rizlowwritessortof

[rizlowwritessortof]

SO MUCH YESSSSSS!!!!

This is wonderful, and I WANT IT. (apparently a LOT, bc I almost put your URL in my tags as deanwinchesterskiss 😂)

His Kiss

Summary: A mis-held belief is denounced, giving way to something better.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,498

Beta: @princessmisery666

Tears press in her eyes, the argument with Sam over only moments ago, but her decision is made, and he can't change her mind.

Hearing heavy footfalls, her heart beats against its cage. She hoped to have left already and avoid the looming confrontation, but knows she no longer has a choice.

"What's going on?"

The gruff voice rattles her nerves, and she takes a calming breath. Swiping the dampness from her cheeks, she plasters on a fake smile and turns to face him. "Noth-thing." The word comes out broken on a voice pitched too high.

"Doesn't look like 'nothing'." Dean crosses his arms, his demeanor stern but concerned. "Didn't sound like 'nothing'." Looking over her shoulder, he asks, "Where'd Sam go?"

"I don't know. He …he was mad."

"What were you arguing about?"

She's not surprised he heard the shouting, but is a little skeptical that he didn't hear the context. Assuming he's attempting to be kind, she sucks in a breath to steady herself. "It doesn't matter." The intensity of his stare is too much, and she briefly glances at the chair next to her. "I'm leaving."

Dean follows her gaze to find her duffel resting on the seat. He understands now why his little brother would be angry. She must have found a hunt and wants to go by herself. He can't blame the guy. Even though most cases now are simple and quick, the thought of her out there on her own sends his blood pressure soaring. Maybe he can offer a compromise.

"Found a hunt?" He points to the bag, watching her chew on her lip. "You know, it's been a while. I could use a break from this place. Why don't I come with you?"

"NO!"

Her response is swift and sharp, startling him, and he stops mid-turn to look back at her. "No?"

Tears well in her eyes as she shakes her head. "I …I'm leaving." Everything she wants to say to him lodges painfully in her throat. There's no point in voicing those thoughts anyway. She knows exactly what his response will be.

Dean's frame tenses, hands fisting loosely at his sides when she shoulders her bag. She blinks, and the tears spill. He looks devastated, and it feels like her heart just literally cracked with the weight of it all. "I can't stay ...I- I can't be here anymore."

"WHAT?! Wait! What do you mean?" He doesn't know what the hell went down between her and Sam, but he can't let her go, even though he should. "Listen, let me talk to him. Whatever's going on, let me help fix it."

She knew this would be hard, but never imagined it would be this difficult. She assumed he would be relieved and agree it was for the best, rather than trying to keep her from leaving. Vision blurred by the onslaught of tears, she squeezes her eyes closed, willing her emotions to stay in check with the knowledge that the pain in the aftermath of telling him will be worse than what she's feeling now.

With a deep inhale, she opens them to find he's moving toward her and takes a faltering step back. If he touches her, that'll be the end of it …the end of her. Dean immediately stops, hands up in surrender, eyes wary. "You can't." Scrubbing her fingers across her face, she bolsters her courage and states. "You can't fix something that was never there to begin with." Heart now completely shattered, she turns to leave.

Dean panics, narrowly getting a grip on the strap of her bag before she's out of reach. When she jerks to a stop, he steps closer to keep her from falling, loosely resting a hand on her hip. He releases the bag when she wrenches away from his touch, and it slips from her shoulder to land with a heavy thud.

"I'm sorry. I just … I." Running a hand through his hair, he huffs, "My brother's an idiot for letting you go."

She turns, then, the grief ebbing into confusion. "W- what?"

"Don't …" It's all he can manage; the words lodge in his throat. His chest aches, lungs heavy with each breath, heart pounding, muscles taut with anger and fear. She sounds so broken, looks so fragile. All he wants is to scoop her up and hold her together, keep her safe, and show her what she means to him, but he can't. He shouldn't even be thinking about it. Shifting on his feet, fingers flexing at his sides, he stares back at her, letting the silence stretch between them.

When she moves to retrieve her bag, his resolve snaps, overwhelmed by the emotions, he throws caution to the wind. If this is the last moment they have together, then the hell with the consequences.

He grabs her hand and tugs, arm slipping around her waist as he roughly pulls her into him. Her head falls back, lips parted with a gasp at the sudden movement. Cradling the back of her head, he claims the supple pink flesh like it belongs to him, and she offers no resistance.

Knowing this will be the first and the last, he pours his entire heart into the kiss, it's rough and sloppy, but he commits every detail to memory—the race of her pulse as his thumb brushes over her carotid, the sweetness of her honey lip balm, the flutter of her eyelids, the way her hair tickles his palm, the gentle pressure of her fingers as she grips his forearms, the curve of her spine and the small of her back that fits his splayed hand like it was made for him, the soft cry as he pulls away. The guilt emerges swiftly, weighing heavily on his shoulders. Gliding his hands down her arms, he makes sure she's steady on her feet. "Be safe out there," he warns before turning and walking away, needing to drink away his shame and sorrow.

He's gone before she realizes it, too stunned to move or say anything to stop him. The kiss was better than any she ever imagined—he tasted of vanilla, sweet cream, and spicy ginger, notes from the expensive whiskey she bought him lingering on his breath, muscles strong and thick beneath her fingers, lips lightly chapped but plump and pliable, the heady intoxicant of his warmth, spice, and musk, and she hates him for it.

Hates that he took away a dream and created a reality she will never experience again. Hates that now she will compare every kiss to his, wanting only his lips sealed to hers. Why would he do that? Why kiss her like that and then walk away? Tracing a finger over her still-tingling lower lip, she closes her eyes and replays the conversation leading up to the moment.

"Oh." Her eyes pop open as she grips the back of the chair. "OH!"

Dean thinks she's in love with Sam!

She takes a step, then hesitates. What if this is just some cosmic joke? Or a cruel dream? Another step has her tripping over her bag, foot tangled in the strap. The sting of her wrist twisting as she grabs the table's edge to keep from face-planting the floor lets her know she's awake, alive, and this is real.

Once freed, she chases after him. She rounds the corner and sees him entering his room, pushing to a sprint, she nearly misses the doorway as she slides to a stop. Falling into the door as he's closing it, she stumbles into the room.

"What the hell?" He catches her with one arm while preventing the door from slamming into the wall with the other.

"You're," she pants a couple of breaths, "w-wrong." Fisting the front of his t-shirt to help anchor herself, his arm curls her into a loose embrace. "A- about me …and Sam." With a final huff, her breath is steady enough to speak smoothly, "We'll talk about that later, though, because right now, you need to kiss me again."

"What?"

Cradling his face, her heart clenches seeing the tear tracks on his cheeks, but his dumbfounded expression elicits a tentative smile. "I want you to kiss me …again."

"But …"

With a shake of her head, she breathes, "You."

The moment it clicks, his hold tightens, and her smile grows.

Swinging the door closed, the corners of his mouth curl. "Good, because I can do better."

A laugh bubbles in her throat, immediately squelched by a shriek as he spins, pinning her between solid oak and hard muscle. The pads of his fingers are rough, but his touch is tender, thumbs caressing the apples of her cheeks as his hands frame her neck. His head dips, but his gaze catches hers, hungry yet questioning. Without hesitation, she leans forward and closes the gap, hating that he's right.

He can do better, and he spends the rest of the night proving it.

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09

@deaneverafter // @deans-baby-momma // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @globetrotter28

@iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @impala-dreamer // @iprobablyshipit91 // @irgendwas122

@jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24

@mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsits // @musicissmylife // @mvdeanw // @pallographsunspot

@princessmisery666 // @raisinggray // @shawnie74 // @solsborg // @thinkinghardhardlythinking

@thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

@yvonneeeee

[rizlowwritessortof]

Entitled white women I swear to God

People have been doing book clubs since forever. They do not put George RR Martin on the phone so he can join the chat.

Oh, thank you, kindly court jester jingling into my life under the brave banner of anonymity, for illustrating the exact problem of current fandom.

(This ask is about this post about private fanfiction "book clubs," for those of you who are not following my jester's ire.)

The bedrock of the problem entrenched fandom is having with the newer "TikTok fandom" element is that we have a fundamental disagreement about what fandom is, and what is the social relationship between the people who write fanfiction, make fanart, etc, and the people who read that fanfiction and enjoy that fanart.

(I am not going to use the term "content creator." Because that term is not applicable to fandom, fanfiction authors, or fan artist. Kill the capitalist in your brain. Content is hummingbird nectar made with artificial sweeteners. It resembles the real thing at a distance, but it is devoid of nutrients. It will fill you up so you're not hungry while starving you. Generative AI can produce content because it's empty; it doesn't mean anything. It doesn't even want to engage with you. The sole purpose of content is to get you to sit still long enough for the people who own the platform to squeeze whatever it is they want from you out of you and then abandon your malnourished husk until the next time they can get something from you.)

George RR Martin is not a member of fandom, and the relationship he has with his readers is fundamentally different, because his relationship as an author is explicitly a professional one. When George RR Martin sells a book—not to his readers, but to a publisher who acts as intermediary—he is given a lengthy contract outlining the terms of the sale. How much he will be paid, what can be done with his work by who, etc. George RR Martin is not your peer.

Fanfiction authors are your peers. They're your next door neighbors. They write fanfiction to connect to other fans in celebration of a canon everyone involved loves. Nobody makes a single red cent from writing or sharing their fanfiction. George RR Martin has sold 90 million copies of his books, and he gets money for every one. Because TikTok has trained you that people who are putting their creations out there are monetizing the experience of you reading or watching their art, the "TikTok fandom" element has you sorting your peer posting fanfiction on AO3 into the same category as George RR Martin. But your relationship with George RR Martin is a professional one, and the expectation from fanfiction authors and artists is a social relationship.

When you have a private book club reading and discussing fanfiction without ever telling the author or, God forbid, leaving a comment about how much you enjoyed the story—which is the expectation entrenched fandom authors and artists who view fandom as a social relationship—you think you're reading a mass produced novel from someone who has already been paid for it several times over, but this isn't even Walmart vs. local mom and pop. What are you actually doing is going to your neighborhood block party, picking up the cake someone made and brought to share, and taking it back to your house to eat with friends.

