#part 15

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 15

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: Thank you as always for the lovely responses on the previous chapter! It was a long one, so thank you for sticking through with me. We're about to lighten up a little with some Christmas spirit! ❄️🎁

**Also, if you're a fan of The Boys (and Soldier Boy), there's an awesome book you can check out, called Supes Ain’t Always Heroes: Inside the Complex Characters and Twisted Psychology of The Boys.

If you want to learn more about the book (including cast interviews and a character study on Soldier Boy), I wrote a review about it here!

Otherwise, on to some more firefighter!Dean!

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, fluff, tinge of angst, hurt/comfort, lots of feels.

Part 15: “The Good Part”

“How many damn arrests does that make?” Daniel asked. He gripped his pool cue with both hands while he leaned on it.

His son stood at the other end of the pool table, lining up his shot. He paused to think.

“Six,” Nick replied. His cue released, and it knocked two of his balls into the pocket.

“Six,” Daniel repeated, while Nick came his way to find an angle for his next turn.

Daniel shook his head. His lips were angrily pursed. His eyes might’ve been on the pool game, but he was playing chess in his mind. He had underestimated John Winchester for far too long, it seemed.

The man was stubborn as all hell. And he’d been busy lately, getting “Azazel’s” men busted for all manners of bullshit.

“Alastair’s mole says Winchester’s been calling in favors from his old friends in Narcotics, trying to bust our small fries,” Nick reported. “Getting them on everything from petty theft to drug possession, with intent to sell. But it’s nothing we can’t pull ‘em out of.”

“Time, money, added risk,” Daniel cited on his fingers all the reasons why John Winchester was a pain in his ass. “It’s only a matter of time before they get a warrant to rip apart Savage & Co., sweep the whole damn building. For forensic evidence, our files, all the jazz.”

Daniel’s fingers drummed thoughtfully against his chin. “A damn cop thinks he’s being cute.”

Nick missed his second turn. His hand fell against his thigh in annoyance, but he looked up.

“Dad, it’s your move.”

Daniel rubbed at his chin. His eyes were no longer seeing the board in front of him. Eventually, they slid up and met his son’s gaze.

“We’re going to start from the beginning,” he said.

Nick’s face gave away his confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

Daniel just smiled.

It was Christmas Day, and John was late. Sam and Dean were used to that drill, so they weren’t expecting him until dinnertime.

Meanwhile, it gave you a chance to find your footing as you got to know Eileen. She had helped you bake the pies that were now cooling on the counter (pumpkin and berry crumble), and a few of the side dishes for dinner. Sam had covered cleaning up the rest of the house, while Dean tackled his favorites: the ham and the mac and cheese.

Now the guys were in the living room watching football while you and Eileen were still in the kitchen, decorating some gingerbread cookies you two had made. She enjoyed it; doing holiday crafts with her students had been bringing out her artistic side, she told you. You were happy for the help and the conversation.

You later tried to cover up your snort of laughter as she finished telling you the story of how Dean once dared Sam to wear women’s underwear for a whole week.

If he managed it, Dean had promised to do all the household chores for three months. If Sam couldn’t make it the whole week, then he would face the consequences: Dean would tell their dad about the bet.

“How old were they?” you asked.

Eileen scoffed. “Sam was a senior in college.”

You burst out laughing again. “So too old, is the answer… Did he win?”

Eileen gave you a mischievous smile.

“He did,” Dean said, as he appeared in the kitchen doorway with a familiar smirk. “I’ve got photographic evidence. It was a cheetah print thong, in case you were wondering.”

Your eyes widened on a laugh. “Oh my God.”

Cheetahlicious, you couldn’t help joking in your mind. Even if you’d rather not think of Sam wearing a pair of Victoria Secret’s best.  

Eileen giggled with you. Dean’s amusement gave way to curiosity as he eyed the little gingerbread men you two were icing. You warned him off with your eyes, but it took Eileen batting his hand when he tried to steal a cookie.

“Hey! Wait ‘til after dinner,” she said.

Dean pouted. “Come on, don’t be stingy.”

Rolling her eyes, Eileen sighed.

“You’re like one of my kids,” she said, while signing with her hands. But she caved and handed him a cookie. “Here. To tide you over.”

Dean smiled and signed back to her in ASL, Thank you.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he said. He leaned down to kiss her cheek in a brotherly gesture.

He shot you a wink before taking a bite of his prize. You shook your head at him, even though you were smiling. He came around to your side of the table. His hand rested on your back and he bent down towards your ear.  

“I actually came over for you,” he said. “Got a minute?”

Your brows rose, but you turned to Eileen in askance. “I’ll be right back. Is that okay?”

She nodded and made an “OK” gesture. “Of course.”

You smiled and let Dean lead you out of your chair, and even out of the apartment. He made sure you both grabbed your coats by the front door.

“Where are we going?” you asked. While you put on your coat over your sweater and jeans, you didn’t notice him grabbing two sets of keys.

“Just downstairs. No big deal,” he said, hefting on his own leather jacket.

You eyed him with some suspicion, but you walked with him down to the elevators and let him keep you close to his side. He smelled like the cologne you bought him for Christmas, and he was already wearing the new watch as well.

You’d struggled to find him the right gift. Nothing felt quite enough after everything he’d done for you the last few months. He’d assured you that he was grateful for both gifts, and had even tried to say the watch looked too expensive. (You’d shut him up with a kiss.)

Now, you had to wonder what he was up to as he led you into the parking lot, but not toward Baby. Instead, you two stopped in front of a shiny silver Chevy parked in a guest spot.

“Dean, what’d you do?” you asked, both excited and worried. He shot you a grin and dangled the keys in front of you.

“You like her?” he asked. His eyes were dancing. “You could keep her, if you ask nicely.”

Your face slackened. You looked between him and the sleek looking car.

“What?” You covered your mouth with both hands. Even after a few moments, your brain was still having a hard time computing. “No…what? Oh my God!”

You grabbed onto his jacket, just in case your legs failed you. Dean laughed and gathered you up in his arms. By the time you peeled your eyes away from the silver beauty to look up at your boyfriend, there were tears already swimming in your eyes.

“Dean, this is really too much. Where’d you find—”

“Bobby had it sitting in his garage for years,” he explained. His hand came up to brush your cheek, and the tears there. “I cleaned her up, dropped in a new engine, safe-proofed with new tires, new airbags, the works. Got her purring like a kitten.”

Your eyes grew a little wider with every admission. Then you softened, gripping the edges of his jacket while you bit your lip to keep it from wobbling.

“How much did he sell it to you for?” you asked. Dean dropped his head back with a sigh.

“Don’t you wanna take a test ride before we start hagglin’?”

You lightly smacked his chest. “Hey. How much?”

He let out another heavy sigh, but you eventually got it out of him. While the price wasn’t as bad as you might’ve expected, you still shook your head.

“I still have a decent chunk of insurance money left. I’m giving you at least half,” you said.

Dean shook his head. “This is my gift to you.”

Your lips pursed, despite the smile that wanted to peek through.

“Nice try,” you said wryly. “You already got me perfume.”

“That was just the decoy.” He grinned, and held you a bit tighter against him. He nodded towards the car. “She’s the main event.”

You wanted to sigh, but this conversation wasn’t over. You were definitely not letting him buy you a whole new…old car. You turned to look at it again.

“What model is this?” you asked.

“2002 Camaro Z28,” Dean rattled off. It sounded impressive, but you didn’t know much about cars.

He let go of you so you could get a closer look. Your hand passed over the hood, but didn’t touch, as if you were afraid of staining the paint with your fingerprints. He had to admit, he’d waxed it up good and managed to get rid of a lot of superficial nicks and scratches.

What he said was true though; Bobby had given him a frankly ridiculous deal. Because when Dean had told him what you’d been through after the car accident, dealing with your grandfather’s passing, and now your ever-mounting expenses, Bobby hadn’t let him walk away from Singer Salvage with anything else but this car. He’d even helped Dean get the new parts he needed to fix it up.

“Is it automatic or manual?” you asked, trying to peer through the driver’s window. “I haven’t driven stick in a hell of a long time.”

Dean came up from behind you and his warm hand found your hip. You let him draw you back into his arms, leaning against his chest.

His lips were close to your ear when he said, “I think you’re damn good at driving stick.”

It took you a second, but the heavily laden innuendo in his deep voice was hard to miss. You uttered a laugh and swatted his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said. You were still smiling when you turned and twined your arms around his neck. Then you leaned up for a kiss—one that kept getting deeper with the full force of your gratefulness, and your love for this man.

“It’s an automatic,” he answered, between kisses. You giggled against his lips.

You barely felt the chill on the air. Your heart was beating fast, even when you pulled away from him. Your eyes slowly opened and met his. He smiled down at you and curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear. As usual, you had most of it clipped up.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was quiet, but steady.

You let out a shaky breath. Emotion was clogging your throat, making your tears burn anew.

“This is a bit more than a Christmas present,” you said. He gave a more self-deprecating smile.

“Well, it’s also kind of an apology,” he said. “For getting you mixed up in my ‘family business.’”

He still felt guilt beyond belief for putting you in danger. For your life being threatened. For being the reason you couldn’t go home.

You just shook your head. Your hand raised to press against his cheek. Your thumb drew tenderly along his chin.

“I thought you said you were part of my family now?” you said. “We’ll figure this out together, like everything else.”

Dean’s eventual smile lightened you, and his kiss warmed you down to your toes. 

“If you want, let’s go for a ride after dinner,” he said.

It was your turn to smirk. Your hands migrated under his jacket and teased at his belt.

“Well, I’m certainly down for a ride,” you said.

Dean laughed and squeezed your hips. “All right. I’m puttin’ you on my naughty list.”

When John finally arrived, the brothers welcomed him in first with big man hugs and good-natured ribbing for him being so damn late.

In Sam’s words, Upholding a Winchester family tradition.

John had taken that with a chuckle. “Smells damn good in here.”

“Yeah, food’s been done for an hour,” Dean prodded at him again. His grin betrayed his teasing, however. His welcoming hand stayed on his dad’s shoulder until they reached the living room, where Sam had set up a longer fold out table and chairs to function as the makeshift dining room, since the table near the kitchen only seated three.

There you were opening a bottle of Jack Daniels. You smiled up at John.

“Figured you were more of a whiskey than wine kind of guy,” you said. You were a bit nervous to see him again, no doubt with flour in your hair and frosting staining your hands. He clasped your shoulder with a hint of a smile.

“You’d be right. Good to see you, darlin’,” he said.

“You too,” you replied. Despite the fact that the first and last time you two had met, it had been in front of your house as the police rifled through your life, looking for more explosives. He graciously didn’t bring that up as he greeted Eileen next.

Once dinner was on the table, there was a lot of catching up between the brothers and their father while you and Eileen continued talking, even through dessert.

“This really is amazing,” she told you, pointing her fork at her slice of berry crumble. “I can see why you went to culinary school.”

You blushed as Sam, Dean, and even John echoed her praise. All three men had generous slices of both pies. 

“Well, thank you. I’m glad you guys enjoy it,” you said, and your smile was genuine.

You loved making good food, but you loved feeding people even more. Whether it was a simple hearty soup or a rich dessert, you liked putting smiles on their faces and giving them a good experience; one they could share with their family and friends. Even better if it was your family.

Or as Dean would say, Your people. 

To you, that was life.

“I’m tellin’ you, if you opened up a bakery you’d make a killing in this town,” Dean said. He nudged your hand with the one that held his fork; it held a precarious piece of pumpkin pie.

You shot him an amused look.

“Don’t you look at me sideways, I’m serious,” he said, laughing a little, but his gaze was steady.

Your cheeks warmed against your will. He believed in your dream, even when you couldn’t quite let yourself.

“Hey, if you ever want to look into applying for a loan, I could help,” Sam said, earning your attention. “I have a friend who works at a bank.”

Your brows raised. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we were pre-law together back in college, but he figured he was better with numbers.”

You smiled. “Well, it would make it easier knowing I was dealing with your friend.”

