but soothed by the fact that Hobie was nearby. He’d lost track of everyone, remembered that they’d managed to distract and hold Kingpin down long enough for some higher power to come and take him away (not the cops, Miles-42 was very insistent that the cops were in Kingpin’s pocket, he’d talked to a contact who went through someone else who talked to a different contact who — long story short, it might have been the IFBI or the ACI or whatever equivalent Miles-42 had in his universe), and that they’d scattered once they’d ensured he was pinned and they heard the sirens.

Miles had gone with Hobie, who’d called out a number before turning on his watch when they were a distance away, and the portal had opened with a bright flash. They went through, though Miles still wasn’t really used to the portal thing while he was completely fine, forget slightly injured.

So he gave himself a minute before getting up and realizing that they’re in a room, that Gwen was throwing herself on the bed in the corner, Peni also picking herself up from the floor, Noir and Ham already sitting at a table and talking quietly amongst themselves.

“All right, all right,” Hobie started off, rummaging around in a batter old cabinet that definitely looked like it had seen better days, “welcome to my humble abode an’ all, got some food if you lot want it, got some water — ”

“Drinkable water this time?” Gwen called out from the bed, and Hobie threw something at her. She squeaked as it landed on her, jumping just a bit and then clearing her throat with a light blush as she looked away. Miles snorted a laugh (he could hear it in the back of his head — Gwen’s awkward ‘sorry, sorry, it was…just so quiet’), and Gwen sent him a pleased look as he leaned against the bed. He smiled up at her, and watched as she relaxed just that much further.

“Fuck outta here with that, Gwendy.” Hobie shot back, still digging in the cabinet for food, “I’m offering it, right? Means next time shouldn’t grab what’s not offered.” He tossed a water bottle at Peter B, who had lifted his hand as if he’d wanted one, and at Noir who’d done the same. “And anyway, this is just a layover while we figure out our next step, so better eat and drink while we can. Don’t wanna send ya off to the next fight hungry or anything.”

“What’s it looking like for food?” Ham asked, “cause I’ll tell you now, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse — and those don’t exactly taste great, you know?”

Hobie shot Ham a dry look, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Not your best, mate.” He said, and Ham drooped dramatically. “I can’t — ”

“Oh, but wait!” Pavitr called out, and Miles jolted hard. Pavitr had been quiet so far, nursing his own wounds from fighting against a Kingpin for the first time, but he’d perked up into the conversation quickly. “What do you eat for meat in your universe? If you’re all animals?”

“Guys!” Margo burst into the room, startling everyone by her panic. She glitched a little, then brightened to a degree that was almost blinding, her voice distorted for a second before everything seemed to snap back into place at the same time. “Too much-too big-too many — bright…Guys, Miguel saw that last jump — ”

The door burst open, and chaos ensued a second time as they scrambled to get away. There was the roar of a motorcycle, but Miles couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Something also crashed through the window just next to Miles, and he felt himself getting yanked up to his feet. They grabbed his most-likely-fractured wrist, and he yelped in pain, and then he was dropped as Gwen lunged off the bed and hovered over him, snarling loudly.

He was grabbed a second time, much more gently, and the bright light of the portal blew into place nearby. Hobie slung his arm around Miles’s waist, quickly but mindful of his bruised side, and practically threw them both through the portal a second time.

#punkflower #miles morales #hobie brown #gwen stacy #a/b/o au #a/b/o dynamics #margo kess #peter b parker #spider noir #spider ham #part 13