We are your peers. We are your neighbors. We are doing this for free because we want to talk to you about our common interest. No, it's not "payment." We offer our work for free, and you have the option of treating us like vending machines or ChatGPT or Walmart. This is a social relationship; you have this option just as you have the option of leaving your shopping cart in the middle of the parking lot instead of walking it to the cart return. You have that option just as you have the option to stick your chewed gum on a park bench or park your car across three handicap spaces or take a shit on the floor of a public bathroom. How you treat your peers and neighbors, how you treat the people in your community, is up to you.

You can keep stealing cakes from block parties. But don't be surprised when people get fed up with it and stop having block parties. Then you'll be stuck buying cake from Walmart or consuming artificially sweetened hummingbird nectar from ChatGPT while vultures raid your corpse for data.

Thanks for coming to my TEDTalk, court jester. Now get the fuck off my lawn.

[rizlowwritessortof]

I'm sorry, mah Liz!! 💖💖💖 There will be one more part coming, don't be mad at me! 🥰

Cold Hard Truth

This was written for @zepskies 5000 follower celebration - I chose a gif prompt, and Alex chose Russell Shaw for me!

This is a continuation of the Russell/Andi storyline in my previous fics, Waiting for the Real Thing and Swearing Is Caring 😊 Hope you enjoy, and please don't hate me!

Pairing: Russell x Andi

Word Count: 4073

Warnings: Smut, angst

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“See anything?” Sweets whispered almost inaudibly next to Andi’s ear. She shook her head, and he touched her arm in response. Night vision had been no help, with all the trees and foliage. Infrared was much better in these situations, but theirs had been destroyed in an earlier firefight.

It was pitch black, the air thick and humid, the buzz of mosquitoes constant. The only sound was an occasional soft shuffle as someone slightly shifted their position. Waiting was the hardest part of the mission, planted in place as they watched for their enemy to make their way into the area. That was, if the intel was right and someone didn’t pay off their informant to betray them.

The sudden staccato of automatic gunfire shattered the silence, a bullet splintering the tree trunk next to her head. A heavy body plowed into her, tackling her to the ground and covering her as she struggled to recover the breath the collision had forced from her body. A burst of answering gunfire from their camp rang out, and Seger called out quietly, “Got ‘im!”

Andi shoved impatiently at the solid form on top of her, and even in the darkness, she could see his white teeth as he grinned down at her. “Get the fuck off me, Shaw,” she gritted out between clenched teeth, and he rolled to the side.

“You’re welcome,” he replied sarcastically, rolling up and to his feet effortlessly. He held out a hand to help her up, but she slapped it away, scrambling to her feet on her own. He leaned in close, and she resisted the urge to punch him as he whispered, “Most fun I’ve had all day.”

Andi woke, disoriented for a moment before she was able to shake off her vivid dream. It was the second night that week she had dreamed about Russell, this time about the first mission she’d been on with him.

She glanced at the clock. It was only 5 a.m., but she was wide awake, so she crawled out of bed and headed for the kitchen to start some strong coffee brewing. She stood there waiting, her lip caught between her teeth as she tried to tell herself there was nothing to worry about. She wasn’t superstitious, normally, but she hadn’t heard from Russ in several weeks. He’d been doing better about keeping in touch, at least letting her know when he was heading out on a job and when he was done and safe. And he’d shown up at her door several times in the last year, when he was close by and had a day or two. But it had been too quiet lately, and apparently her mind was nudging her to be concerned.

The nagging feeling that there was something wrong weighed on her all day as she tried to concentrate on her work. She had tried to call him twice, but no answer. Not unusual, but no call-back either. By the time she finished up her day, she was on the verge of calling Colter to see if he’d had any contact with his brother. Maybe when she got home, got a drink in her and took a breath to calm herself.

She stepped into the parking garage from the elevator, keys in her hand, and walked briskly to her parking spot. As she hit the fob to unlock her car, a reflection in the window caught her eye, but she had no time to react as a heavy body pinned her to the side of the vehicle. There was a stinging pinch of a needle in the side of her neck before everything went dark, and she dropped unconscious to the concrete floor.

“Beer, chief?” Sweets called out, waving a bottle in the air as Russell shifted to look over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, then turned back to his laptop. Filing reports was not his favorite thing about the job, but since he was the team leader on the op, it was unfortunately his responsibility.

They had managed to intercept a huge shipment of automatic weapons meant for one of the largest white supremacist groups in the south. There was an arsenal of guns, grenade launchers, and ammunition now in the hands of Horizon, with off-the-books federal approval and over watch. They had spent the last several weeks all over the U.S., acting as arms dealers to infiltrate their ranks and set them up for the intercept of the large shipment now in their hands. It wouldn’t shut them down, but at least it would interrupt whatever plans had been in the works for the near future.

The other members of his team drank their beers in silence, and finally Russell spoke up. “Go ahead, get outta here – go see your families. I’ll finish up these reports to headquarters. See ya when I see ya.”

One by one, the guys finished their beers and headed out, quiet goodbyes as they left. Sweets lingered at the door for a moment, looking back at Shaw. “So, if you see Andi – say hey for me,” he said, then left Russell sitting alone, staring down at the computer.

He had slipped into old habits the last couple of months – he hadn’t called or texted Andi in weeks. Now he was in the same place he always ended up, guilt and regret mixed with the ache of missing her. He knew the look she’d have in her eyes. He knew she’d be mad and a little distant for a while, but then she’d give in.

And then he’d hurt her all over again.

He sighed, shoving the laptop back and picking up his beer, draining it. He had never had this problem before getting involved with Andi. He wasn’t a fan of the self-reflection and nagging twinges of guilt, but – even though he reluctantly admitted to himself he was being selfish – he thoroughly enjoyed everything else about being with her. He could be himself, she understood the world he moved in on a regular basis, they had history together. The time they spent together was the happiest he’d been in years. And that was as far as he allowed those thoughts to go.

He clenched his jaw for a minute, then pulled the computer back close, finishing the reports and then throwing his belongings into his bag. Within half an hour he was entering the freeway from San Antonio, on his way north to Fort Worth. As much as he tried to tell himself he should just let it go, he was heading back to Andi.

He’d been driving for about an hour when his phone rang, and he hit the speaker phone to answer. “Russ?” It was Andi, her voice sounded a little far away and shaky, but he smiled at the sound of it.

“Hey, guess who’s on the way to Fort Worth right now?” he said, his smile disappearing as an unfamiliar voice replied.

“Russell Shaw?”

His heart was pounding in his chest as he answered. “Yeah.”

“Shaw, you took something that belongs to us. So we took something that you care about. You will return our shipment to us, and we will return your girl to you. No negotiating. We’ll give you 12 hours to get those guns back and deliver them. We’ll send you the location in San Antonio in a couple of hours. Don’t fuck with us. We will kill her. And we will take our time and enjoy ourselves.”

The call went dead. Russell made his way to the turn lane and took the first exit, whipping into a gas station and screeching to a halt before dialing his team on a conference call. “Change of plans. They took Andi, and they want their guns back. Meet me back at the San Antonio base.”

The headache pounding in her skull greeted Andi as she regained consciousness. She slowly raised her head, peeking through barely open eyes to survey her surroundings. She moved a hand slightly, not surprised to find herself restrained, wrists zip-tied behind the back of the chair she was sitting on. Her ankles were strapped to the legs of the chair as well, and she opened her eyes, squinting as the light sent daggers through her brain.

“She’s coming around,” she heard a male voice say, and she looked up as a tall man with dirty blond shoulder-length hair and a beard came close, then hunkered down in front of her.

“Want some water?” he asked, and she glared at him, the lack of trust clear in her eyes. He huffed out a little laugh, holding up a bottle of water in front of her and breaking the seal. “See? Never been opened.”

She nodded, a little reluctantly, but the first rule of being held captive is to take the necessities when they’re offered, no matter how much you hate your captors. She tilted her head back as he lifted the bottle to her lips and drank until it was half gone, and he replaced the lid, sitting it down next to her chair. “Who the hell are you, and what the hell am I doing here?” she managed to say, her voice a little hoarse from whatever drug they had used to knock her out.

“Nothing for you to worry about. We just needed to send a message to a friend of yours.”

“And who would that be?”

He stood there, silent for a minute. “Russell Shaw. And his crew. They took something that belongs to us, and if they give it back, you can go home free and clear.”

“And I should believe you why?”

He shrugged. “Believe me or not.”

Andi stared into his eyes. “I guess we’ll see. Now, if you’re such a stand-up guy, maybe I could use the restroom?”

He stared back at her for a moment, then gestured at one of the other men with a jerk of his head. “Take her.”

Andi took a breath in relief as the zip ties were removed from her ankles and wrists, cringing at the touch of the man gripping her arm as he walked her to the restroom. She took as long as she dared, finally finishing up and coming out the door to her waiting escort. He smirked as he grabbed her arm again, shoving her along and into her chair again. “Thought I was gonna have to come in and help you out in there,” he said, his eyes roaming over her as he tied her to the chair again.

“You want to help me? How about you go fuck yourself.”

He stood up, an angry snarl on his face. “You got a smart mouth. Maybe somebody should stuff it full and shut you up,” he snapped, his hand grabbing at his crotch suggestively.

She bit off a derisive laugh. “If your dick’s the size of your IQ, it wouldn’t even be a mouthful.” A backhanded slap rocked her head back, the ring on his hand opening a little cut on her cheekbone that left a thin trail of blood down her cheek.

“Takes a real man to hit a woman who can’t fight back,” she spat, interrupted by the blond man, who was apparently in charge.

“Enough!” he said, shoving at her attacker roughly. “Get the fuck out. Now.” She watched the other man slink out, then glared up at her captor, eyes glowing with anger as he spoke. “Might be wise to keep your mouth shut. Or I might have to tape it shut. For your own protection, of course.”

Andi bit her lip in frustration, turning her gaze away and holding her tongue. For the moment, anyway.

“Either you give me the back-up I asked for or get ready to watch me break your fucking nondisclosure agreement with every big news outlet in this country!”

Sweets could hear Russell’s shouting before he opened the door, and he stepped inside quietly, watching warily as their team leader paced with the phone to his ear.