“Yeah, his name’s Brady. Let me know if you want me to call him,” he said.

You bit your lip, but you nodded. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Maybe they were right. Maybe you should start to believe in yourself, just a little bit more.

“This was all real delicious,” John said to you, when you came back from bringing the leftovers to the kitchen.

Sam and Dean were already arguing about who was doing the dishes and who was drying them. Meanwhile, Eileen was putting away the food (and probably rolling her eyes).

“Yeah, it was a team effort for sure,” you replied. “Dean’s actually a really good cook.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, well, he didn’t get that from me. I can barely boil a damn egg.”

You smiled to yourself; you could imagine Dean got it from his mother then.

Meanwhile, John was watching you stack the empty plates as he grew more contemplative. He’d always been proud of his sons. They were good men, with strong heads on their shoulders.

He often looked at Sam and saw that he seemed happy. Despite the demands of his job, he was learning to balance that with the life he led with Eileen. As a father, John looked forward to the day when they made a firm foundation, taking the next step towards building a life together.

But Dean had seemed to him, a little unstable. John was still proud of his eldest, but while he’d seen a glimpse of it that day at your house, he saw it even more today. Like his son finally had an anchor, tethering him to dry land.

Even so, he couldn’t help heaving a sigh. And he asked you something he knew he shouldn’t.

“Have you given any more thought to filing a report on Nick Savage?” he asked.

You paused in your plate and cup stacking. You looked up at him with a frown, but you thought about your words before you said something rude.

“Yes, I did,” you replied. “I decided my life and my peace were more important.”

He let out a short sigh. “I understand—”

“I’m sorry, John, but I don’t think you do,” you said. Your words were matter-of-fact, if a tad more sharp than you meant them to be. Your hands were starting to tremble.

You crossed your arms to try and steady yourself, but Dean ended up doing just that, by joining your side and resting a hand at the small of your back. He was frowning, glancing between you and his father.

“Tell me you’re not talking about what I think you are,” Dean said, addressing John in particular. “Not on damn Christmas.”

“Like you said, it’s her decision,” John replied. His gaze once again focused on you.

You let out a breath, mostly of exasperation.

“I’m going to bottom-line it for you. If I report that man, and you can’t guarantee me a job and safety until it’s all over, then I’m not poking the bear,” you said. “I plan to keep my head down until I can find another job. Until then, you can have at him all you want. Just leave me out of it.”

Part of you felt selfish. You knew what John was trying to accomplish, and you knew how personal this fight was for him, and for Sam and Dean for that matter. You just couldn’t shake your gut instincts here. You knew Nick far too well by now, and you didn’t want to underestimate him again.

“I agree,” said Dean. You gave him a grateful look.

John conceded with a nod, but all of you knew he wasn’t satisfied. It became a bitter ending to an otherwise brilliant day after he left for the night.

In your mind, it wasn’t quite over yet though. You had a plan up your sleeve for one Dean Winchester.

Sam and Eileen had their own time together while you and Dean went for a drive in your new car. You’d have to transfer your plate and registration and insurance, so it was technically an “illegal” drive, but it was already late and traffic was scarce.

By the time you pulled back into the parking lot, you were smiling from ear to ear, and Dean was giving you that smug grin that said, Aw yeah, I did good.

You couldn’t even fault him for it, because he did exactly that.

Even when you and Dean were getting ready for bed, it didn’t quite feel real. You were living with your boyfriend of just a few months, you now had a new car, and a crime lord had threatened your life.

You chose to focus on the new car. And on your boyfriend, who sat on the edge of his side of the bed, rubbing his right shoulder through his shirt. You knew it must still be sore, though he likely wouldn’t admit it.

Hence, you were about to enact Phase 1 of your plan…

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

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

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

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

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

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

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

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

“Well, if you’re offering…”

You withdrew your hand from his arm, but you spoke close to his ear.

“Are you asking?”

He let out a small sigh, despite his lingering smile.

“All right. Will you please give me a lil’ massage?” he asked.

He couldn’t see your triumphant smile, but you happily kissed his cheek.

“I sure can,” you replied. You laid gentle hands on his shoulders, however briefly. “Stay right here. Don’t move, but take off your shirt.”

“All right, Miss Bossy,” he grumbled. You knew he was teasing by the amused look he threw your way.

“I thought you liked that,” you teased back.

You climbed off the bed before he could playfully grab you, and you giggled all the way to the bathroom. There you began Phase 2 of your plan. 

First, you collected a few different bottles from your designated drawer under the sink. Then, you made a quick wardrobe change, after popping back into the bedroom to grab something from your nightstand.

You also connected your phone to the speaker on his nightstand and put some music on a low volume. It was a playlist he’d made and shared with you a while ago, with songs he thought you’d like. The Eagles’ “Take It to the Limit” was definitely on the list.

By the time you returned to Dean, he was indeed shirtless, still in his sweatpants, and checking his watch.  

“I’m here, I’m here,” you said. You climbed across the bed with your small haul—a difficult feat with your hands full, but you managed.

Dean turned to look at the bottles of moisturizer you dropped next to him on the bed. He rose a brow.

“Twilight Woods. Japanese Cherry Blossom. Appletini. Are these my only options?” he asked. His face was half bemused, half reluctant.

You almost burst out laughing. “Which one strikes your fancy?”

He scratched the back of his head. You opened the second bottle first (your personal favorite), so he could smell.

“Not bad actually,” he muttered. You bit your lip so you wouldn’t giggle, but you managed to open the other two for him to get a whiff.

“Eh, the first one I guess,” he said.

Japanese Cherry Blossom. AKA: a classic from Bath & Body Works.

You finally had to laugh. “Just kidding. I’ve got this.”

You held up a jar you’d been hiding behind him. Its logo said: Massage Oil.

“I just wanted to see which girly moisturizer you secretly wanna slather all over yourself,” you said.

Dean shot you a wry look, but only then did he see what you were wearing.

“Oh, hold up,” he uttered.

Your hair was let loose, how you knew he liked, and you’d teased it out a little. You’d had to give away the red lingerie you’d bought, to rid both of you of its lingering memories of your work Christmas party. Instead, you’d found something in a vibrant emerald green: satin and lace.

Dean’s hand reached for your waist, probably to bring you closer. But you playfully slapped his hand.

“Eh-eh! Not yet,” you said to his surprised face. You smiled. “I have a plan for you tonight.”

Slowly, he smirked. His eyes still dipped to take in the rest of you, from your pretty face, to exposed skin and cleavage, to shiny satin that clung to your curves and draped down to mid-thigh. 

“I can see,” he said. His voice was a notch deeper. “Merry Christmas to me.”

Despite your blush and growing smile, you turned him back around by his shoulders.

“Just relax.”

You let your hands drift up the back of his neck to slide your fingers through his hair. There you began with a slow, gentle massage of his head. You felt him take a deep breath.

You couldn’t see it, but Dean’s eyes had closed at your ministrations. He secretly really liked the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. It made his shoulders loosen; with tension he didn’t know he had releasing from the neck down.

Aside from the rigors of his job, he also had to work out and condition his body to keep up his stamina. He probably didn’t spend as much time as he should on this aspect of things, making sure he wasn’t overtaxing himself.

He appreciated what you were doing though. He knew you cared about him, that you loved him. But he liked that you were also a caring person, who tried to take care of him. Dean hadn’t really had that…from anyone before. Sometimes, it was hard for him to let you.

…Damn, we really got too much in common, he realized.

When you migrated back down his neck, your hands left for a moment to gather up some oil. It was warm against his skin when you started between his shoulders, digging with the heel of your hands.

He groaned deep, surprising even himself.

Behind him, your brows were furrowed. “You’re really knotted up here. When was the last time you had a massage?”

Dean chuckled. “Never.”

You frowned. “Hmm. Okay, we’re definitely doing this more often.”

“No complaints from me,” he said with a grin.

Of course, you gave special attention to his right shoulder. You were gentler there, asking what was tender and what felt good, or too much. By then you had an easier time getting the truth out of Dean. He let you know when the pressure was too much, and you even helped him stretch out that arm until the muscles and joints were warmed up and the pain was gone.

You encouraged him to lie on his stomach in the middle of the bed, so you could start on his back. Your hands glided down planes of muscle and smooth slopes while you straddled his thighs. The only sounds you heard from him were occasional moans and rumbling, pleased sounds. That was also what let you know that he hadn’t fallen asleep.

“Okay, turn over,” you said, smiling when he groaned in protest. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

“What the hell’s the good part then?” he asked. His voice was muffled in the mattress, but when he turned around, flopping onto his back, his eyes once again took in the green satin and seemed to remember what your real intentions were.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. His grin was lazy, now that he was beyond relaxed, but his hands found purchase on your hips. You smiled down at him.

You let the remaining oil on your hands glide up his chest, until you lowered down for a kiss. It was unhurried and sweet.

“I love you, you know?” you said.

Dean swept his fingers through your hair, tucking a few strands behind your ear.

He smiled. “I’ve got some idea, yeah.”

You both laughed, soft and true. Your hand rested against his cheek as you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow at first, but soon gaining in both passion and urgency. You felt his grip on your hips tighten, grinding your center against his growing length.

He groaned. No goddamn panties on. Good.

You kissed your way from his lips to his neck. Your teeth grazed his ear while you rolled your hips into his. It was a tease for both of you, but not for long, as Dean grew impatient enough to slide his sweatpants down, followed by his hands slipping under the satin covering your thighs. They traveled further still, squeezing your breasts and rolling hardened nipples under the pads of his thumbs.

Your breath hitched, and your pleased hum was music to his ears. By now you were bracing yourself against the mattress, but you used his shoulders as leverage to raise yourself up.

You took his hands and encouraged them to bunch up the satin and pull it over your head. Dean sat up with you still in his lap, and once his strong arm wrapped around your waist, it was skin to flushed skin.

You held his face and brought him down to you for another fierce kiss. He held you tightly against him, hands splayed across your back and tangling in your hair. His arms were a cage you never wanted to escape.

But you did press away from him, just for a moment, so you could reach down between your bodies to take a firm hold of his cock. You guided it to your entrance. There was already a small flood between your legs, and your core ached for him.

There was almost no resistance when you slowly sunk your hips down and down, until he was buried deep inside you.

You both made sounds of pleasure, with labored breaths as Dean’s hand cradled your cheek. He laid open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, teeth grazing down your neck.

You clung to his shoulders and began to move, slow in the way you let almost the full length of his cock escape you, before you slid back down. Dean moaned into your skin, and you let out a shuddering sigh.

You pushed at Dean’s chest until he was lying back, and you continued rolling your hips against his. He helped you create a steady rhythm on top of him, but he was being treated to a feast of the eyes as well as the pleasure rocking through his body. He watched the way you swept your hair back. The way your eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration as you bit your lip.

But he couldn’t stay still for long; he knew he was close enough to practically taste his end, but you had some miles to go. He gripped your thigh with one hand while the other glided up between them, to further part your folds. His fingers found your clit, circling insistently like it was a button. It had your hips stuttering.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. “Dean—”

He managed to smirk through panting breaths. “Right there, right baby?”

You nodded, unable to speak. You continued to move as steadily as you could, but the feeling of him deep inside combined with his talented fingers playing you like a five-string guitar—it finally made you tighten on him, shuddering deep inside. Tingles broke across your skin, zipping up your spine as you gasped.

Dean helped you with the last few hard thrusts that brought him along with you, and you felt his warmth spilling inside you.

It wasn’t the first time that had happened, since you were on birth control. But after you slid off his lap and practically rolled into his side, him welcoming you with an arm wrapping around your waist, it did make you think, as you caught your breath.

It made you think about the first time you and Dean slept together. It had been the first and last time you’d asked him to wear a condom. The next morning, he’d made a remark that still hung in the back of your mind…

“You like kids, huh?”

The thought still rattled through your mind now, after you and Dean shared a quick shower, ridding you both of the oil clinging to your skin. The thought remained when you slid into bed, under fresh sheets and thick covers, and close to your man. He cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes at the feeling.

Contrary to what this night had been, the whole “moving in together” thing hadn’t been all that easy. You two had bickered about the way he often left drawers and cabinets open and dirty clothes on the floor.

He had made remarks about your hair products taking up too much space in his drawers. Not to mention how morning routines needed to adjust because Dean liked to shower in the morning, but you needed the mirror not fogged up in order to do your makeup.

Right now, however, you had peace. You felt safe here, and you weren’t alone in a huge house filled with far too many memories.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

Dean’s lips lingered on your forehead. “Hmm?”

“I know this situation is sort of temporary, me living here,” you said. “So much has happened that we haven’t really talked about…what we both want, down the line.”

He pulled back enough from you to see your face. His face betrayed a thread of confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean like…” you hesitated, but you realized you were probably going to have to be direct. “Are you a marriage and kids kind of guy? Is that even something you’ve thought about?”

Dean met your gaze. It took him a moment, but he let out a short sigh.

“You wanna know what made me want to start dating, for real?” he asked.

You blinked; you hadn’t expected that, but you nodded.

“I started thinking about what would happen if something happened to me on the job,” he said. You frowned, but before you could say anything, he raised a placating hand.

“I thought about what I’d leave behind,” said Dean. He quirked a wry smile. “It’s not much, besides my car.”

You frowned in earnest. Your hand flattened against his bare chest.

“That’s not true,” you said. “You have your brother, your father, and your friends. That’s plenty, Dean.”

He conceded that with a nod. “You’re right. But I just started thinking, maybe I want more. Like uh…like what my parents had, when they were happy. The house, each other, me and Sammy…a family.”

You couldn’t be certain in the near total darkness of the room, with only the moonlight filtering through the blinds and casting a glow behind him, but you thought you saw a shine in his eyes. Your hand crept up from beneath the covers to find his cheek. It was rough with stubble, yet you tenderly swept a thumb back and forth.

“I think that’s beautiful,” you replied.

Dean paused. He then huffed in amusement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, hoping he could see it. 

“Then uh, is that something you’d be into?” he asked. You were amused by his tentative approach. 

“With you?” You pretended to think. Your fingers slipped into his hair. “Yeah, I think I’m into that.”

He chuckled. “Okay, then. Good to know.”

He grasped your wrist and turned his head to press a kiss into your palm.

And he spoke into the dark. “I love you too, you know.”

Your smile deepened as you rested your head against his arm. You whispered into the small space between your faces.

“Yeah, I’ve got some idea.”

AN: 🥹 All righty, how'd you like that fluff overload?

...Ready for some more drama? 😏

Next Time:

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

Keep Reading: PART 16

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

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#The Good Part #Smoke Eater #Part 15 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #Sam Winchester #eileen leahy #john winchester #zepskies writes

[lilybug-02]

Small but mighty.

Part 15 || First || Previous || Next

—Full Series—

This is a little shorter than the other Parts, but its my birthday give me a break ;) Hope you all have a wonderful day! A little present from me to you <3333

#WOW. Lily has a regular uploading schedule??? lol you thought #its here #deltarune chara timeline #chara #asriel #the mayor #sal and pep #deltarune #my art #art #deltarune chara timeline comic #kris #susie #ralsei #delatrune au #part 15 #Bull Worm Rodger #saloon darkworld #darkworld #comic #bread #college chara

[aintinacage]

endless peter parker - part 15

#endless peter parker #peter parker #spiderman #spider man #spider-man #marvel #mcu #tom holland #thomas holland #tony stark #ironman #iron man #robert downey jr #robert downey junior #RDJ #irondad #irondad and spiderson #part 15 #civil war #captain America 3 #captain america civil war

[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 #warhead #the honorable ones #sw rebels #star wars rebels season 3 #star wars rebels season 2 #star wars polls #sw rebels season 2 #sw rebels season 3 #sw rebels round 1 #part 15

[angelynmoon]

Eldritch monster Steve

Part 15

Hopper responds to the noise complaints, Almost angry he's been so easily reinstated as Sheriff.

The Wheelers are well known, Joyce always said Karen could do better and Hopper never really liked Ted.

It should have been a simple keep it down, stop yelling and be apart for a few hours, the way it always was befere but something is different this time as Hopper pulls up.

And that difference is Steve Harrington sitting on the front Stoop waiting for his arrival.

"Holly is with Eddie and Wayne." Steve said as he stood. "Mike is at Will's and Nancy finally got the appartment she will share with Jonathan and Argyle, it's just, Ted and Karen."

"What am I walking in to Steve, something you did or upside down related or what?"

"Ted got violent he's never got like that before, he's not awake, I made him sleep. But I can't, help Karen, I don't know enough." Steve said quietly.

"You should go to Holly." Hopper said and shook his head at the protest.

Karen had told him Holly was Steve's if something happened to her, had to because he was the Sheriff and she didn't want Steve accused kidnapping.

Steve got Holly, no matter what and Hopper couldn't fault Karen for that, had changed El's gaurdianship to Steve too if something happened to him and Joyce. It meant adding Eddie Munson but Eddie had been good for El, she'd became a little more confident, a little loud but on her way to almost normal little girl with Edfie reassuring her it was okay.

But Holly was going to need Steve more than Eddie.

Before Russia Hopper had seen Steve lingering outside the Wheeler's, at the time he'd assumed Steve had been waiting for Nancy or leaving from visiting Nancy but knowing what he did now, having talked to Karen he could guess which Wheeler Steve had really been visiting, been protecting.

Steve stared at Hopper for a long at moment before he nodded.

"Try to save her, Holly needs her mom." Steve said and then faded into the Shadows as he tended to do.

Hopper hated it and it made the kids Shriek because there was no form hiding in the Shadows, Steve was just gone.

Hopper waited a moment before entering the house, calling out as he did, just in case Ted woke or Karen was aware enough to hear him.

Hours later Hopper was walking up to the Munson's new trailer, pausing at the sound of Holly's happy laughter.

Hopper stood there for a long moment not ready to let that sound die just yet.

It didn't take long, though for Steve, to come out, he seemed to spend more time at the Munson's than his house unless he was hosting the kids.

Hopper leaned against his truck and Steve joined him, waiting for Hopper to speak but not forcing him, not yet.

"They aren't sure she'll make and they aren't sure she'll wake up if she does." Hopper said eventually.

"Will Nancy be coming for Holly in the morning?" Steve asked.

Hopper looked at Steve, unsure if Steve was willing to let Nancy have her sister or if he wanted to know so they could vanish.

"Nancy doesn't get Holly, you and Eddie do." Hopper told him.

"But.."

"Karen made it clear that you get Holly, even if Ted wasn't the cause of her absence, you'd get Holly." Hopper explained

"She's mine?" "Steve asked in a soft voice.

"I think, in away, she always has been. You've been checking in on her since you and Nancy broke up, haven't you?" Hopper asked.

"I had to keep her safe." Steve blinked. "What about Mike?"

Hopper scowled "I talked Claudia into taking him for a few days, she's got the room, but he's got an uncle that's coming down to sort some legalities. We'll figure out what to do."

"I can take him too, that way he can stick around, or help Claudia with money to keep him, mom will won't mind. Might even adopt him herself." Steve said and looked at the trailer.

"What are you going to tell her?" Hopper asked.

"Tonight? Nothing. Tonight she's just having a sleepover with Stevie and Eddie. Tomorrow we'll tell her," Steve looked at Hopper, "We can tell Mike too."

Hopper sighed and nodded, "I'll tell Nancy in the morning, then, jesus, is it wrong that I hoped it was upside down related?"

Steve laughed. "The Down Below is simple, Survive, Humans are extreemly complex."

"Yeah," Hopper agreed.

"Steve, you're missing Unicorn Spaghetti!" Eddie shouted from inside the trailer.

"What is Unicorn Spaghetti?" Hopper asked, uncertain he wanted to know.

"Sprinkles instead of meat sauce." Steve said, "Eddie is determined to find something I won't eat or that will make my stomach upset." Steve shrugged. "Besides, he doesn't know how to cook real food so it's been unholy combinations since we started dating. Holly likes it."

"Well, as long Holly likes it." Hopper said.

Steve gave Hopper a look, "Prison won't save him, you know that, right?"

Hopper nodded, "Didn't expect it to."

"Good, I'll be nice enough to leave you a body, if only so they can have the closure." Steve told him.

"Steve," Holly called, "Unicorn Spaghetti."

"You want to join us?" Steve asked as he straightened.

"I'll pass, thank you." Hopper said with a small grimace.

Steve shrugged, "Your loss."

Hopper watched Steve enter the trailer, wondering if he should have protested Ted's inevitable death more but as he thought about Karen in that hospital bed and about telling Nancy that her mom might never wake up, about Mike and Holly possibly growing up without both their parent he realized that he really hoped that Steve made Ted very afraid before he died.

Hopper wondered if that made him a bad man but found he didn't care, he, like Steve would do just about anything to keep their kids safe and if that meant Ted Wheeler left the world of the living then so be it.

Hopper stayed there for a bit longer, listening to Holly's joy as they ate their Unicorn Spaghetti, he could only hope that it wouldn't be the end of her joy.

--

A/n: have I ever had Unicorn Spaghetti, no, is it something I think Eddie would make, absolutly, if only because he thinks having dinner and dessert at the same time is a great idea.

@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

#jim hopper #eldritch monster steve #upside down creature steve #from the rot #part 15 #steddie #holly wheeler & steve harrington #holly wheeler #eddie munson

[laurellerual]

Laurel rewatch GoT - Part 15

A name for Gendry

In the books Arya adds Dunsen to her list for the simple crime of robbing Gendry of his helmet. Even after parting ways with Gendry on less than happy terms, she continues to repeat Dunsen's name in her prayer. It may be just a stolen object, but it seems clear that for her the wrong suffered by the Bull is very serious, in fact she places it on the same level as Polliver robbing her of Needle.

In the show, Arya adds three names to the list because of Gendry. These are Beric and Thoros, who betrayed him and sold him like one sells a slave, and Melisandre who bought him and essentially kidnapped him with the veiled intention of harming him. Except that at a certain point she totally forgets that for some reason, and removes them from the list. And the most wtf thing is that we find out about this change the same night she and Gendry have sex. I mean, she's been flirting with him for days, it's clear that she's still fond of him... but since he survived Dragonstone, I guess the buying and selling of human beings is forgiven and forgotten?!

#arya stark #gendry #gendrya #asoiaf #anti got #laurel rewatch got #part 15 #me talking abot the show in 2024 #I'm no actually rewatching #but when I am home sick my head go places

[ejzah]

The Other Shoe, Part 15

***

After a first few brutal days, where Deeks seemed to be in constant pain, in addition to constantly being poked and examined by a team of doctors, things improved significantly. Since he didn’t show signs of rejection or infection, they removed several of the tubes that kept him bed bound and he was allowed brief walks—Sam had been released after only one day, much to Deeks’ regret. He’d looked forward to causing minor mischief with his former teammate.

Physical activity brought its own pain and challenges, but Deeks was just happy to be up and about. Even if some of that time was spent in mandatory PT sessions.

In the end, Deeks was released from the hospital after eight days, along with a dizzying list of guidelines, medications, diet recommendations, and symptoms to be on watch for as he recovered.

Two weeks later, Deeks and Kensi had settled into a fairly steady routine. She was still on family and medical leave, which meant she could assist Deeks with any of his needs. Though at this point, he could manage most of his upkeep by himself.

Mostly, Deeks was enjoying the ability to resume normal activities, albeit at a slower and less impressive pace.

Today, Kensi helped him move their set of weights and other exercise equipment outside for his daily modified workout session. With the sun beating down on him, he’d worked up a sweat within a few minutes, and stripped off his shirt. He’d have to watch that he didn’t burn after being inside so much the last year, but for now it felt amazing.

Halfway through a set of arm curls, he caught Kensi watching him from her spot on their wicker loveseat. The book she’d been reading lay abandoned in one hand. He followed her gaze down to his abdomen.