“Don’t fucking threaten me, Ann. You do not want all your dirty little secrets out in the open, trust me.” He glanced up at Sweets, his eyes glowing with anger. There were a few seconds of silence, then his expression turned to stone as he exhaled slowly. “And if I do that, you clean up this mess? Make sure they’re put away so she’s safe?” He listened for another moment before finishing the conversation. “We’re at the San Antonio base. I need everybody here yesterday.” He tossed the phone aside with barely enough restraint to keep from shattering it into pieces. “Fucking bitch.”

Sweets stood there, arms folded across his chest. “What did you do, chief?”

Shaw stared back at him for a second, then turned away. “What I had to.”

By 10 p.m. it was over. The majority of the so-called Freedom Coalition were in the hands of either ATF or Homeland Security, and Andi sat impatiently as an EMT finished putting a butterfly bandage on her cut.

“I’m fine,” she argued, and Russell stopped nearby, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

“You were drugged with something, we have no idea what, and somebody tuned you up,” he growled, and she glared back at him.

“Whatever they knocked me out with wore off hours ago, trust me. And I only got hit once, I’m fine.” Russell rolled his eyes at the ‘only,’ and she dropped her gaze for a second, then looked back up at him, her eyes pleading. “Please, Russ, just take me home.”

After exchanging glances with the EMT, Russ sighed impatiently, then nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” She pushed by him, ignoring his muttered, “Fucking stubborn,” as he followed her to his car.

It was quiet for the first several miles on the way to Fort Worth, and Andi finally couldn’t take the silence. “You act like you’re pissed off at me for this whole thing.”

He glanced her direction, but she was staring straight ahead, so he turned his attention back to the road. “Why would I be pissed at you? You got dragged into this because of me.”

“So you’re just doing that thing where you act like we barely know each other because you’re blaming yourself for this whole thing. Like that fixes anything.” There was no response, and she glanced at him, his stoic expression and set jaw, realizing it was pointless to go on. “Fine. I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up when we get there.” She slumped down in her seat, arms crossed, and closed her eyes.

About three hours later, Andi woke to Russ’s hand on her shoulder. “We’re here,” he said quietly, and they got out of the car, heading to the parking garage elevator in silence. He trailed behind her down the hall to her apartment, following her inside and closing the door behind him. She turned to face him, and he looked down at her, his eyes focused on the cut on her face. “Sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I promise. I’m okay.”

He nodded. “Good.” He cleared his throat, then pulled her in for a hug before pushing away. “So, I should head out.”

She stared up at him in hurt and disbelief. “That’s it? You’re just taking off?”

He refused to look at her. “This all happened because of me. Because I was careless. I’ve been spending too much time here. I have enemies, Andi. I put you in danger.”

“So quit. Walk away from Horizon. You don’t have to...”

“I can’t!” He snapped, and she bit at her lip to keep from shouting back in response. “I had to call in every marker I had and then some to get you out of there.”

She was finding it harder to breathe with every word he spoke. “And now you think you owe them?”

“I do owe them. They’re cashing in their chips, too. So I’m not done fighting yet.”

She turned, walking a few steps away before turning back, anger increasing the volume of her voice. “So fight! Pay back what you think you owe them, even though it’s probably bullshit, because I think you’ve given them enough. Fight, and then come back to me. By now you should know how it feels to have somebody to come back for!”

“That’s the fucking problem, Andi!” he yelled back. He took a deep breath before going on, lowering his voice with effort. “I got too comfortable, and look what happened! Why do you think I always stayed away for so long? Why I wanted to keep you miles away from what I do? I do the dirty shit, the nasty jobs everybody wants done but nobody wants to take the blame for. I make enemies, bad ones, people who do the kind of things that give you nightmares. Yeah, you served with me. And yeah, you saw some shit over there, and you’re a badass. But what I do is different. It’s dark, secret, ugly shit that you’re too damn good for. And I won’t let it get this close to you again.”

Andi stood there, fists clenched, glaring at him with tears stinging her eyes, but he wouldn’t let himself look at her again. He stared at the floor as he continued. “I’m headed out of the country tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” Or if - the words vibrated in the air between them even though he didn’t speak them out loud. He turned his back, reaching for the door. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Before he could open the door, Andi spoke, her voice quiet and broken. “Fuck you, Russ.” He froze for a moment, and her voice was barely a whisper when she continued. “I love you.”

He braced his free hand on the wall, jaw clenched as he hung his head, fighting the urge to go to her. But the urge won, and he turned suddenly, reaching her in three long strides. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, swallowing the soft sob forcing its way from her throat. He kissed her until neither of them could breathe, then touched his forehead to hers, his heart pounding in his chest. “This doesn’t change anything,” he whispered, and she looked up at him, her lashes wet with tears.

“I know.” She lifted a hand to sweep a tear from her cheek, straightening up to take a step back. “I need a shower.” He nodded, letting her walk away. He stood there for a couple of minutes, debating with himself, then headed down the hall, knocking gently on the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” she called out softly, already in the shower. He kicked off his shoes and stripped down, then stepped in behind her. She turned, and he felt his heart clench at the sight of her tear-streaked face. He moved closer, pulling her into his arms and holding her as they stood under the hot spray together.

Russ stroked his hands up and down her back, holding her close for a time. He gave her one last squeeze before reaching for her shampoo, and she took a deep breath before stepping back to wet her hair. She turned to let him lather it up, his fingers massaging her scalp before he guided her back beneath the water to rinse it clean. She switched places with him and let him shampoo his hair as she washed herself, and they actually laughed a little as they danced around each other for access to the water to rinse the soap from their bodies.

He handed her a towel, grabbing one for himself as they climbed out of the shower. Andi wrapped the towel around herself and combed through her hair before Russ stole her comb to slick his wet locks back from his face. He stared at her in the mirror, his eyes saying what he couldn’t put into words, then turned her around to face him, tugging her towel free before pulling her close to kiss her.

She melted into him, letting her hands roam over his body, then taking his hand to pull him out into the bedroom. He followed willingly, letting her lie down before lowering himself over her, watching her face as he settled himself between her thighs.

She put a hand up to his face, her eyes searching his. “Russ,” she started, but he quieted her with a gentle ‘shhhhhh.’ He leaned close, brushing his lips over hers before capturing them in a scorching kiss. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted now.

He laced his fingers through hers, rutting gently against her as she scratched her nails through his hair with her free hand. Russ let out a low groan as his chest dragged against her breasts, and he slid an arm beneath her knee, lifting her leg higher and opening her up to him as he shifted slightly and pushed his way slowly inside her. She sighed into their kiss, arching up underneath him and forcing him in even deeper.

He rocked his hips forward, pressing into the deepest part of her, their breath and moans mingling as they continued kissing, unwilling to separate for even a second. He coaxed her leg up around his hip, freeing his hand to glide along her soft skin, squeezing at her supple flesh, relishing the feel of her beneath his fingertips.

Andi curled her other leg up around his hips, her hands roaming up to clutch at his back as he pulled back, a slow drag that sent shivers zipping down her spine. She hummed softly against his lips as he pushed back in, settling into a rhythm of lazy, languid strokes. It was heaven and torture at the same time, a sweet agony of pleasure, building and building but not enough to reach release. When she began to tremble, letting small, desperate whimpers escape into their kiss, he stopped, holding himself deep inside until she calmed and he could begin the whole process again.

He brought her to the edge over and over, making himself crazy with want along with her. He didn’t let himself think about why, about the fact that he was leaving and this might be the last time he could feel her body, soft and warm underneath him, could feel her velvet grip around his cock.

After what seemed like forever, he finally couldn’t hold back any longer, ramping up to thrust harder, faster, bracing himself up on his elbows so he could watch her. Her head was thrown back into her pillow, her nails stinging as they dug into his back, her thighs quaking as he fucked her hard. She let out a loud, wavering cry as she came, squeezing him so hard it startled a grunt from his lips. A long, low groan vibrated in his chest as he chased his own end, swearing as it hit him hard, making his head spin as he exploded hot and thick inside her.

Andi went limp beneath him, her limbs slipping away to land on the bed, and Russ let himself rest on top of her, his face nestled into the side of her neck. Her heart pounded against his chest, echoing his own pulse, their breathing gradually slowing.

She woke with a start a little while later, a clutch of panic knotted in her chest. But Russ was still there, his arm draped over her waist holding her close, one leg thrown over hers. His breath whispered warm and steady over her shoulder, and she let it lure her slowly back to sleep.

When she opened her eyes to the bright morning light filtering through her curtains, he was gone. She laid there, reliving the night before, unwilling to move and fully admit the reality. But she couldn’t stay there forever, and she finally sat up, her eyes drawn to the scrawled note lying on the night stand. She closed her eyes, biting at her lip, avoiding picking it up for a moment. Then she let out a loud sigh and reached for the scrap of paper.

“Sorry.

I figured this way would be easier for both of us.

Take care of yourself, Andi. You deserve to be happy.

Russ.”

There was no ‘See you when I see you,’ or ‘I’ll call when I get back.’

This was goodbye.

DON'T BE MAD AT ME there will be a final part coming! 💖🥰

Tag List #1:

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

  @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5  

  @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog   

        @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain  

  @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie 

   @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic  

  @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma  

[rizlowwritessortof]

Ahhhh, THANK YOU, babe!! When you're happy, I'm happy! 🥰💖🥰

Cold Hard Truth

This was written for @zepskies 5000 follower celebration - I chose a gif prompt, and Alex chose Russell Shaw for me!

This is a continuation of the Russell/Andi storyline in my previous fics, Waiting for the Real Thing and Swearing Is Caring 😊 Hope you enjoy, and please don't hate me!

Pairing: Russell x Andi

Word Count: 4073

Warnings: Smut, angst

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“See anything?” Sweets whispered almost inaudibly next to Andi’s ear. She shook her head, and he touched her arm in response. Night vision had been no help, with all the trees and foliage. Infrared was much better in these situations, but theirs had been destroyed in an earlier firefight.

It was pitch black, the air thick and humid, the buzz of mosquitoes constant. The only sound was an occasional soft shuffle as someone slightly shifted their position. Waiting was the hardest part of the mission, planted in place as they watched for their enemy to make their way into the area. That was, if the intel was right and someone didn’t pay off their informant to betray them.