A scar about four inches long stretched from just above his pelvis to his lower abdomen at an angle. Underneath the hard layer of surgical glue, he could see the remnants of dried blood and the raised edges of relatively fresh scar tissue.

“I guess I’m not going to be winning any beauty contests, huh?” he said wryly, gesturing to himself with a sweeping motion. Kensi looked momentarily embarrassed at having been caught staring, but got over it quickly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re gorgeous,” she insisted, turning a couple pages in the book.

“I’m skinny, I’m pale, I can barely lift 10 pounds, and I have a new scar to top it all off.”

“And still think you’re the sexiest man alive,” Kensi told him firmly. She slid off the loveseat, leaving the book on the cushion, and crossed over to him hands on her hips. “I love everything about you, including that scar.” She stopped directly in front of him, curling one hand around the back of his neck and cupping his cheek with the other. “You will your strength and your tan back, but even if you didn’t, I would still love you.”

“You’re pretty amazing,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from her temple.

“I know.” Grinning, Kensi pressed her lips to his. Deeks dropped one hand to the top of her back, drawing her closer. He moaned softly as the kiss deepened, warmth that had nothing to do with the sun sparking across his skin.

Kensi pulled back with a gasp, licking her bottom lip. She ran her hands down his chest with a regretful sigh.

“Why’d you stop?”

“I don’t think sex is on your doctor-approved activities list,” she pointed out. Deeks pouted.

“Maybe not, but I bet we could find something to do that would be equally fun.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively and ran his eyes down the length of Kensi’s body.

“Let’s give it a couple more weeks.” Kensi patted his chest, fingers lingering for a few extra seconds.

“If you insist,” he sighed dramatically.

“I do. Ok, I’m going to get your afternoon medication and lunch,” she said.

“I think I can manage walking to the kitchen and making a sandwich.”

“I know you can, but you don’t have to.” Kissing him one more time, very quickly, she headed for the back door. “Don’t even think about moving that equipment without me!”

Shaking his head in fond exasperation at Kensi’s scolding, sitting down on the edge of his yoga mat. He still had a long way to go in his recovery, but his future already looked so much better than it had a few months ago.

***

A/N: I didn’t want to get into all the details of organ transplant and recovery in this fic. However, I did want to specify for anyone who isn’t familiar, that organ transplants come with the possibility of lifelong complications, one of those being the risk of the body rejecting the transplant organ. As such, recipients have to take anti-rejection medication for the rest of their lives and take other precautions.

Again, I didn’t want to get into all of that, because as always I think Kensi and Deeks deserve a break and the chance to be happy after everything I’ve put them through. I think there will be just a chapter or two more after this.

#ncis la fanfiction #densi #marty deeks #kensi blye #sick fic #Deeks whump #the comfort part of the story #the other shoe #part 15 #ejzah fanfiction

[brighterdaysarebeforeus]

Hobie is not having a fun time right now. (>.<)

Also sorry for the delay in this, I got stuck elsewhere, hahaha.

@hobiesgender @royallydivinelesbian

Masterlist

Hobie was far from mad; he was furious. Enraged. So overcome with a burning, molten anger that he couldn’t figure out what to do with it right at that current moment.

He tilted his head back against the surprisingly cool stone of the cell, glaring up at the ceiling. The stone didn’t provide a lot of light, obviously, that was coming from the setting sun hitting the window just right, but that didn’t particularly matter to Hobie right at this moment. He had been put in a holding cell, all by himself, a temporary place to stay until either his death sentence or his permanent relocation to an actual prison; apparently the Royalists weren’t entirely sure what to do with him just yet. There was no physical evidence, apparently, of Hobie managing to kidnap the prince from the castle, no video evidence either; just the word of some scientist who clearly wasn’t even sure if she’d seen Hobie or not, and couldn’t even remember roundabouts when she was supposed to have seen him.

And the kicker was, Hobie never went near the palace! He hated the place with a passion, the obvious riches that went to the Royal family while the city closest to them suffered from poverty, the way it fell on him and his crew to keep their people from going hungry or giving them directions to keep them from sleeping on the streets. There was no way he would ever go anywhere near the place, and no way he would have any idea what to do with the prince if he’d ever found the kid in his possession (so to speak) —

Except, apparently, he had had the prince running with him and his crew.

That was the thing, wasn’t it, that was the whole thing that sort of tore Hobie up the most. He’d trusted Michael, let him get close. Not even just close to him, but close to his family. Showed him their hiding spots, got him involved in his community, let him be a part of their group with welcoming smiles and open arms. Hobie had considered the possibility that the kid was some kind of sheltered, some kind of worker for the palace, because it was obvious; it was obvious in the way he’d interacted with the people, with the way Michael had stared around them as they walked the city, there was no way he’d grown up anywhere but in comfort, and Hobie had been fine with that. He’d had something in place to keep Michael with him, with them, long term, because despite his obvious naivety Hobie had actually really liked the kid, but all that went out the window the second Miguel had pinned him to the ground. It was one thing for Michael to have come from a serving family in the castle, but for him to be the actual prince —

The door to the left from him clanged open. Hobie didn’t move. Footsteps made their way briskly down the hallway, and he closed his eyes as if that would put off whatever was about to happen. He wasn’t in the mood, he didn’t want to deal with it, but he didn’t have a choice; the footsteps stopped in front of him, silence echoing loudly between him and whoever was in front of him currently. Hobie kept his eyes shut.

“You’re not even going to look at me?”

“Nah.” Hobie shifted so he was a little more comfortable against the wall. She didn’t sound mad, or annoyed; she actually sounded kind of amused, and so Hobie decided that his full attention wasn’t necessarily needed. Miguel would’ve been spitting, he knew that much, or he’d be overly gloating about the fact that he’d finally caught Hobie. “No need, is there? News’s gonna be bad either way. Don’t gotta look at you for that, do I?”

Honestly, he blamed Margo; she was the one who pointed out his luck would run out, that little brat, and it looked like it finally had. He was gonna miss her.

(He had to blame Margo; it was the only surface level thought that kept him from blaming Michael — Miles — because he didn’t want to focus on anger right now, in what could potentially be his last minutes. He wanted to think about his crew, the good times he had with them. He blamed Margo because it was easier, because he didn’t actually blame her for the situation he’d gotten himself in at all.)

“What if it’s not bad news?” Hobie’s eyes drifted open at that, but he didn’t look down at the woman in front of him. He stared up at the ceiling, frowning as he took in the words and mulled them over. She pressed her advantage as he did so, he could hear her leaning on the bars now. “I could help you out, get you out of here. You don’t have to go down for this.”

“No vengeance on the renegade teen who kidnapped your precious prince?” Hobie sneered, his eyes flickering as he forced himself to keep staring upwards at the ceiling. He wouldn’t look at her, he wouldn’t; listening to this woman was likely only going to get him into more trouble, and nothing was worth that. “No righteous judgement upon the poor, lowly kid who dared to even look his way for the smallest of moments?”

“We both know that wasn’t what happened, don’t we?” His eyes dropped at that, staring at the woman through the bars she was leaning against even as he didn’t move a muscle; she had big, bushy hair that was barely being held back by a headband, dark clothes and boots on. She looked thin, in that way people get when they get too engrossed in their work and forget to eat, and she was staring at him intently through big round glasses. His mouth went a bit dry at the implication she was tossing his way oh so casually. “You’ve never come within a fifty foot radius of this place before now, have you?”

“How do you know?” Hobie asked, but his defiance was dwindling the longer she stood in front of him. She smiled, but it wasn’t kind or friendly in any sense of the words; it set Hobie’s teeth on edge a bit. “I could be here every other night, just skulking around.”

“But you’re not.” She pulled a file from seemingly out of nowhere, standing up straight as she leafed through it. “Hobart Brown” and he gagged at his name, obvious and loud and echoing in the space between them, but she kept on, “wanted for misdemeanor things. Squatting, petty thievery, some defacing public property — ”

“Oi, hold on,” Hobie dropped forward now, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stared her down, “there was no defacing any sort of public property — ”

“The point,” she said as she snapped the file shut, “is that all that little stuff? Not important, in the long run. Not in any way that really matters, right?” Hobie fell silent, pressing his lips together. She took his silence as an answer and pressed on. “Any other thing you’d get caught for, you’d get a slap on the wrist and nothing else. Maybe a day or two, in holding, but that’s it. That’s nothing, honestly, back out on the streets with your friends in no time. But this.” She leaned on the bars again, staring down at Hobie. “You could potentially hang for this, kid. This is some real trouble you’ve gotten yourself into here.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the lady staring down at Hobie, who mulled everything over in his mind. His jaw worked as he thought, tongue playing with the ring circling his lower lip. The kicker was, she wasn’t entirely wrong and he knew it; he just didn’t want to give in so easily because he wasn’t entirely sure where this was going or what she wanted from him. It made him uneasy, but…he didn’t really want to face the consequences of “kidnapping the prince” when his only real crime was taking in some random kid he’d found off the streets. It wasn’t his fault that he was so willing to help his community.

“What’s the catch?” He asked, and the lady smiled.

#punkflower #hobie brown #olivia octavius #a whole new world au #part 15

[missmaywemeetagain]

PREPARE YOURSELVES 💗🧣💗

(it’s coming…soon)

#Pink Scarf #pink scarf update #Part 15 #the clouds have parted and the writer’s block has ended #your patience is appreciated 💕 #elvis #elvis presley #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis presley x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis x reader #elvis 1969 #austin!elvis x reader

[tightjeansjavi]

What if..what if I told y’all I already started writing part 15 of blue jeans..WHAT THEN

#blue jeans n’texas dreams #horse dad! joel #part 15

[knightprincess]

Forgive Me (Echo x Medic Reader) Part 15

Words: Just over 1k Warning: Spoilers for Bad Batch Season 1, a bit of suspense. Pairing: Echo/Medic Reader Pronouns: She/Her A/N: Sorry for the long wait, got a little sidetracked with other projects outside of writing (digital art & cross stitching)

The war was coming to a close, no one could deny it. The senators who fought in the senate knew the end was drawing nearer, although none could say for sure what if it was they could sense coming to an end. All they could say for sure was the unexplainable feeling of dread and impending doom, lingering in the air. The Jedi too had felt it, along with the harsh judgment cast upon them by the very people they had fought to protect. The judgment that now branded them as much of enemies as the Separatists they fought against. The judgment that called them bloodthirsty warmongers. 

In the months since Echo had been rescued by the daring Jedi Knight, Anakin Skywalker, his loyal Captain Rex, and the Enhanced Commando unit collectively known as The Bad Batch. A fair bit had changed. Echo had made the decision to join the Bad Batch, going on missions and adventures with them across the galaxy, slowly accepting the truth he'd tried so hard to deny, he wasn't the same Arc Trooper he once was, although still an asset, he was more machine than clone now. 

But his decision to join the Bad Batch had come at a price. He had to leave (Y/N) behind. She was assigned to the 501st and would remain with them until she was either reassigned or the war ended. With Kix going MIA, Snap was the only medic the boys in blue had, the only one they trusted enough to attend to their wounds and open up to about the brutality of the war. She was a trusted and loyal friend to every clone she met, in return, they treated her as if she was one of their own, as Cody put it, she had an army of protective brothers. 

At first, Echo had been reluctant to leave (Y/N) behind, during his quiet moments aboard the Marauder, her thoughts would drift to her and the concern she would feel abandoned by him grew in power. He'd forget about the conversations he had with her while recovering from his traumatic experience as a prisoner of war, he'd forgotten the advice Snap had given him while offering encouragement. Telling him to find his place and himself, encouraging him to put himself first instead of everyone else. 

"Still thinking about her?" asked Hunter, noticing Echo had been staring off into hyperspace for quite some time now. The blue and white swirls reflected in his pale eyes. The assignment to Kaller was minor compared to the majority of troopers reassigned to Coruscant, General Grevious' attack there seemingly shook everyone, even more so when the droid commander had managed to gain access to one of the more secure buildings on the planet and kidnap the Chancellor. 