The sudden staccato of automatic gunfire shattered the silence, a bullet splintering the tree trunk next to her head. A heavy body plowed into her, tackling her to the ground and covering her as she struggled to recover the breath the collision had forced from her body. A burst of answering gunfire from their camp rang out, and Seger called out quietly, “Got ‘im!”

Andi shoved impatiently at the solid form on top of her, and even in the darkness, she could see his white teeth as he grinned down at her. “Get the fuck off me, Shaw,” she gritted out between clenched teeth, and he rolled to the side.

“You’re welcome,” he replied sarcastically, rolling up and to his feet effortlessly. He held out a hand to help her up, but she slapped it away, scrambling to her feet on her own. He leaned in close, and she resisted the urge to punch him as he whispered, “Most fun I’ve had all day.”

Andi woke, disoriented for a moment before she was able to shake off her vivid dream. It was the second night that week she had dreamed about Russell, this time about the first mission she’d been on with him.

She glanced at the clock. It was only 5 a.m., but she was wide awake, so she crawled out of bed and headed for the kitchen to start some strong coffee brewing. She stood there waiting, her lip caught between her teeth as she tried to tell herself there was nothing to worry about. She wasn’t superstitious, normally, but she hadn’t heard from Russ in several weeks. He’d been doing better about keeping in touch, at least letting her know when he was heading out on a job and when he was done and safe. And he’d shown up at her door several times in the last year, when he was close by and had a day or two. But it had been too quiet lately, and apparently her mind was nudging her to be concerned.

The nagging feeling that there was something wrong weighed on her all day as she tried to concentrate on her work. She had tried to call him twice, but no answer. Not unusual, but no call-back either. By the time she finished up her day, she was on the verge of calling Colter to see if he’d had any contact with his brother. Maybe when she got home, got a drink in her and took a breath to calm herself.

She stepped into the parking garage from the elevator, keys in her hand, and walked briskly to her parking spot. As she hit the fob to unlock her car, a reflection in the window caught her eye, but she had no time to react as a heavy body pinned her to the side of the vehicle. There was a stinging pinch of a needle in the side of her neck before everything went dark, and she dropped unconscious to the concrete floor.

“Beer, chief?” Sweets called out, waving a bottle in the air as Russell shifted to look over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, then turned back to his laptop. Filing reports was not his favorite thing about the job, but since he was the team leader on the op, it was unfortunately his responsibility.

They had managed to intercept a huge shipment of automatic weapons meant for one of the largest white supremacist groups in the south. There was an arsenal of guns, grenade launchers, and ammunition now in the hands of Horizon, with off-the-books federal approval and over watch. They had spent the last several weeks all over the U.S., acting as arms dealers to infiltrate their ranks and set them up for the intercept of the large shipment now in their hands. It wouldn’t shut them down, but at least it would interrupt whatever plans had been in the works for the near future.

The other members of his team drank their beers in silence, and finally Russell spoke up. “Go ahead, get outta here – go see your families. I’ll finish up these reports to headquarters. See ya when I see ya.”

One by one, the guys finished their beers and headed out, quiet goodbyes as they left. Sweets lingered at the door for a moment, looking back at Shaw. “So, if you see Andi – say hey for me,” he said, then left Russell sitting alone, staring down at the computer.

He had slipped into old habits the last couple of months – he hadn’t called or texted Andi in weeks. Now he was in the same place he always ended up, guilt and regret mixed with the ache of missing her. He knew the look she’d have in her eyes. He knew she’d be mad and a little distant for a while, but then she’d give in.

And then he’d hurt her all over again.

He sighed, shoving the laptop back and picking up his beer, draining it. He had never had this problem before getting involved with Andi. He wasn’t a fan of the self-reflection and nagging twinges of guilt, but – even though he reluctantly admitted to himself he was being selfish – he thoroughly enjoyed everything else about being with her. He could be himself, she understood the world he moved in on a regular basis, they had history together. The time they spent together was the happiest he’d been in years. And that was as far as he allowed those thoughts to go.

He clenched his jaw for a minute, then pulled the computer back close, finishing the reports and then throwing his belongings into his bag. Within half an hour he was entering the freeway from San Antonio, on his way north to Fort Worth. As much as he tried to tell himself he should just let it go, he was heading back to Andi.

He’d been driving for about an hour when his phone rang, and he hit the speaker phone to answer. “Russ?” It was Andi, her voice sounded a little far away and shaky, but he smiled at the sound of it.

“Hey, guess who’s on the way to Fort Worth right now?” he said, his smile disappearing as an unfamiliar voice replied.

“Russell Shaw?”

His heart was pounding in his chest as he answered. “Yeah.”

“Shaw, you took something that belongs to us. So we took something that you care about. You will return our shipment to us, and we will return your girl to you. No negotiating. We’ll give you 12 hours to get those guns back and deliver them. We’ll send you the location in San Antonio in a couple of hours. Don’t fuck with us. We will kill her. And we will take our time and enjoy ourselves.”

The call went dead. Russell made his way to the turn lane and took the first exit, whipping into a gas station and screeching to a halt before dialing his team on a conference call. “Change of plans. They took Andi, and they want their guns back. Meet me back at the San Antonio base.”

The headache pounding in her skull greeted Andi as she regained consciousness. She slowly raised her head, peeking through barely open eyes to survey her surroundings. She moved a hand slightly, not surprised to find herself restrained, wrists zip-tied behind the back of the chair she was sitting on. Her ankles were strapped to the legs of the chair as well, and she opened her eyes, squinting as the light sent daggers through her brain.

“She’s coming around,” she heard a male voice say, and she looked up as a tall man with dirty blond shoulder-length hair and a beard came close, then hunkered down in front of her.

“Want some water?” he asked, and she glared at him, the lack of trust clear in her eyes. He huffed out a little laugh, holding up a bottle of water in front of her and breaking the seal. “See? Never been opened.”

She nodded, a little reluctantly, but the first rule of being held captive is to take the necessities when they’re offered, no matter how much you hate your captors. She tilted her head back as he lifted the bottle to her lips and drank until it was half gone, and he replaced the lid, sitting it down next to her chair. “Who the hell are you, and what the hell am I doing here?” she managed to say, her voice a little hoarse from whatever drug they had used to knock her out.

“Nothing for you to worry about. We just needed to send a message to a friend of yours.”

“And who would that be?”

He stood there, silent for a minute. “Russell Shaw. And his crew. They took something that belongs to us, and if they give it back, you can go home free and clear.”

“And I should believe you why?”

He shrugged. “Believe me or not.”

Andi stared into his eyes. “I guess we’ll see. Now, if you’re such a stand-up guy, maybe I could use the restroom?”

He stared back at her for a moment, then gestured at one of the other men with a jerk of his head. “Take her.”

Andi took a breath in relief as the zip ties were removed from her ankles and wrists, cringing at the touch of the man gripping her arm as he walked her to the restroom. She took as long as she dared, finally finishing up and coming out the door to her waiting escort. He smirked as he grabbed her arm again, shoving her along and into her chair again. “Thought I was gonna have to come in and help you out in there,” he said, his eyes roaming over her as he tied her to the chair again.

“You want to help me? How about you go fuck yourself.”

He stood up, an angry snarl on his face. “You got a smart mouth. Maybe somebody should stuff it full and shut you up,” he snapped, his hand grabbing at his crotch suggestively.

She bit off a derisive laugh. “If your dick’s the size of your IQ, it wouldn’t even be a mouthful.” A backhanded slap rocked her head back, the ring on his hand opening a little cut on her cheekbone that left a thin trail of blood down her cheek.

“Takes a real man to hit a woman who can’t fight back,” she spat, interrupted by the blond man, who was apparently in charge.

“Enough!” he said, shoving at her attacker roughly. “Get the fuck out. Now.” She watched the other man slink out, then glared up at her captor, eyes glowing with anger as he spoke. “Might be wise to keep your mouth shut. Or I might have to tape it shut. For your own protection, of course.”

Andi bit her lip in frustration, turning her gaze away and holding her tongue. For the moment, anyway.

“Either you give me the back-up I asked for or get ready to watch me break your fucking nondisclosure agreement with every big news outlet in this country!”

Sweets could hear Russell’s shouting before he opened the door, and he stepped inside quietly, watching warily as their team leader paced with the phone to his ear.

“Don’t fucking threaten me, Ann. You do not want all your dirty little secrets out in the open, trust me.” He glanced up at Sweets, his eyes glowing with anger. There were a few seconds of silence, then his expression turned to stone as he exhaled slowly. “And if I do that, you clean up this mess? Make sure they’re put away so she’s safe?” He listened for another moment before finishing the conversation. “We’re at the San Antonio base. I need everybody here yesterday.” He tossed the phone aside with barely enough restraint to keep from shattering it into pieces. “Fucking bitch.”

Sweets stood there, arms folded across his chest. “What did you do, chief?”

Shaw stared back at him for a second, then turned away. “What I had to.”

By 10 p.m. it was over. The majority of the so-called Freedom Coalition were in the hands of either ATF or Homeland Security, and Andi sat impatiently as an EMT finished putting a butterfly bandage on her cut.

“I’m fine,” she argued, and Russell stopped nearby, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

“You were drugged with something, we have no idea what, and somebody tuned you up,” he growled, and she glared back at him.

“Whatever they knocked me out with wore off hours ago, trust me. And I only got hit once, I’m fine.” Russell rolled his eyes at the ‘only,’ and she dropped her gaze for a second, then looked back up at him, her eyes pleading. “Please, Russ, just take me home.”

After exchanging glances with the EMT, Russ sighed impatiently, then nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” She pushed by him, ignoring his muttered, “Fucking stubborn,” as he followed her to his car.

It was quiet for the first several miles on the way to Fort Worth, and Andi finally couldn’t take the silence. “You act like you’re pissed off at me for this whole thing.”

He glanced her direction, but she was staring straight ahead, so he turned his attention back to the road. “Why would I be pissed at you? You got dragged into this because of me.”

“So you’re just doing that thing where you act like we barely know each other because you’re blaming yourself for this whole thing. Like that fixes anything.” There was no response, and she glanced at him, his stoic expression and set jaw, realizing it was pointless to go on. “Fine. I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up when we get there.” She slumped down in her seat, arms crossed, and closed her eyes.

About three hours later, Andi woke to Russ’s hand on her shoulder. “We’re here,” he said quietly, and they got out of the car, heading to the parking garage elevator in silence. He trailed behind her down the hall to her apartment, following her inside and closing the door behind him. She turned to face him, and he looked down at her, his eyes focused on the cut on her face. “Sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I promise. I’m okay.”

He nodded. “Good.” He cleared his throat, then pulled her in for a hug before pushing away. “So, I should head out.”

She stared up at him in hurt and disbelief. “That’s it? You’re just taking off?”

He refused to look at her. “This all happened because of me. Because I was careless. I’ve been spending too much time here. I have enemies, Andi. I put you in danger.”

“So quit. Walk away from Horizon. You don’t have to...”

“I can’t!” He snapped, and she bit at her lip to keep from shouting back in response. “I had to call in every marker I had and then some to get you out of there.”

She was finding it harder to breathe with every word he spoke. “And now you think you owe them?”

“I do owe them. They’re cashing in their chips, too. So I’m not done fighting yet.”

She turned, walking a few steps away before turning back, anger increasing the volume of her voice. “So fight! Pay back what you think you owe them, even though it’s probably bullshit, because I think you’ve given them enough. Fight, and then come back to me. By now you should know how it feels to have somebody to come back for!”

“That’s the fucking problem, Andi!” he yelled back. He took a deep breath before going on, lowering his voice with effort. “I got too comfortable, and look what happened! Why do you think I always stayed away for so long? Why I wanted to keep you miles away from what I do? I do the dirty shit, the nasty jobs everybody wants done but nobody wants to take the blame for. I make enemies, bad ones, people who do the kind of things that give you nightmares. Yeah, you served with me. And yeah, you saw some shit over there, and you’re a badass. But what I do is different. It’s dark, secret, ugly shit that you’re too damn good for. And I won’t let it get this close to you again.”

Andi stood there, fists clenched, glaring at him with tears stinging her eyes, but he wouldn’t let himself look at her again. He stared at the floor as he continued. “I’m headed out of the country tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” Or if - the words vibrated in the air between them even though he didn’t speak them out loud. He turned his back, reaching for the door. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Before he could open the door, Andi spoke, her voice quiet and broken. “Fuck you, Russ.” He froze for a moment, and her voice was barely a whisper when she continued. “I love you.”

He braced his free hand on the wall, jaw clenched as he hung his head, fighting the urge to go to her. But the urge won, and he turned suddenly, reaching her in three long strides. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, swallowing the soft sob forcing its way from her throat. He kissed her until neither of them could breathe, then touched his forehead to hers, his heart pounding in his chest. “This doesn’t change anything,” he whispered, and she looked up at him, her lashes wet with tears.

“I know.” She lifted a hand to sweep a tear from her cheek, straightening up to take a step back. “I need a shower.” He nodded, letting her walk away. He stood there for a couple of minutes, debating with himself, then headed down the hall, knocking gently on the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” she called out softly, already in the shower. He kicked off his shoes and stripped down, then stepped in behind her. She turned, and he felt his heart clench at the sight of her tear-streaked face. He moved closer, pulling her into his arms and holding her as they stood under the hot spray together.

Russ stroked his hands up and down her back, holding her close for a time. He gave her one last squeeze before reaching for her shampoo, and she took a deep breath before stepping back to wet her hair. She turned to let him lather it up, his fingers massaging her scalp before he guided her back beneath the water to rinse it clean. She switched places with him and let him shampoo his hair as she washed herself, and they actually laughed a little as they danced around each other for access to the water to rinse the soap from their bodies.

He handed her a towel, grabbing one for himself as they climbed out of the shower. Andi wrapped the towel around herself and combed through her hair before Russ stole her comb to slick his wet locks back from his face. He stared at her in the mirror, his eyes saying what he couldn’t put into words, then turned her around to face him, tugging her towel free before pulling her close to kiss her.

She melted into him, letting her hands roam over his body, then taking his hand to pull him out into the bedroom. He followed willingly, letting her lie down before lowering himself over her, watching her face as he settled himself between her thighs.

She put a hand up to his face, her eyes searching his. “Russ,” she started, but he quieted her with a gentle ‘shhhhhh.’ He leaned close, brushing his lips over hers before capturing them in a scorching kiss. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted now.

He laced his fingers through hers, rutting gently against her as she scratched her nails through his hair with her free hand. Russ let out a low groan as his chest dragged against her breasts, and he slid an arm beneath her knee, lifting her leg higher and opening her up to him as he shifted slightly and pushed his way slowly inside her. She sighed into their kiss, arching up underneath him and forcing him in even deeper.

He rocked his hips forward, pressing into the deepest part of her, their breath and moans mingling as they continued kissing, unwilling to separate for even a second. He coaxed her leg up around his hip, freeing his hand to glide along her soft skin, squeezing at her supple flesh, relishing the feel of her beneath his fingertips.

Andi curled her other leg up around his hips, her hands roaming up to clutch at his back as he pulled back, a slow drag that sent shivers zipping down her spine. She hummed softly against his lips as he pushed back in, settling into a rhythm of lazy, languid strokes. It was heaven and torture at the same time, a sweet agony of pleasure, building and building but not enough to reach release. When she began to tremble, letting small, desperate whimpers escape into their kiss, he stopped, holding himself deep inside until she calmed and he could begin the whole process again.

He brought her to the edge over and over, making himself crazy with want along with her. He didn’t let himself think about why, about the fact that he was leaving and this might be the last time he could feel her body, soft and warm underneath him, could feel her velvet grip around his cock.

After what seemed like forever, he finally couldn’t hold back any longer, ramping up to thrust harder, faster, bracing himself up on his elbows so he could watch her. Her head was thrown back into her pillow, her nails stinging as they dug into his back, her thighs quaking as he fucked her hard. She let out a loud, wavering cry as she came, squeezing him so hard it startled a grunt from his lips. A long, low groan vibrated in his chest as he chased his own end, swearing as it hit him hard, making his head spin as he exploded hot and thick inside her.

Andi went limp beneath him, her limbs slipping away to land on the bed, and Russ let himself rest on top of her, his face nestled into the side of her neck. Her heart pounded against his chest, echoing his own pulse, their breathing gradually slowing.

She woke with a start a little while later, a clutch of panic knotted in her chest. But Russ was still there, his arm draped over her waist holding her close, one leg thrown over hers. His breath whispered warm and steady over her shoulder, and she let it lure her slowly back to sleep.

When she opened her eyes to the bright morning light filtering through her curtains, he was gone. She laid there, reliving the night before, unwilling to move and fully admit the reality. But she couldn’t stay there forever, and she finally sat up, her eyes drawn to the scrawled note lying on the night stand. She closed her eyes, biting at her lip, avoiding picking it up for a moment. Then she let out a loud sigh and reached for the scrap of paper.

“Sorry.

I figured this way would be easier for both of us.

Take care of yourself, Andi. You deserve to be happy.

Russ.”

There was no ‘See you when I see you,’ or ‘I’ll call when I get back.’

This was goodbye.

DON'T BE MAD AT ME there will be a final part coming! 💖🥰

Tag List #1:

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

  @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5  

  @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog   

        @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain  

  @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie 

   @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic  

  @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma  

[rizlowwritessortof]

Awwww, Alex, I'm sorry for the sad! 🥺 There's one more part to their story, hang in there with me!

Thank you so much for your wonderful comments - so glad you enjoy Russ and Andi's story! 💖🥰💖

Cold Hard Truth

This was written for @zepskies 5000 follower celebration - I chose a gif prompt, and Alex chose Russell Shaw for me!

This is a continuation of the Russell/Andi storyline in my previous fics, Waiting for the Real Thing and Swearing Is Caring 😊 Hope you enjoy, and please don't hate me!

Pairing: Russell x Andi

Word Count: 4073

Warnings: Smut, angst

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“See anything?” Sweets whispered almost inaudibly next to Andi’s ear. She shook her head, and he touched her arm in response. Night vision had been no help, with all the trees and foliage. Infrared was much better in these situations, but theirs had been destroyed in an earlier firefight.

It was pitch black, the air thick and humid, the buzz of mosquitoes constant. The only sound was an occasional soft shuffle as someone slightly shifted their position. Waiting was the hardest part of the mission, planted in place as they watched for their enemy to make their way into the area. That was, if the intel was right and someone didn’t pay off their informant to betray them.

The sudden staccato of automatic gunfire shattered the silence, a bullet splintering the tree trunk next to her head. A heavy body plowed into her, tackling her to the ground and covering her as she struggled to recover the breath the collision had forced from her body. A burst of answering gunfire from their camp rang out, and Seger called out quietly, “Got ‘im!”

Andi shoved impatiently at the solid form on top of her, and even in the darkness, she could see his white teeth as he grinned down at her. “Get the fuck off me, Shaw,” she gritted out between clenched teeth, and he rolled to the side.

“You’re welcome,” he replied sarcastically, rolling up and to his feet effortlessly. He held out a hand to help her up, but she slapped it away, scrambling to her feet on her own. He leaned in close, and she resisted the urge to punch him as he whispered, “Most fun I’ve had all day.”

Andi woke, disoriented for a moment before she was able to shake off her vivid dream. It was the second night that week she had dreamed about Russell, this time about the first mission she’d been on with him.

She glanced at the clock. It was only 5 a.m., but she was wide awake, so she crawled out of bed and headed for the kitchen to start some strong coffee brewing. She stood there waiting, her lip caught between her teeth as she tried to tell herself there was nothing to worry about. She wasn’t superstitious, normally, but she hadn’t heard from Russ in several weeks. He’d been doing better about keeping in touch, at least letting her know when he was heading out on a job and when he was done and safe. And he’d shown up at her door several times in the last year, when he was close by and had a day or two. But it had been too quiet lately, and apparently her mind was nudging her to be concerned.

The nagging feeling that there was something wrong weighed on her all day as she tried to concentrate on her work. She had tried to call him twice, but no answer. Not unusual, but no call-back either. By the time she finished up her day, she was on the verge of calling Colter to see if he’d had any contact with his brother. Maybe when she got home, got a drink in her and took a breath to calm herself.