"She has that effect" replied Echo, suspecting Snap would have been reassigned to Coruscant along with the rest of the 501st. He had little doubt she would have been sent back to the military base, prepared to do her duty as a well-trained and tested medic. "I feel guilty for leaving her behind again. The last time I promised her I would be back, I ended up a prisoner and weapon for years" admitted the Arc Trooper, although he refused to word his other concerns, that it would be her taken from him if something was to go arie this time. After all in recent weeks, the civvi medics and other personnel had been targets of attacks, medics more than others. 

"(Y/N) is a fighter, I do not envy those who believe it wise to target her" voiced Tech, not lifting his eyes from the datapad he tapped away at. "My research suggests her last known location was on Coruscant, give me a few more minutes and I should have an exact location" he added, only receiving a hum from Crosshair, he and Hunter were the only ones to really notice Tech like many had become fond of Snap, often keeping an eye on her whereabouts over the time since building a friendship.  

"The 104th, 212th, and 501st's are with her. What could go wrong?" questioned Wrecker, all knew Octavius was a constant thorn but had thrust far been easily deterred, as had Isolde, who spent the majority of her time trying to regain Octavius' attention, especially when she realized he had put it back on to her younger sister. If Isolde wasn't trying to get Octavius back, then she was making a poor attempt at her job, which normally ensured the Jedi were updated on any changes, should anything have changed during the short and normally uneventful trip from the temple to the military base. More often than not it appeared Isolde was sabotaging the Jedi she was supposed to keep informed, a few times her stupidity had been mistaken for terrorist acts. 

The moment the elite unit landed on Kaller, the focus became the mission at hand. Echo forced the thoughts of (Y/N) to the back of his mind, promising himself he would return to them later. For now, he had to keep his mind on the here and now and ensure Jedi Master Depa Billada and her Padawan Caleb Dume had the support they needed, even if they didn't have the backup requested. 

The job was simple enough, provide aid to allow the occupation to continue with as little as possible. If need be settle the hostile residents of the planet, who had plainly stated they didn't see a difference between the Separatist Occupation and that of the Republic, both had caused destruction and brought war with them. At the top of a snowy peak, the five soldiers were met by Caleb Dume, who seemed surprised by there only being five, it being clear he and likely his master had expected an attack battalion rather than the enhanced squad. 

The battle had been easy enough, a standard mission. Hunter and Crosshair had assessed the enemy forces, with the sergeant deciding on the plan to use. By the time the skirmish was over, Wrecker had another battle droid over his shoulders and Crosshair was nudging some scattered across the battlefield if only to ensure they were deactivated. Hunter had gone over to General and those hiding with her, Tech and Echo following behind, with the former still trying to access seemingly locked files. 

Everything had been as it should be, a regular assignment with an easy solution to it. Everything was normal until it wasn't. When one order came through and continued to repeat. 

Execute Order 66. 

Masterlist

#forgive me (echo x medic reader) #arc trooper echo #tbb tech #sargent hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #the bad batch #fem! medic reader #reader interactive #reader insert #x reader fanfic #star wars fanfction #star wars x reader #part 15

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 15

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: 4,500 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smuttish. Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, peril, and a cliffhanger…

Part 15: The Tower

You dreamed of Medellin. 

Of being back in that mansion on the cliffside, during a Colombian summer. Sometimes it was sipping a vodka cranberry by the pool. 

Other times, it was getting poker lessons from Loco and Saul while Frank smoked a cigarette. Or reading by yourself in the garden, surrounded by yellow flowers, as the salty wind from the nearby waterfall kissed your cheeks and rustled your sundress.

And once, it was getting caught by Ben on your way back to your new, bigger room. Pretending to be coy, fully aware of him following you, feeling his stare on your ass.

Then when you got to the door, you paused and turned in the doorway, boldly meeting his gaze. 

And you pulled him inside your room by his shirt, just like you had the first time. He pawed at your dress, those heavy hands dragging underneath, probing between your thighs.

You held him to you, reveled in the scrape of his beard against your neck, sighed shakily in his ear as he walked you back, your ass bumping into the dresser.

Ben turned you around. You allowed his manhandling as those hands wrapped around you and found your breasts, kneading every curve before he bent you over on the dresser. 

You braced yourself on the hard wood when those nimble fingers of his teased you through your underwear. Soon enough you sucked in a sharp breath, felt the burn of the lace ripping off, sliding from between your already slippery folds. 

But before he gave you what you wanted, what you were begging him for without words, he reached around and took your face in his hand, encouraging you to lift your head. 

Your gaze found his in the mirror, scorching lust and naked desire. And yet, you still wondered what he saw when he looked at you.

You just couldn’t know that he was wondering the same thing. 

But he forced you to watch him, to watch yourself as he entered you. Your mouth opened on a gasp. 

You woke in bed with a jolt as your cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand. You pressed a hand to your rapidly beating heart and sighed. 

You didn’t quite remember the dream, but your skin was tingling all the way down to your toes. Not to mention the suspect heat between your legs…

You grabbed your phone, frowning in annoyance at the caller ID. 

Fucking Butcher again. But you answered, and he had unexpected news for you. 

When you eventually hung up with him, you got ready for the day. Ben must’ve already been awake, as his side of the bed was empty when you woke up. You later found him sitting on the porch outside in an old wooden chair, smoking a cigar.

How can he smoke so early in the morning? you thought with a shake of your head. He looked up at you, his lips lifting around his cigar. 

“Morning,” he said, puffing away. 

“You shouldn’t be hanging out here in the open,” you reminded him. 

He shrugged and reached out a hand to you. Sighing, you took it, and he tugged you over to sit in his lap. You waved the smoke out of your face, giving him a look of amusement and disbelief.

“Where the hell did you find a cigar?”

“Had it ordered in,” he said with a smirk. “That French fuck knows his shit.”

You shook your head at him with a small smile. You assumed he meant Frenchie. 

“We gotta go,” you told him. “Butcher just called.”

“Churchill can calm his tits for ten more minutes,” he said. He offered you a puff of his cigar when he caught you eyeing it. “Want to try it out?”

You grimaced, but part of you was curious, as you had never smoked one of these before. You took the cigar and inhaled a bit, and immediately started dying. This was nothing like smoking a joint.

“Shit,” you coughed out smoke. Ben rumbled with laughter, and you playfully hit his arm. 

“Here, take this thing back,” you said, still coughing. He rubbed your back and took the cigar from you. He continued to puff away. 

“Lightweight,” he teased you. 

“Old man,” you countered. “Out here in the heat with your day slippers.”

He glanced down at said slippers with a slight raise of his brows. Then he rolled his eyes. 

“Eh, fuck off.”

“Mhmm,” you said wryly. And you took the cigar from his mouth.

“Hey!”

Ben didn’t appreciate being dragged all the way back to Supe Affairs, just to be told they couldn’t nail down Stan fucking Edgar.

“I got you Neuman. So what’s the damn problem?” he groused. 

“We haven’t been able to find anything concrete to pin him with, legally speaking,” said Hughie. 

You, Ben, Grace, and the rest of the team had gathered in a large conference room near Grace’s office. You sat while Ben stood to your right, his arms crossed grumpily. 

“What the hell does that matter?” Ben said. “We know what he’s guilty of. I’ve been ready and waiting to take out that fucking weasel.”

“He’s got a bit of a point, actually,” Butcher said. Annie raised an incredulous brow at both of them. 

“Because we can’t go around assassinating people,” she said. “That’s not what this group is about.”

“You’re a late comer to this fucking group, to be fair,” Butcher pointed out, crossing his arms as well. M.M. shot Butcher a look that said, really?

“We do have Victoria,” you spoke up. “Even if she isn’t holding anything else back, she can still help us.”

Grace considered you. “Yes. She can get through his network and give him a call, try to set up a time to meet.”

“And what then?” Annie asked, gesturing at Butcher and Ben. “These two assholes vaporize him?”

“We know they cloned Black Noir,” Hughie jumped in. “Along with a lot of other experiments that are so not fucking legal. We just need to find evidence in the lab.”

“And in the meantime, we get ahold of the slippery bastard,” Frenchie added. You nodded in agreement. 

“The sooner he’s behind bars and Vought is dismantled, the sooner I can bring my family out of protective custody,” you said. 

Grace then turned to M.M. “Marvin, what do you think?” 

All eyes turned to the man, who took in the various stares with a resigned sigh. 

“Let’s get this shit over with,” he said.

With a plan made, Grace, M.M., and Butcher went to visit Victoria upstairs in her holding cell. They coached her through her call to Stan. 

Meanwhile, Ben could care less about how the others eyed him with mistrust. (Well, Hughie tried to “buddy buddy” himself by offering up a cup of joe, but Ben mostly ignored that cum-guzzling moron.) 

No, he’d expected that. He noticed more how they treated you, still with polite distance and awkwardness, making glances between him and you. 

“You don’t seem to understand just how much shit I’m in for trying to help you right now,” you’d said to him once. 

Ben understood a bit of what you meant now. 

You later led him out of the conference room and to the cafeteria with your head held high, but he could see that you were hiding it. How people’s stares and whispers were affecting you as the two of you walked down the hall. 

He had plenty of practice with that, letting attention (wanted or otherwise) roll off his back. But Ben realized that he’d marked you now, in more ways than one. 

You later picked at a caesar salad while Ben was busy inhaling his second Italian sub. He subtly watched you, wondered what the hell you were thinking. 

Before he might’ve bit the bullet and just asked you, your phone buzzed on the table.

You read the text from Butcher in the group chat:

Stan agreed to meet Neuman. Tomorrow night at her apartment.

“Good,” you breathed in relief. And you showed Ben the text. He nodded around a mouthful of salami and provolone. Though he had a bit of mustard at the corner of his mouth.  

You smiled a little. Grabbing a napkin, you reached over and wiped it away. Ben let you do it. His lips curved as he watched you while chewing.

“Okay, let’s meet up with them after this. There’s going to be a lot to set up,” you started to say. But your phone trilled once again in your hand, this time a call from an unknown number. Frowning, you answered the call.

“Hello?”

“He knows you’ve got her.”

Your expression slackened at whose voice was on the line. Ben noticed, and it actually made him pause on taking another bite of his sandwich. 

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” you said tersely. 

Your father sighed. “Listen. Stan has no intention of meeting with Victoria.”

You reluctantly perked up at that. Ben raised an expectant brow at you. Your lips pursed; you really wanted to hang up on principle, but you knew you couldn’t. You held up a finger at Ben that said, wait. 

“What do you mean?” you asked. 

“Exactly what I said. He knows you have her. He knows you’re trying to trap him,” said Jon.

You sighed, rubbing at the ache starting to form between your eyes. But then your hand fell back to the table. Your expression hardened.

“Did you order the fucking hit on me?” you asked. 

“Sweetheart—”

You closed your eyes. 

“No. No. You don’t get to sweetheart me after you broke my fucking ribs,” you snapped. “Did you know?” 

Ben’s frown darkened as he finally realized who you were talking to. His hand curled into a fist on the table. 

“…No, I didn’t know,” Jon replied. “Why do you think I’m calling you now?”

“I really don’t know,” you said. “Why the hell are you trying to help me? Isn’t this a conflict of interest?”

You heard a heavy sigh on the line, and you waited. Your patience was starting to thin. You could also see Ben’s mood darkening now that he knew you were talking to your father. You angled yourself slightly, so he couldn’t reach over and grab the phone from you. (You saw his fingers twitching.) 

“He crossed the line sending Black Noir after you and your sister…and your mother,” Jon said. “I can help you on this.”

“There’s no world in which I’d ever trust you again,” you said flatly. 

“You’ve just gotta think here,” said Jon. “Do you want Stan Edgar or not?”

Your lips pursed. But you listened to what he had to say.

When you eventually hung up, Ben walked with you back up the stairs to the conference room. He watched you explain to Butcher and the rest of the team what your father had said, and what he’d proposed as a solution to the problem of Stan Edgar. 