She stepped into the parking garage from the elevator, keys in her hand, and walked briskly to her parking spot. As she hit the fob to unlock her car, a reflection in the window caught her eye, but she had no time to react as a heavy body pinned her to the side of the vehicle. There was a stinging pinch of a needle in the side of her neck before everything went dark, and she dropped unconscious to the concrete floor.

“Beer, chief?” Sweets called out, waving a bottle in the air as Russell shifted to look over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, then turned back to his laptop. Filing reports was not his favorite thing about the job, but since he was the team leader on the op, it was unfortunately his responsibility.

They had managed to intercept a huge shipment of automatic weapons meant for one of the largest white supremacist groups in the south. There was an arsenal of guns, grenade launchers, and ammunition now in the hands of Horizon, with off-the-books federal approval and over watch. They had spent the last several weeks all over the U.S., acting as arms dealers to infiltrate their ranks and set them up for the intercept of the large shipment now in their hands. It wouldn’t shut them down, but at least it would interrupt whatever plans had been in the works for the near future.

The other members of his team drank their beers in silence, and finally Russell spoke up. “Go ahead, get outta here – go see your families. I’ll finish up these reports to headquarters. See ya when I see ya.”

One by one, the guys finished their beers and headed out, quiet goodbyes as they left. Sweets lingered at the door for a moment, looking back at Shaw. “So, if you see Andi – say hey for me,” he said, then left Russell sitting alone, staring down at the computer.

He had slipped into old habits the last couple of months – he hadn’t called or texted Andi in weeks. Now he was in the same place he always ended up, guilt and regret mixed with the ache of missing her. He knew the look she’d have in her eyes. He knew she’d be mad and a little distant for a while, but then she’d give in.

And then he’d hurt her all over again.

He sighed, shoving the laptop back and picking up his beer, draining it. He had never had this problem before getting involved with Andi. He wasn’t a fan of the self-reflection and nagging twinges of guilt, but – even though he reluctantly admitted to himself he was being selfish – he thoroughly enjoyed everything else about being with her. He could be himself, she understood the world he moved in on a regular basis, they had history together. The time they spent together was the happiest he’d been in years. And that was as far as he allowed those thoughts to go.

He clenched his jaw for a minute, then pulled the computer back close, finishing the reports and then throwing his belongings into his bag. Within half an hour he was entering the freeway from San Antonio, on his way north to Fort Worth. As much as he tried to tell himself he should just let it go, he was heading back to Andi.

He’d been driving for about an hour when his phone rang, and he hit the speaker phone to answer. “Russ?” It was Andi, her voice sounded a little far away and shaky, but he smiled at the sound of it.

“Hey, guess who’s on the way to Fort Worth right now?” he said, his smile disappearing as an unfamiliar voice replied.

“Russell Shaw?”

His heart was pounding in his chest as he answered. “Yeah.”

“Shaw, you took something that belongs to us. So we took something that you care about. You will return our shipment to us, and we will return your girl to you. No negotiating. We’ll give you 12 hours to get those guns back and deliver them. We’ll send you the location in San Antonio in a couple of hours. Don’t fuck with us. We will kill her. And we will take our time and enjoy ourselves.”

The call went dead. Russell made his way to the turn lane and took the first exit, whipping into a gas station and screeching to a halt before dialing his team on a conference call. “Change of plans. They took Andi, and they want their guns back. Meet me back at the San Antonio base.”

The headache pounding in her skull greeted Andi as she regained consciousness. She slowly raised her head, peeking through barely open eyes to survey her surroundings. She moved a hand slightly, not surprised to find herself restrained, wrists zip-tied behind the back of the chair she was sitting on. Her ankles were strapped to the legs of the chair as well, and she opened her eyes, squinting as the light sent daggers through her brain.

“She’s coming around,” she heard a male voice say, and she looked up as a tall man with dirty blond shoulder-length hair and a beard came close, then hunkered down in front of her.

“Want some water?” he asked, and she glared at him, the lack of trust clear in her eyes. He huffed out a little laugh, holding up a bottle of water in front of her and breaking the seal. “See? Never been opened.”

She nodded, a little reluctantly, but the first rule of being held captive is to take the necessities when they’re offered, no matter how much you hate your captors. She tilted her head back as he lifted the bottle to her lips and drank until it was half gone, and he replaced the lid, sitting it down next to her chair. “Who the hell are you, and what the hell am I doing here?” she managed to say, her voice a little hoarse from whatever drug they had used to knock her out.

“Nothing for you to worry about. We just needed to send a message to a friend of yours.”

“And who would that be?”

He stood there, silent for a minute. “Russell Shaw. And his crew. They took something that belongs to us, and if they give it back, you can go home free and clear.”

“And I should believe you why?”

He shrugged. “Believe me or not.”

Andi stared into his eyes. “I guess we’ll see. Now, if you’re such a stand-up guy, maybe I could use the restroom?”

He stared back at her for a moment, then gestured at one of the other men with a jerk of his head. “Take her.”

Andi took a breath in relief as the zip ties were removed from her ankles and wrists, cringing at the touch of the man gripping her arm as he walked her to the restroom. She took as long as she dared, finally finishing up and coming out the door to her waiting escort. He smirked as he grabbed her arm again, shoving her along and into her chair again. “Thought I was gonna have to come in and help you out in there,” he said, his eyes roaming over her as he tied her to the chair again.

“You want to help me? How about you go fuck yourself.”

He stood up, an angry snarl on his face. “You got a smart mouth. Maybe somebody should stuff it full and shut you up,” he snapped, his hand grabbing at his crotch suggestively.

She bit off a derisive laugh. “If your dick’s the size of your IQ, it wouldn’t even be a mouthful.” A backhanded slap rocked her head back, the ring on his hand opening a little cut on her cheekbone that left a thin trail of blood down her cheek.

“Takes a real man to hit a woman who can’t fight back,” she spat, interrupted by the blond man, who was apparently in charge.

“Enough!” he said, shoving at her attacker roughly. “Get the fuck out. Now.” She watched the other man slink out, then glared up at her captor, eyes glowing with anger as he spoke. “Might be wise to keep your mouth shut. Or I might have to tape it shut. For your own protection, of course.”

Andi bit her lip in frustration, turning her gaze away and holding her tongue. For the moment, anyway.

“Either you give me the back-up I asked for or get ready to watch me break your fucking nondisclosure agreement with every big news outlet in this country!”

Sweets could hear Russell’s shouting before he opened the door, and he stepped inside quietly, watching warily as their team leader paced with the phone to his ear.

“Don’t fucking threaten me, Ann. You do not want all your dirty little secrets out in the open, trust me.” He glanced up at Sweets, his eyes glowing with anger. There were a few seconds of silence, then his expression turned to stone as he exhaled slowly. “And if I do that, you clean up this mess? Make sure they’re put away so she’s safe?” He listened for another moment before finishing the conversation. “We’re at the San Antonio base. I need everybody here yesterday.” He tossed the phone aside with barely enough restraint to keep from shattering it into pieces. “Fucking bitch.”

Sweets stood there, arms folded across his chest. “What did you do, chief?”

Shaw stared back at him for a second, then turned away. “What I had to.”

By 10 p.m. it was over. The majority of the so-called Freedom Coalition were in the hands of either ATF or Homeland Security, and Andi sat impatiently as an EMT finished putting a butterfly bandage on her cut.

“I’m fine,” she argued, and Russell stopped nearby, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

“You were drugged with something, we have no idea what, and somebody tuned you up,” he growled, and she glared back at him.

“Whatever they knocked me out with wore off hours ago, trust me. And I only got hit once, I’m fine.” Russell rolled his eyes at the ‘only,’ and she dropped her gaze for a second, then looked back up at him, her eyes pleading. “Please, Russ, just take me home.”

After exchanging glances with the EMT, Russ sighed impatiently, then nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” She pushed by him, ignoring his muttered, “Fucking stubborn,” as he followed her to his car.

It was quiet for the first several miles on the way to Fort Worth, and Andi finally couldn’t take the silence. “You act like you’re pissed off at me for this whole thing.”

He glanced her direction, but she was staring straight ahead, so he turned his attention back to the road. “Why would I be pissed at you? You got dragged into this because of me.”

“So you’re just doing that thing where you act like we barely know each other because you’re blaming yourself for this whole thing. Like that fixes anything.” There was no response, and she glanced at him, his stoic expression and set jaw, realizing it was pointless to go on. “Fine. I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up when we get there.” She slumped down in her seat, arms crossed, and closed her eyes.

About three hours later, Andi woke to Russ’s hand on her shoulder. “We’re here,” he said quietly, and they got out of the car, heading to the parking garage elevator in silence. He trailed behind her down the hall to her apartment, following her inside and closing the door behind him. She turned to face him, and he looked down at her, his eyes focused on the cut on her face. “Sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I promise. I’m okay.”

He nodded. “Good.” He cleared his throat, then pulled her in for a hug before pushing away. “So, I should head out.”

She stared up at him in hurt and disbelief. “That’s it? You’re just taking off?”

He refused to look at her. “This all happened because of me. Because I was careless. I’ve been spending too much time here. I have enemies, Andi. I put you in danger.”

“So quit. Walk away from Horizon. You don’t have to...”

“I can’t!” He snapped, and she bit at her lip to keep from shouting back in response. “I had to call in every marker I had and then some to get you out of there.”

She was finding it harder to breathe with every word he spoke. “And now you think you owe them?”

“I do owe them. They’re cashing in their chips, too. So I’m not done fighting yet.”

She turned, walking a few steps away before turning back, anger increasing the volume of her voice. “So fight! Pay back what you think you owe them, even though it’s probably bullshit, because I think you’ve given them enough. Fight, and then come back to me. By now you should know how it feels to have somebody to come back for!”

“That’s the fucking problem, Andi!” he yelled back. He took a deep breath before going on, lowering his voice with effort. “I got too comfortable, and look what happened! Why do you think I always stayed away for so long? Why I wanted to keep you miles away from what I do? I do the dirty shit, the nasty jobs everybody wants done but nobody wants to take the blame for. I make enemies, bad ones, people who do the kind of things that give you nightmares. Yeah, you served with me. And yeah, you saw some shit over there, and you’re a badass. But what I do is different. It’s dark, secret, ugly shit that you’re too damn good for. And I won’t let it get this close to you again.”