Stan was due to come into the office at Vought Tower for a meeting with presidential candidate, Robert Singer. With Jon’s help, they could squeeze through a gap in security and intercept Stan before the meeting. The idea was to arrest him, but if Black Noir made an appearance, then that was Soldier Boy’s cue. 

And all bets would be off then. 

After Ben sat through the more boring logistics, he was relieved when the meeting finally dispersed, with the goal of meeting back here bright and early tomorrow. 

Even back at the safe house, you were antsy, pacing back and forth across the living room. Ben had changed out of his supe suit into some jeans and a shirt, and he now watched you from the kitchen with a beer. 

He wanted to ask you what you were planning on doing for dinner (and when, for that matter). But he was pretty sure you’d verbally bite his head off if he mentioned it. 

Not that he was afraid of that, by any means…but he’d just rather not get into it with you right now. Not when things had been going good for the past few days. 

So he went into the living room to sit on the couch. He was about to turn on the TV, before you sat down heavily in the lounge chair beside the couch. Your face looked so pensive, so troubled as you rested your chin in your hand, that Ben let out a breath. 

He set down his beer on the coffee table. Then he sat back and crossed his arms, glancing over at you. 

“If we’re going to do this, you need to get your head on straight,” Ben said. 

You looked over at him, not willing to admit you were upset (and that he was right), but unable to lie either. 

“Let me figure out dinner,” you said instead. You got up, but Ben’s voice stopped you.

“When you see him, don’t give him an opening,” he said. You turned to meet his eyes, and you knew full well who he meant by him. 

“You’re smarter than that,” Ben added, giving you a more reserved smile. 

You crossed your arms. Emotion rose high in your throat, and it threatened to choke you as your eyes started to burn. 

“Am I?” you asked. 

Ben’s attempt at a smile faded at the sight of your burgeoning tears. He sighed deeply, and he held out a hand to you. 

“Come ‘ere.”

Your head tilted in slight confusion, but you went to him. He took your hand, and once again guided you into his lap. He settled you across his thighs and soothed a hand over your hair. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt for support, and you sucked in a shaky breath. 

“Bet you wish I’d knocked him a bit harder against the fucking wall,” he quipped. 

You uttered a laugh at his dark humor, wiping at your eyes. “Heh. Maybe. It’d certainly make my life less complicated.”

You sighed and rested against his chest, leaning your head on his shoulder. A smile raised your lips when his arm slid around your waist and held you. His thumb soothed back and forth across your thigh. 

And it was then you knew that he really did care about you. 

You turned into him, and hid your face into his neck when your tears burned anew. This time for a different reason, as you realized what this meant to you. How this man had broken through your defenses and slipped his way under your skin.

You had a suspicious feeling that he was there to stay, no matter what happened after this mission was over.

“Want me to finish the job?” Ben offered, barely even half joking. 

“Ben, please,” you implored into his skin. You shook your head, and your fist curled tighter into his shirt. “Just…”

Ben hesitated, but he held you more securely. He soothed a hand up and down your back. 

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “We had a deal didn’t we? Long as I’m around, you’ll be all right.”

You nodded with a sniffle, and Ben felt your tears against his skin.

His hands really itched to finish the job he started with your father—and rip out his throat next time. Matter of fact, as soon as he saw that limp-dick piece of shit, it was on sight.  

And with that bone-deep thought, Ben knew that this was different. What he was doing here with you meant something to him. Whether you knew it or not…

(And you will, he thought.)

You…were his. That was just how it was going to be. 

He decided this in his mind, after he pressed a kiss above the patch of bruising along your temple.   

You were his. 

The following morning, Stan straightened the blazer of his navy suit as he got off the elevator. 

His office lied at the top floor of Vought Tower, and it was newly renovated after the battle that took place last week. His bodyguard opened the glass door for him before he stepped through. 

He reached his new desk and sat down at the plush leather office chair, took up a freshly brewed mug of coffee (cream, no sugar), and enjoyed a satisfying sip. 

Then his bodyguard was pulled away from the front of his door, thrown down the hall. Stan raised his head, but didn’t startle as the door was wrenched open. 

“What the fuck! Not yet—” Starlight’s voice in the hall. But the next guest in his office was a different former employee.  

Soldier Boy stepped through in his familiar green suit. 

Stan remembered when this version of the suit was commissioned, to replace the dull gray with a pop of military color for marketing purposes.

“Good morning,” Stan greeted, raising his mug. “Care for a cup? Perhaps a donut.”

“Still fucking smarmy,” Ben said. He stood in front of the man’s desk, flexing his half-gloved fingers. He glanced up at the walls of this office, this tower in the sky. “We’ve been doing this dance for a long time, you and I.”

“And yet, on entirely different tempos,” Stan replied. “How can I help you, Soldier Boy?”

Ben raised a finger. 

“See, that’s what I can’t fucking stand. A goddamn hypocrite,” he said. “When you came to me in ’84, you said partnering with the military on that Nicaragua mission would call back to my unveiling in ’44. Forty years of service in the making.” 

And forty more that would be stolen from him.

Ben’s hand clenched into a fist. “My mistake was believing you.” 

“And my mistake was replacing you with more of the same,” said Stan, with his usual bland stoicism. “For all that you’d claim otherwise, you and Homelander shared more than just chromosomes.”

Stan stood from his chair, but was discreet in pressing a small button under his desk. 

“In all this posturing, I see an insecure child, yearning for attention,” he continued with a mild shrug. “Your strength is…nothing but a mask for how truly empty you are.”    

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he resisted losing his temper. He knew that would only goad this little prick on. He watched as Stan rounded his desk, pulling his hands behind his back.

“The cold truth is, you sold your humanity so that someone in the world would deign to love you. And if not, to fear you,” he said simply. “I sell it to win.” 

Ben’s senses prickled just in time to raise his shield against a metal spike aimed at his head. It ricocheted and speared into the ground. 

Stan frowned; this tile had just been replaced. But he stepped to the side as Black Noir burst into the office and went for Soldier Boy. He carefully avoided the fight as his bodyguards came to pull him out of the fray. 

Stan’s eyes only widened when the first two guards were shot dead by Billy Butcher and his team. 

While a fight brewed in Stan Edgar’s office, you were in the familiar bowels of the tower, back in the Security & Surveillance command center…with your father. 

The two of you had taken control of the room, dismissing the on-site personnel, and now were in the process of evacuating the tower. At this point, who knew what could happen in the fight between Ben and Black Noir. You weren’t willing to abet any collateral damage, even here. 

Out of several monitors on the big screen, you kept one eye on the fight in Stan’s office. You and Jon noticed a breach in the hall.

“Butcher, you should be on your way out already,” Jon told him through the communicator in his ear. “The secondary team is also on its way up.”

“Right.” 

You watched with a measure of concern. Butcher seemed to be waning against a common security guard. He’d needed M.M. to grab the guy from behind and hurl him into Stan’s desk. Stan himself was plastered against the far corner of the wall, letting his security attempt to subdue Butcher and the rest of your friends. 

Your eyes moved to Black Noir. He’d also brought the same gun from last time—the one that had disrupted Ben’s powers. He was evading well enough so far…

“Soldier Boy is dangerous,” Jon said, breaking your attention from the screen. “However he’s managed to manipulate you into thinking he’s a good guy, there’s no hiding the fact that he can’t control that fucking A-bomb inside him.”

Your lips pursed in annoyance. 

“Oh, he is dangerous,” you agreed. “He wanted to finish what he started, caving in your skull as well as your chest. If I were you, I’d duck out quick when this is done.” 

Jon didn’t answer, but when you glanced at him, you saw the way he stilled, his jaw tensing. 

“Aren’t you glad I dropped him off at the lobby?” you quipped. Then you pressed a button on the control board and overrode the overhead speaker in the Administration office, where you saw people still milling about. 

“Evacuation was not a request,” you said into the speaker. “Put down the fucking chai tea latte and exit through the stairwell to the garage please.”

Jon turned to you while sitting in his chair. 

“After this is over, you’d be smart to start fresh…I could help you.”

You met him with a flat glare. “Now that’s just plain delusional.”

You had half a mind to get Ben on the comm to let Jon know exactly what he’d be in for if he tried to take you anywhere, but you didn’t want to distract Ben right now.

And maybe he didn’t know that you were alone with your father. 

Meanwhile, Jon’s mouth firmed into a line. A tendril of wariness (and maybe fear) laced down your spine. Your hand slowly moved to your belt…but he merely inclined his head. 

“All right. Maybe I deserve that,” he said. “But no matter my methods, I’ve always sought the best for you.”

“The best for—” You paused with a sharp sigh. And you steeled yourself before you replied. “I don’t know what fucked up fantasy world you’re living in, Jon. But after I left, I could finally see it clearly. You are the reason I hated myself.”

Jon didn’t show the true depths of his reaction. That wasn’t his way, but his steely eyes hardened as they held yours for a long moment. Then, he turned back to the screens. 

You released a subtle breath, though your hand stayed resting on your belt. 

Only Ben and Grace knew the truth about the injuries you’d sustained after being picked up at Vought. This time, you weren’t without a weapon. You had a gun on one hip and a taser on the other.

Ben had only agreed to your role in the mission because you’d called for backup. They should’ve been here by now, actually. In fact, they were supposed to meet you in the lobby, before you met up with your father.

Maybe they got stuck in traffic, you thought. You’d been checking your phone for the past ten minutes. 

But then a silent text came in: your backup team had just arrived. In fact, they strolled into the command center in full tactical gear, with guns drawn. Seeing the room was clear except for you and Jon, Frank nodded to Loco and stepped further inside.

“Hey, welcome to the party,” you said, greeting both men with a grateful smile. Jon glanced at you, then the men with a frown.

“Who the fuck are these two?” he asked. 

“My reinforcements,” you replied tartly. You felt better with them here as your spine untightened a bit. 

Frank nodded at you and remained standing to watch the door, while Loco grabbed a chair at your side. You gave him the lowdown of the control settings on the dashboard in front of you. 

“Oh shit,” Loco said when he glanced up at the screen. You followed suit, and a gasp fell from your mouth. 

Ben managed to unmask Black Noir. 

The helmet hung from Ben’s gloved hand. It was Earving all right, but it also wasn’t. His eyes, normally a dark brown, were misted over with gray and almost lifeless. 

“Noir, destabilize him,” Stan commanded from his cowering corner. The supe seemed to hear him, and only that order.

Ben realized now what these fuckers had done. Not only did they create this Noir clone with Homelander scraps, but they’d made the perfect soldier. One that only took orders. 

Butcher noticed too, with widening eyes. Fucking hell.

But he had to brace a hand against the wall as a hacking cough rose unbidden from his chest, worsening the roiling pain in his stomach and the ache behind his eyes. Hughie grabbed his arm to support him, and his face was picture-perfect concern.

“What’s wrong?” Hughie asked. Butcher couldn’t answer him, because on the last cough, a spew of blood coated his hand (and the younger man’s shoes). Hughie’s eyes widened. 

“What the fuck’s going on with you?” he exclaimed. Butcher just grabbed his arm and pulled him a few feet over, so they wouldn’t get caught in the blast of Noir’s energy gun. 

Ben was grappling with him. He focused on summoning the nuclear power collecting in his chest. All he needed was one clear hit, and he’d be able to end this motherfucker for good. 

But before he could fully charge up, Black Noir aimed a well-placed kick to his sternum, sending him back a few feet. It gave Noir the opening he needed to shoot Ben right in the chest with his energy gun. 

An electrifying blue met pulsing red, and swallowed it up. It took Ben along with it. Luckily his shield was clipped onto his back, so it didn’t get eaten up in the initial blast.

Now, he fairly crackled with red and blue fractals, which coursed together into a violet haze. He felt dizzy and wrong, knowing that all this power had to come out. But if that happened, he knew he couldn’t contain it. He didn’t know what would happen. 

Part of him knew it would solve his problem, killing Noir, Stan, Butcher, and the rest of those assholes in one powerful swoop. 

No collateral damage. 

It was your voice in his mind. And he remembered you were here too, somewhere in the Tower. He closed his eyes, a strained yell erupting from his throat.

He couldn’t stop it. The sheer force brought him to his knees before he could angle it up into the sky. Instead, it released into the ground below. 

The nuclear blast tore through concrete like a drill, and it didn’t stop until it reached the very foundations of the tower, deep into the earth.

Afterwards, everything was still. Ben could only stare into the chasm below him while he caught his breath. 

Until the ground, the walls, everything began to tremor and shake. 

“Oh shit,” said M.M. 

During the blast, he’d held onto the far wall with Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie. But now, he grabbed Annie’s arm to pull her up. The shaking grew worse with every second. 

“What the hell was that?” you commed in. No one could answer you yet, but at least it let Ben and the rest of them know that you were alive.

Annie reached out to Hughie, who grabbed onto her hand in relief. He also helped Butcher straighten, putting his arm across Hughie’s shoulders. Butcher glanced up at Black Noir, who was heading towards Stan. Meanwhile, Ben was stumbling to his feet. 

“It’s gonna come down like the fucking Eye of Sauron!” Hughie shouted. 

Butcher shared a grim look with M.M. “Like the bloody Twin Towers.”

AN: 🫨 The Tower's falling! But how'd you like Ben contemplating getting his hands on Jon? 😏

We're heading into the real action here, folks!

Next Time:

You pressed a shaking finger to the comm in your ear. 

“Ben, where are you?” you asked. Maybe he heard the tremor in your voice, because you certainly read the concern in his.

“You’re not on the second floor. Where are you?”

You closed your eyes for a beat. “On the first floor. The garage is blocked and Noir has us bottlenecked.”

“I’m almost there. Just stay put,” Ben said. His tone was firm, and it reassured you. You nodded, despite the fact that he couldn’t see you. 

“Yeah, not going anywhere in a hurry,” you whispered.

Keep Reading: PART 16

Soldier Boy Masterlist

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#The Tower #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 15 #zepskies writes

[offsidekineticist]

Here it is. Part 15. I have outlined the rest of the arc, so I think we're more than halfway through now. Looks like there will be a total of 25 parts.

CW: child death, crippling guilt, despair, magically induced suicidal ideation, internalized ableism, vomiting, emotional abuse, emotional breakdown

It's Still Not Enough

You lose track of time sitting on the bench by the river. Something about it was soothing in a way few things have been lately. There’s something beautiful about the sound of running water. Maybe it’s because it reminds you of home, of growing up and living on the banks of the Brastle River. Or maybe it goes even further back, to before you were in Brastlewark, when you and your mother trekked across the deserts of Katapesh. Water is life, and in those days water was scarce. You don’t remember seeing a river or brook in Katapesh, but you spent the last few months of your mother’s life in a gnomish oasis town called Finderplain. There was, in the center of the town, a pool filled with water from a natural spring, and every day you would go down to the pool with a bucket half your size that you would fill with water before dragging it back home. The pool wasn’t a river, but you fondly remember the sound of the water moving into your bucket - especially when you dallied and dragged the bucket back and forth, trying to generate a wake, or dunking the bucket into the water to create a short-lived vortex.

Water is life. Water is safe. And maybe…maybe water is healing, too.

“Hey, Thay?” You break out of your reverie to see Gilly eyeing the now overcast sky nervously. “We should probably go. It’s getting pretty late - don’t wanna be caught after dark.”

You certainly do not. There have been rumors circulating around Redroof of vengeful ghosts stalking the streets at night. You’re skeptical of the details of the rumors, but you know for a fact something is preying on the people of Kintargo. The other day you happened to overhear a couple talking about a family down the street from you whose son was found, his head removed, after he stayed out playing too late.

You hop off the bench and give the river a last fond look before pawing the strap of your bag over your shoulder, less irritated by how much you struggle with it than you’ve felt in some time. Less angry about how hard it’s going to be for you to walk home. Less bothered.

Yes, water is healing. You should try this more often.

You are about to set off back the way you came, when Gilly speaks up. “I think I know a shortcut,” he says, more subdued than usual - the river seems to have affected him, too. “It could get us home with less walking. I think. Might get us home before dark.”

“That would be preferable,” you say dryly before gesturing to let him pass. “Lead on.”

(You really should have known better. Giliys is good with maps - he has to be, given the life he’s lived - but he doesn’t have a map of Kintargo.)

Gilly leads you down a series of side streets. It makes sense at first, but the more turns he leads you down, the more like a maze things begin to feel, and the longer the shadows grow.

The first time you stop for breath is when Gilly says he needs to stop to get his bearings. For once, it doesn’t seem to be an excuse.

“You have no idea where we’re going, do you?” you say once you’ve managed to catch your breath enough to speak.

“Of course I do! We just - the fucking streets - well, I know where they were supposed to go!”

He has no idea where you’re going.

“I think we should double back and start again from the waterfront,” you say, the calm from the river beginning to fade. Gilly looks rankled, but nods with an exasperated growl.

“Ugh, fine. We’ll try it again another time when it’s not so late - I’m telling you, there’s a fucking shortcut somewhere around here.”

“I’m sure,” you say as you turn around and begin backtracking the way you came.

The trouble comes at the first intersection. You turn right. Gilly turns left. Neither of you notices until you’re both across the intersection from each other.

“Where are you going?” you call.

“Back to the fucking bench! Where the fuck are you going?”

“Back the way we came - I thought we said no more shortcuts.”

“This isn’t a fucking shortcut, this is how we got here!”

“No, we came from this street and turned left!”

“No, that’s two whole fucking blocks back this way that we turned left!”

“We went down three blocks before making this turn!”

And so on. You do eventually close the distance and take the dispute to the side of the street when you notice passersby staring at you.

(You should have told him to shut up and just asked one of the passersby for directions. Why did you indulge him like that? Were you so desperate for normalcy that you forgot safety? That you forgot who he is?)

Five minutes of back and forth solve nothing except to make you both less certain of the correct way back. You realize, with dawning horror, that you’re lost at dusk in a city that becomes markedly unpleasant at night.

“Ok, look. We know Redroof is southeast of where we are cuz there’s no fucking way we walked far enough from the waterfront for that not to be true. So we just turn south and east until things start smelling like shit and then figure out where we are and get home.”

You cross your arms. “Which way is south?”

Gilly looks up, about to reckon the direction from the sun’s position - only to realize the sky is overcast.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Ok, fine, you got me. You got any bright ideas?”

You open your bag and start reaching for books. You don’t remember having any books that would have a map of Kintargo, but it’s worth a shot when the alternative is wandering around in the dark. Unfortunately, your hands splinted as they are, you’re just pawing at the contents of your bag while the passing tallfolk occasionally take a moment to stare as they walk by.

(Of course, that’s why you didn’t ask for directions - the passersby were all tallfolk. You’re used to being the shortest person in town - you’re not used to being shorter by this much, and, frankly, it’s intimidating to attempt to flag one of them down. But Giliys is used to being among tallfolk. You should have made him do it.)

“Ok, look. I say we pick a direction and keep going till we hit some shit we recognize cuz we’ve been there or it’s a landmark or some such shit. Worst case we just wander till it’s so fucking dark we can see the fucking stars if we get away from the fucking lanterns. Either way, we figure out where the fuck we’re going. Yeah?”

You close your bag with a huff. “Fine. Next time we go back the way we came.”

Gilly chooses the street neither of you thought was correct, and you follow him.

(You agreed on which street you should have gone on, you only disagreed on which direction–why didn’t you just flip a coin and travel the street until you had gone far enough to figure out if it was the right way?)

You follow the chosen street until you come to a strange sight: a model building–some kind of prison?–at least as tall as you are in the middle of a field. There’s a distinct sense of foreboding, of unwelcomeness, but something about the situation piques your curiosity. After all, it’s not every day you find a foreboding model building in the middle of a field. You move towards it to examine it more closely.

“I think we should turn back, Thay. Thay? Thay!”

You pay him no mind. As you approach the building grows to full size. The sense of foreboding feels even stronger now that the building is looming over you. With black walls and barred windows, you recognize with a terrified lurch this isn’t someplace you want to see–this is a place of pain and punishment.

Exactly where you belong.

You’re suddenly hit with a wave of memories–cruel words to Gilly, outbursts at Qweck. You see your old friend Cei, back before your being a bleachling turned her away. You see her trying to help you through what you both thought were your last days, and you see yourself snapping and belittling her for refusing to leave you to die miserable and alone.

You see your brother as he was the last time you spoke to him, back when your hair was orange and your skin russet. You see him staring at you, pain written across his face, and you see the moment when you finally pushed him so far he couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. You see him whimper. You see his mortification at allowing that expression of weakness. You see him break away, tearing across the living room of that house in Brastlewark that’s home to neither of you, now. You see him flee the home he’s known his entire life, watch him escape your rage for the “safety” of hellknight training.

You see your every flaw and foible. You see your anger. Your anger that you can no longer control. You’re a danger to everyone, you realize with horror. You lash out, and not only can’t you control it, you can’t even take responsibility for it. It always feels like you’re on the outside looking in, watching your body and words lash out, but it’s not just your body; it’s you!

But even when you are in control, it’s still not enough, is it?

You see the library. You see children cowering as hellknights clap you in irons. You see yourself freeze. You shouldn’t have frozen. The children were afraid. It was your responsibility to soothe them. Your responsibility to keep them from doing something foolish.

“Leave Mister Theo alone!”

She is so small, and the hellknights are so tall, but still little Pel rushes towards them without hesitation. Of course she does–this is what you taught her to do. You taught her–and all of the children you’ve ever taught–to stand up for what she thought was right, even when it’s scary, even when nobody else would.

You taught her to die.

She hits the bookcase and falls to the floor and doesn’t move and there’s so much blood–

And it’s all on your hands.

She might not be dead! You don’t know–they dragged you out before you could see–

It makes no difference. She could live. She could die. In either case, you are equally guilty. Justice demands penance.

You understand now. This is where you belong. This is where you will pay. This is where you will die. The only thing left is to face it with dignity. It is finally time for you to learn the lesson you taught to Pel. You had so many chances to improve, to be better, and you wasted them all. Now it’s time to answer for–

Something barrels into you from behind, wrapping its arms around your waist, knocking you to the ground. Your face hits the cobblestone with a crunch of pain in your nose, but that’s irrelevant. The pain is a fraction of what you deserve–and justice demands that you continue. That you do the right thing, even if it’s terrifying. You need to move forward.

You try to wriggle away, but whatever has hold of you, its grip is solid. It picks you up off the ground and begins running, even as you struggle against it, shouting at it to let you go, clawing at its arms with your still splinted hands because justice demands penance.

You struggle to the point of exhaustion. You feel sick to your stomach from exertion. And then the stench returns.

It’s too much. You throw up on the ground, on the arms around your waist, on your uselessly kicking legs, on your shoes. You are suddenly free, falling onto the cobblestone street on your hands and knees, your stomach still trying to empty itself. You're vaguely aware of a figure kneeling by your side, a gentle hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. It’s Gilly.

The adrenaline begins to subside and some clarity returns. The magnitude of what you just tried to do hits you, and then the shock hits. You almost went back. You almost, willingly, went back to being buried alive and, you’re certain, mercilessly tortured.

“Gilly?” you ask wearily, confused. Gilly takes a long deep breath.

“Yeah?”

“What happened?”

“A piece of fucking hell is sitting in the middle of Kintargo,” Gilly says, trying to be gentle but his anger clear in his voice. “Some kind of trap to lure in poor fucking bastards and drag them back to the rest of hell. Fuckers almost got you.”

“But they didn’t get you,” you say slowly. “Why?”

Giliys goes very still, but the circles continue. “Not much point in trapping what you already own, is there?” he finally says.

You’re exhausted. You’re disgusted. You’re breathing in the stench of corpses and your own sick. You’re so busy just existing that you have nothing left to stop yourself. “Hm. Convenient.”

The soothing circles stop as Giliys’s whole body stills. “What?”