Andi stood there, fists clenched, glaring at him with tears stinging her eyes, but he wouldn’t let himself look at her again. He stared at the floor as he continued. “I’m headed out of the country tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” Or if - the words vibrated in the air between them even though he didn’t speak them out loud. He turned his back, reaching for the door. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Before he could open the door, Andi spoke, her voice quiet and broken. “Fuck you, Russ.” He froze for a moment, and her voice was barely a whisper when she continued. “I love you.”

He braced his free hand on the wall, jaw clenched as he hung his head, fighting the urge to go to her. But the urge won, and he turned suddenly, reaching her in three long strides. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, swallowing the soft sob forcing its way from her throat. He kissed her until neither of them could breathe, then touched his forehead to hers, his heart pounding in his chest. “This doesn’t change anything,” he whispered, and she looked up at him, her lashes wet with tears.

“I know.” She lifted a hand to sweep a tear from her cheek, straightening up to take a step back. “I need a shower.” He nodded, letting her walk away. He stood there for a couple of minutes, debating with himself, then headed down the hall, knocking gently on the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” she called out softly, already in the shower. He kicked off his shoes and stripped down, then stepped in behind her. She turned, and he felt his heart clench at the sight of her tear-streaked face. He moved closer, pulling her into his arms and holding her as they stood under the hot spray together.

Russ stroked his hands up and down her back, holding her close for a time. He gave her one last squeeze before reaching for her shampoo, and she took a deep breath before stepping back to wet her hair. She turned to let him lather it up, his fingers massaging her scalp before he guided her back beneath the water to rinse it clean. She switched places with him and let him shampoo his hair as she washed herself, and they actually laughed a little as they danced around each other for access to the water to rinse the soap from their bodies.

He handed her a towel, grabbing one for himself as they climbed out of the shower. Andi wrapped the towel around herself and combed through her hair before Russ stole her comb to slick his wet locks back from his face. He stared at her in the mirror, his eyes saying what he couldn’t put into words, then turned her around to face him, tugging her towel free before pulling her close to kiss her.

She melted into him, letting her hands roam over his body, then taking his hand to pull him out into the bedroom. He followed willingly, letting her lie down before lowering himself over her, watching her face as he settled himself between her thighs.

She put a hand up to his face, her eyes searching his. “Russ,” she started, but he quieted her with a gentle ‘shhhhhh.’ He leaned close, brushing his lips over hers before capturing them in a scorching kiss. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted now.

He laced his fingers through hers, rutting gently against her as she scratched her nails through his hair with her free hand. Russ let out a low groan as his chest dragged against her breasts, and he slid an arm beneath her knee, lifting her leg higher and opening her up to him as he shifted slightly and pushed his way slowly inside her. She sighed into their kiss, arching up underneath him and forcing him in even deeper.

He rocked his hips forward, pressing into the deepest part of her, their breath and moans mingling as they continued kissing, unwilling to separate for even a second. He coaxed her leg up around his hip, freeing his hand to glide along her soft skin, squeezing at her supple flesh, relishing the feel of her beneath his fingertips.

Andi curled her other leg up around his hips, her hands roaming up to clutch at his back as he pulled back, a slow drag that sent shivers zipping down her spine. She hummed softly against his lips as he pushed back in, settling into a rhythm of lazy, languid strokes. It was heaven and torture at the same time, a sweet agony of pleasure, building and building but not enough to reach release. When she began to tremble, letting small, desperate whimpers escape into their kiss, he stopped, holding himself deep inside until she calmed and he could begin the whole process again.

He brought her to the edge over and over, making himself crazy with want along with her. He didn’t let himself think about why, about the fact that he was leaving and this might be the last time he could feel her body, soft and warm underneath him, could feel her velvet grip around his cock.

After what seemed like forever, he finally couldn’t hold back any longer, ramping up to thrust harder, faster, bracing himself up on his elbows so he could watch her. Her head was thrown back into her pillow, her nails stinging as they dug into his back, her thighs quaking as he fucked her hard. She let out a loud, wavering cry as she came, squeezing him so hard it startled a grunt from his lips. A long, low groan vibrated in his chest as he chased his own end, swearing as it hit him hard, making his head spin as he exploded hot and thick inside her.

Andi went limp beneath him, her limbs slipping away to land on the bed, and Russ let himself rest on top of her, his face nestled into the side of her neck. Her heart pounded against his chest, echoing his own pulse, their breathing gradually slowing.

She woke with a start a little while later, a clutch of panic knotted in her chest. But Russ was still there, his arm draped over her waist holding her close, one leg thrown over hers. His breath whispered warm and steady over her shoulder, and she let it lure her slowly back to sleep.

When she opened her eyes to the bright morning light filtering through her curtains, he was gone. She laid there, reliving the night before, unwilling to move and fully admit the reality. But she couldn’t stay there forever, and she finally sat up, her eyes drawn to the scrawled note lying on the night stand. She closed her eyes, biting at her lip, avoiding picking it up for a moment. Then she let out a loud sigh and reached for the scrap of paper.

“Sorry.

I figured this way would be easier for both of us.

Take care of yourself, Andi. You deserve to be happy.

Russ.”

There was no ‘See you when I see you,’ or ‘I’ll call when I get back.’

This was goodbye.

DON'T BE MAD AT ME there will be a final part coming! 💖🥰

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[rizlowwritessortof]

I'm sorry, Kym! 🥺 There's one more part coming! 💖

Cold Hard Truth

This was written for @zepskies 5000 follower celebration - I chose a gif prompt, and Alex chose Russell Shaw for me!

This is a continuation of the Russell/Andi storyline in my previous fics, Waiting for the Real Thing and Swearing Is Caring 😊 Hope you enjoy, and please don't hate me!

Pairing: Russell x Andi

Word Count: 4073

Warnings: Smut, angst

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“See anything?” Sweets whispered almost inaudibly next to Andi’s ear. She shook her head, and he touched her arm in response. Night vision had been no help, with all the trees and foliage. Infrared was much better in these situations, but theirs had been destroyed in an earlier firefight.

It was pitch black, the air thick and humid, the buzz of mosquitoes constant. The only sound was an occasional soft shuffle as someone slightly shifted their position. Waiting was the hardest part of the mission, planted in place as they watched for their enemy to make their way into the area. That was, if the intel was right and someone didn’t pay off their informant to betray them.

The sudden staccato of automatic gunfire shattered the silence, a bullet splintering the tree trunk next to her head. A heavy body plowed into her, tackling her to the ground and covering her as she struggled to recover the breath the collision had forced from her body. A burst of answering gunfire from their camp rang out, and Seger called out quietly, “Got ‘im!”

Andi shoved impatiently at the solid form on top of her, and even in the darkness, she could see his white teeth as he grinned down at her. “Get the fuck off me, Shaw,” she gritted out between clenched teeth, and he rolled to the side.

“You’re welcome,” he replied sarcastically, rolling up and to his feet effortlessly. He held out a hand to help her up, but she slapped it away, scrambling to her feet on her own. He leaned in close, and she resisted the urge to punch him as he whispered, “Most fun I’ve had all day.”

Andi woke, disoriented for a moment before she was able to shake off her vivid dream. It was the second night that week she had dreamed about Russell, this time about the first mission she’d been on with him.

She glanced at the clock. It was only 5 a.m., but she was wide awake, so she crawled out of bed and headed for the kitchen to start some strong coffee brewing. She stood there waiting, her lip caught between her teeth as she tried to tell herself there was nothing to worry about. She wasn’t superstitious, normally, but she hadn’t heard from Russ in several weeks. He’d been doing better about keeping in touch, at least letting her know when he was heading out on a job and when he was done and safe. And he’d shown up at her door several times in the last year, when he was close by and had a day or two. But it had been too quiet lately, and apparently her mind was nudging her to be concerned.

The nagging feeling that there was something wrong weighed on her all day as she tried to concentrate on her work. She had tried to call him twice, but no answer. Not unusual, but no call-back either. By the time she finished up her day, she was on the verge of calling Colter to see if he’d had any contact with his brother. Maybe when she got home, got a drink in her and took a breath to calm herself.

She stepped into the parking garage from the elevator, keys in her hand, and walked briskly to her parking spot. As she hit the fob to unlock her car, a reflection in the window caught her eye, but she had no time to react as a heavy body pinned her to the side of the vehicle. There was a stinging pinch of a needle in the side of her neck before everything went dark, and she dropped unconscious to the concrete floor.

“Beer, chief?” Sweets called out, waving a bottle in the air as Russell shifted to look over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, then turned back to his laptop. Filing reports was not his favorite thing about the job, but since he was the team leader on the op, it was unfortunately his responsibility.

They had managed to intercept a huge shipment of automatic weapons meant for one of the largest white supremacist groups in the south. There was an arsenal of guns, grenade launchers, and ammunition now in the hands of Horizon, with off-the-books federal approval and over watch. They had spent the last several weeks all over the U.S., acting as arms dealers to infiltrate their ranks and set them up for the intercept of the large shipment now in their hands. It wouldn’t shut them down, but at least it would interrupt whatever plans had been in the works for the near future.

The other members of his team drank their beers in silence, and finally Russell spoke up. “Go ahead, get outta here – go see your families. I’ll finish up these reports to headquarters. See ya when I see ya.”

One by one, the guys finished their beers and headed out, quiet goodbyes as they left. Sweets lingered at the door for a moment, looking back at Shaw. “So, if you see Andi – say hey for me,” he said, then left Russell sitting alone, staring down at the computer.

He had slipped into old habits the last couple of months – he hadn’t called or texted Andi in weeks. Now he was in the same place he always ended up, guilt and regret mixed with the ache of missing her. He knew the look she’d have in her eyes. He knew she’d be mad and a little distant for a while, but then she’d give in.

And then he’d hurt her all over again.

He sighed, shoving the laptop back and picking up his beer, draining it. He had never had this problem before getting involved with Andi. He wasn’t a fan of the self-reflection and nagging twinges of guilt, but – even though he reluctantly admitted to himself he was being selfish – he thoroughly enjoyed everything else about being with her. He could be himself, she understood the world he moved in on a regular basis, they had history together. The time they spent together was the happiest he’d been in years. And that was as far as he allowed those thoughts to go.