You take another gulp of air–you almost taste the stench, but it’s not as bad as through your nose–before repeating yourself. “Convenient. The whole situation. How incredibly convenient.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that you chose a route that would lead us straight to an infernal trap that you were immune to, but I would need to be rescued from by some heroic hellion.”

“Wait–”

You don’t let him speak. It’s like all the times before–all the times you saw–it’s you, but it doesn’t feel like it’s your choice. You don’t know what you would choose if it was. “Did you really expect me to fall for that? That just because we had a nice afternoon–because you’ve been starving yourself–I would forget what you are? That I would trust a word that you say when you try to tell me that you didn’t know that trap was there?”

The hand withdraws from your back. Giliys reels back.

“I didn’t–”

“You decided to take the shortcut! You chose the direction when we were lost! You led us straight to the trap, and you expect me to believe it was an accident?!” You’ve sprung up, still kneeling on the pavement but now sitting upright. You’re shouting. You’re causing a scene in the middle of the night when people are trying to sleep, in a neighborhood where unknown forces are preying on fools caught outside after dark, but the part of you that is aware of that isn’t the part of you that cares about things. That part of you is screaming and can’t stop. “Were you hoping I’d buy it and just be so overwhelmed with gratitude that I’d forget what you did? Or were you trying to remind me just how lucky I am that you think I’m different from your prey?” He doesn’t say anything, and that just makes you angrier. “Good job on the trap, by the way! Intriguing, excellent craftsmanship, strong sense of foreboding - all top-notch, fantastically theatrical. Much more efficient to trick a city to walk themselves into a prison than to damn souls one by one. Your masters must be thrilled.”

(You know he didn’t set up the trap. Giliys is frighteningly clever, but breaking the fabric of reality to summon a piece of hell to Kintargo is well beyond his ken. That doesn't make you any more able to stop.)

“We should tell someone,” he says quietly, finally speaking up. “About the trap.”

“Oh, so you can be the hero of the hour for discovering the trap you set? Well of course, by all means! Because of course a man, completely lost, running for his life–sorry, running for his ‘friend’s’ life–would be able to remember where the authorities could find this hell prison that he accidentally stumbled upon. Obviously. Certainly nothing suspicious there! Of course this known agent of hell has nothing but the best of intentions towards the city and had nothing to do with a piece of hell itself coming to Kintargo! I mean it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Giliys doesn’t say a word. “Isn’t it?!”

“Okay,” he says softly.

“‘Okay?’ That's all you have to say for yourself–‘okay?!’”

“What do you want me to say? Tell me, and I’ll say it.”

You don't know what you want him to say. You want him to say something that will fix this, that will fix you, that will make this anger go away, that will make you stop, but you don't know what would do that. You don’t think anything can do that.

“I don’t want to be placated! I want you to be sincere! But you wouldn’t know sincerity if it hit you over the head with a brick, would you, Giliys? You just say what people want to hear! ‘I’m sorry,’ ‘I love you,’ ‘I’m here for you’ they’re all just words to you! Buttons you press to get people to do what you want, to get them off your back! And I was an idiot to fall for it again.”

You force yourself to your feet. The stench is back, which means you’re back in Redroof, and now that you know that, you recognize this street. You’re on Old Main, the road that runs from the western end of Old Kintargo to the eastern end of Redroof. Up ahead the road will split three ways: left will take you to the top of Temple Hill, straight will take you to Bridge Street, and right will take you to the northern end of Devil’s Nursery, the poorest neighborhood in the already impoverished Redroof. You’ll be turning right.

You start walking. A few moments later, you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t look back. It’s just Giliys.

You manage to get home and drag yourself up the flights of rickety stairs to your apartment without making any stops, even if you are completely out of breath at the top. For a moment you allow yourself a moment of triumph for the feat.

Then you realize you still have to open the door.

Still gasping for breath, you start pawing at the door, trying to grasp the doorknob between your hands so you can twist it and open the door. It doesn’t work. This apartment was built for tallfolk. The doorknob is almost as high as you are tall, and your hands are still splinted and aching like hell with every attempt to curl your immobilized fingers around the knob. Every time you think you’ve got it, every time, it’s started to turn, your hands slip, and the doorknob turns back to where it started.

You bang on the door with your palm in frustration, hissing at the jolt of pain it causes. The anger rises to a fever pitch. You kick the door in fury, and then you kick it again. Again and again, you kick the door, your grunts of effort getting louder and more bestial with every impact. Your breathing speeds up, but you barely notice, kicking the door for refusing to open.

You finally scream. It’s not a high-pitched scream of terror. It’s a roar, like a bear’s, of anger and frustration from your chest, as you slide down the door into a pile on the ground. Why does everything have to be like this? Why are you so damn useless?

Because you deserve it. Justice demands penance.

Giliys steps forward. He doesn’t look at you. He takes the knob in one hand and opens the door before entering the apartment. He doesn’t shut the door behind him.

#pwotr pals #oc: theoven derenge #oc: giliys #part 15 #the (totally platonic!) breakup arc #i'm so sorry #this hurt to write

[aintinacage]

endless will turner- part 15

#endless will turner #will turner #william turner #orlando bloom #johnny depp #captain jack sparrow #jack sparrow #pirates of the caribbean #pirates of the Caribbean 1 #pirates of the Caribbean curse of the black pearl #pirates of the Caribbean cotbp #potc #potc 1 #potc cotbp #potc curse of the black pearl #curse of the black pearl #cotbp #part 15

[locitapurplepink]

Disney Princess Poll Results so far 15

I have so much fun making disney princess polls with you guys. Here's the list of winner from each poll posts that I've made

85. Favorite disney rapunzel's tangled adventure kid (Catalina/red vs Kiera/angry)

Catalina/red

86. Favorite disney princess round 5 (Tiana vs Rapunzel)

Rapunzel

87. Favorite Princess Rapunzel's hairstyle

Rapunzel's Short brunette hair

88. Favorite disney princess round 6 (Merida vs Moana)

Moana

89. Favorite Disney Princess/Queen round 7 (Elsa vs Anna)

Elsa

90. Favorite knowledgeable kid (Varian vs Isabel)

Varian

Note : there are more ideas to come so get ready, guys !

#disney poll results so far #part 15 #locitapurplepink #rapunzel's tangled adventure #tangled the series #tangled the movie #disney moana #disney frozen #tts catalina #tts varian #princess rapunzel #moana #queen elsa #poll results #tts red

[angelynmoon]

Eldritch monster Steve

Part 15

Hopper responds to the noise complaints, Almost angry he's been so easily reinstated as Sheriff.

The Wheelers are well known, Joyce always said Karen could do better and Hopper never really liked Ted.

It should have been a simple keep it down, stop yelling and be apart for a few hours, the way it always was befere but something is different this time as Hopper pulls up.

And that difference is Steve Harrington sitting on the front Stoop waiting for his arrival.

"Holly is with Eddie and Wayne." Steve said as he stood. "Mike is at Will's and Nancy finally got the appartment she will share with Jonathan and Argyle, it's just, Ted and Karen."

"What am I walking in to Steve, something you did or upside down related or what?"

"Ted got violent he's never got like that before, he's not awake, I made him sleep. But I can't, help Karen, I don't know enough." Steve said quietly.

"You should go to Holly." Hopper said and shook his head at the protest.

Karen had told him Holly was Steve's if something happened to her, had to because he was the Sheriff and she didn't want Steve accused kidnapping.

Steve got Holly, no matter what and Hopper couldn't fault Karen for that, had changed El's gaurdianship to Steve too if something happened to him and Joyce. It meant adding Eddie Munson but Eddie had been good for El, she'd became a little more confident, a little loud but on her way to almost normal little girl with Edfie reassuring her it was okay.

But Holly was going to need Steve more than Eddie.

Before Russia Hopper had seen Steve lingering outside the Wheeler's, at the time he'd assumed Steve had been waiting for Nancy or leaving from visiting Nancy but knowing what he did now, having talked to Karen he could guess which Wheeler Steve had really been visiting, been protecting.

Steve stared at Hopper for a long at moment before he nodded.

"Try to save her, Holly needs her mom." Steve said and then faded into the Shadows as he tended to do.

Hopper hated it and it made the kids Shriek because there was no form hiding in the Shadows, Steve was just gone.

Hopper waited a moment before entering the house, calling out as he did, just in case Ted woke or Karen was aware enough to hear him.

Hours later Hopper was walking up to the Munson's new trailer, pausing at the sound of Holly's happy laughter.

Hopper stood there for a long moment not ready to let that sound die just yet.

It didn't take long, though for Steve, to come out, he seemed to spend more time at the Munson's than his house unless he was hosting the kids.

Hopper leaned against his truck and Steve joined him, waiting for Hopper to speak but not forcing him, not yet.

"They aren't sure she'll make and they aren't sure she'll wake up if she does." Hopper said eventually.

"Will Nancy be coming for Holly in the morning?" Steve asked.

Hopper looked at Steve, unsure if Steve was willing to let Nancy have her sister or if he wanted to know so they could vanish.

"Nancy doesn't get Holly, you and Eddie do." Hopper told him.

"But.."

"Karen made it clear that you get Holly, even if Ted wasn't the cause of her absence, you'd get Holly." Hopper explained

"She's mine?" "Steve asked in a soft voice.

"I think, in away, she always has been. You've been checking in on her since you and Nancy broke up, haven't you?" Hopper asked.

"I had to keep her safe." Steve blinked. "What about Mike?"

Hopper scowled "I talked Claudia into taking him for a few days, she's got the room, but he's got an uncle that's coming down to sort some legalities. We'll figure out what to do."

"I can take him too, that way he can stick around, or help Claudia with money to keep him, mom will won't mind. Might even adopt him herself." Steve said and looked at the trailer.

"What are you going to tell her?" Hopper asked.

"Tonight? Nothing. Tonight she's just having a sleepover with Stevie and Eddie. Tomorrow we'll tell her," Steve looked at Hopper, "We can tell Mike too."

Hopper sighed and nodded, "I'll tell Nancy in the morning, then, jesus, is it wrong that I hoped it was upside down related?"

Steve laughed. "The Down Below is simple, Survive, Humans are extreemly complex."

"Yeah," Hopper agreed.

"Steve, you're missing Unicorn Spaghetti!" Eddie shouted from inside the trailer.

"What is Unicorn Spaghetti?" Hopper asked, uncertain he wanted to know.

"Sprinkles instead of meat sauce." Steve said, "Eddie is determined to find something I won't eat or that will make my stomach upset." Steve shrugged. "Besides, he doesn't know how to cook real food so it's been unholy combinations since we started dating. Holly likes it."

"Well, as long Holly likes it." Hopper said.

Steve gave Hopper a look, "Prison won't save him, you know that, right?"

Hopper nodded, "Didn't expect it to."

"Good, I'll be nice enough to leave you a body, if only so they can have the closure." Steve told him.

"Steve," Holly called, "Unicorn Spaghetti."

"You want to join us?" Steve asked as he straightened.

"I'll pass, thank you." Hopper said with a small grimace.

Steve shrugged, "Your loss."

Hopper watched Steve enter the trailer, wondering if he should have protested Ted's inevitable death more but as he thought about Karen in that hospital bed and about telling Nancy that her mom might never wake up, about Mike and Holly possibly growing up without both their parent he realized that he really hoped that Steve made Ted very afraid before he died.

Hopper wondered if that made him a bad man but found he didn't care, he, like Steve would do just about anything to keep their kids safe and if that meant Ted Wheeler left the world of the living then so be it.

Hopper stayed there for a bit longer, listening to Holly's joy as they ate their Unicorn Spaghetti, he could only hope that it wouldn't be the end of her joy.

--

A/n: have I ever had Unicorn Spaghetti, no, is it something I think Eddie would make, absolutly, if only because he thinks having dinner and dessert at the same time is a great idea.

@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

#jim hopper #eldritch monster steve #upside down creature steve #from the rot #part 15 #steddie #holly wheeler & steve harrington #holly wheeler #eddie munson