He clenched his jaw for a minute, then pulled the computer back close, finishing the reports and then throwing his belongings into his bag. Within half an hour he was entering the freeway from San Antonio, on his way north to Fort Worth. As much as he tried to tell himself he should just let it go, he was heading back to Andi.

He’d been driving for about an hour when his phone rang, and he hit the speaker phone to answer. “Russ?” It was Andi, her voice sounded a little far away and shaky, but he smiled at the sound of it.

“Hey, guess who’s on the way to Fort Worth right now?” he said, his smile disappearing as an unfamiliar voice replied.

“Russell Shaw?”

His heart was pounding in his chest as he answered. “Yeah.”

“Shaw, you took something that belongs to us. So we took something that you care about. You will return our shipment to us, and we will return your girl to you. No negotiating. We’ll give you 12 hours to get those guns back and deliver them. We’ll send you the location in San Antonio in a couple of hours. Don’t fuck with us. We will kill her. And we will take our time and enjoy ourselves.”

The call went dead. Russell made his way to the turn lane and took the first exit, whipping into a gas station and screeching to a halt before dialing his team on a conference call. “Change of plans. They took Andi, and they want their guns back. Meet me back at the San Antonio base.”

The headache pounding in her skull greeted Andi as she regained consciousness. She slowly raised her head, peeking through barely open eyes to survey her surroundings. She moved a hand slightly, not surprised to find herself restrained, wrists zip-tied behind the back of the chair she was sitting on. Her ankles were strapped to the legs of the chair as well, and she opened her eyes, squinting as the light sent daggers through her brain.

“She’s coming around,” she heard a male voice say, and she looked up as a tall man with dirty blond shoulder-length hair and a beard came close, then hunkered down in front of her.

“Want some water?” he asked, and she glared at him, the lack of trust clear in her eyes. He huffed out a little laugh, holding up a bottle of water in front of her and breaking the seal. “See? Never been opened.”

She nodded, a little reluctantly, but the first rule of being held captive is to take the necessities when they’re offered, no matter how much you hate your captors. She tilted her head back as he lifted the bottle to her lips and drank until it was half gone, and he replaced the lid, sitting it down next to her chair. “Who the hell are you, and what the hell am I doing here?” she managed to say, her voice a little hoarse from whatever drug they had used to knock her out.

“Nothing for you to worry about. We just needed to send a message to a friend of yours.”

“And who would that be?”

He stood there, silent for a minute. “Russell Shaw. And his crew. They took something that belongs to us, and if they give it back, you can go home free and clear.”

“And I should believe you why?”

He shrugged. “Believe me or not.”

Andi stared into his eyes. “I guess we’ll see. Now, if you’re such a stand-up guy, maybe I could use the restroom?”

He stared back at her for a moment, then gestured at one of the other men with a jerk of his head. “Take her.”

Andi took a breath in relief as the zip ties were removed from her ankles and wrists, cringing at the touch of the man gripping her arm as he walked her to the restroom. She took as long as she dared, finally finishing up and coming out the door to her waiting escort. He smirked as he grabbed her arm again, shoving her along and into her chair again. “Thought I was gonna have to come in and help you out in there,” he said, his eyes roaming over her as he tied her to the chair again.

“You want to help me? How about you go fuck yourself.”

He stood up, an angry snarl on his face. “You got a smart mouth. Maybe somebody should stuff it full and shut you up,” he snapped, his hand grabbing at his crotch suggestively.

She bit off a derisive laugh. “If your dick’s the size of your IQ, it wouldn’t even be a mouthful.” A backhanded slap rocked her head back, the ring on his hand opening a little cut on her cheekbone that left a thin trail of blood down her cheek.

“Takes a real man to hit a woman who can’t fight back,” she spat, interrupted by the blond man, who was apparently in charge.

“Enough!” he said, shoving at her attacker roughly. “Get the fuck out. Now.” She watched the other man slink out, then glared up at her captor, eyes glowing with anger as he spoke. “Might be wise to keep your mouth shut. Or I might have to tape it shut. For your own protection, of course.”

Andi bit her lip in frustration, turning her gaze away and holding her tongue. For the moment, anyway.

“Either you give me the back-up I asked for or get ready to watch me break your fucking nondisclosure agreement with every big news outlet in this country!”

Sweets could hear Russell’s shouting before he opened the door, and he stepped inside quietly, watching warily as their team leader paced with the phone to his ear.

“Don’t fucking threaten me, Ann. You do not want all your dirty little secrets out in the open, trust me.” He glanced up at Sweets, his eyes glowing with anger. There were a few seconds of silence, then his expression turned to stone as he exhaled slowly. “And if I do that, you clean up this mess? Make sure they’re put away so she’s safe?” He listened for another moment before finishing the conversation. “We’re at the San Antonio base. I need everybody here yesterday.” He tossed the phone aside with barely enough restraint to keep from shattering it into pieces. “Fucking bitch.”

Sweets stood there, arms folded across his chest. “What did you do, chief?”

Shaw stared back at him for a second, then turned away. “What I had to.”

By 10 p.m. it was over. The majority of the so-called Freedom Coalition were in the hands of either ATF or Homeland Security, and Andi sat impatiently as an EMT finished putting a butterfly bandage on her cut.

“I’m fine,” she argued, and Russell stopped nearby, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

“You were drugged with something, we have no idea what, and somebody tuned you up,” he growled, and she glared back at him.

“Whatever they knocked me out with wore off hours ago, trust me. And I only got hit once, I’m fine.” Russell rolled his eyes at the ‘only,’ and she dropped her gaze for a second, then looked back up at him, her eyes pleading. “Please, Russ, just take me home.”

After exchanging glances with the EMT, Russ sighed impatiently, then nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” She pushed by him, ignoring his muttered, “Fucking stubborn,” as he followed her to his car.

It was quiet for the first several miles on the way to Fort Worth, and Andi finally couldn’t take the silence. “You act like you’re pissed off at me for this whole thing.”

He glanced her direction, but she was staring straight ahead, so he turned his attention back to the road. “Why would I be pissed at you? You got dragged into this because of me.”

“So you’re just doing that thing where you act like we barely know each other because you’re blaming yourself for this whole thing. Like that fixes anything.” There was no response, and she glanced at him, his stoic expression and set jaw, realizing it was pointless to go on. “Fine. I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up when we get there.” She slumped down in her seat, arms crossed, and closed her eyes.

About three hours later, Andi woke to Russ’s hand on her shoulder. “We’re here,” he said quietly, and they got out of the car, heading to the parking garage elevator in silence. He trailed behind her down the hall to her apartment, following her inside and closing the door behind him. She turned to face him, and he looked down at her, his eyes focused on the cut on her face. “Sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I promise. I’m okay.”

He nodded. “Good.” He cleared his throat, then pulled her in for a hug before pushing away. “So, I should head out.”

She stared up at him in hurt and disbelief. “That’s it? You’re just taking off?”

He refused to look at her. “This all happened because of me. Because I was careless. I’ve been spending too much time here. I have enemies, Andi. I put you in danger.”

“So quit. Walk away from Horizon. You don’t have to...”

“I can’t!” He snapped, and she bit at her lip to keep from shouting back in response. “I had to call in every marker I had and then some to get you out of there.”

She was finding it harder to breathe with every word he spoke. “And now you think you owe them?”

“I do owe them. They’re cashing in their chips, too. So I’m not done fighting yet.”

She turned, walking a few steps away before turning back, anger increasing the volume of her voice. “So fight! Pay back what you think you owe them, even though it’s probably bullshit, because I think you’ve given them enough. Fight, and then come back to me. By now you should know how it feels to have somebody to come back for!”

“That’s the fucking problem, Andi!” he yelled back. He took a deep breath before going on, lowering his voice with effort. “I got too comfortable, and look what happened! Why do you think I always stayed away for so long? Why I wanted to keep you miles away from what I do? I do the dirty shit, the nasty jobs everybody wants done but nobody wants to take the blame for. I make enemies, bad ones, people who do the kind of things that give you nightmares. Yeah, you served with me. And yeah, you saw some shit over there, and you’re a badass. But what I do is different. It’s dark, secret, ugly shit that you’re too damn good for. And I won’t let it get this close to you again.”

Andi stood there, fists clenched, glaring at him with tears stinging her eyes, but he wouldn’t let himself look at her again. He stared at the floor as he continued. “I’m headed out of the country tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” Or if - the words vibrated in the air between them even though he didn’t speak them out loud. He turned his back, reaching for the door. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Before he could open the door, Andi spoke, her voice quiet and broken. “Fuck you, Russ.” He froze for a moment, and her voice was barely a whisper when she continued. “I love you.”

He braced his free hand on the wall, jaw clenched as he hung his head, fighting the urge to go to her. But the urge won, and he turned suddenly, reaching her in three long strides. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, swallowing the soft sob forcing its way from her throat. He kissed her until neither of them could breathe, then touched his forehead to hers, his heart pounding in his chest. “This doesn’t change anything,” he whispered, and she looked up at him, her lashes wet with tears.

“I know.” She lifted a hand to sweep a tear from her cheek, straightening up to take a step back. “I need a shower.” He nodded, letting her walk away. He stood there for a couple of minutes, debating with himself, then headed down the hall, knocking gently on the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” she called out softly, already in the shower. He kicked off his shoes and stripped down, then stepped in behind her. She turned, and he felt his heart clench at the sight of her tear-streaked face. He moved closer, pulling her into his arms and holding her as they stood under the hot spray together.

Russ stroked his hands up and down her back, holding her close for a time. He gave her one last squeeze before reaching for her shampoo, and she took a deep breath before stepping back to wet her hair. She turned to let him lather it up, his fingers massaging her scalp before he guided her back beneath the water to rinse it clean. She switched places with him and let him shampoo his hair as she washed herself, and they actually laughed a little as they danced around each other for access to the water to rinse the soap from their bodies.

He handed her a towel, grabbing one for himself as they climbed out of the shower. Andi wrapped the towel around herself and combed through her hair before Russ stole her comb to slick his wet locks back from his face. He stared at her in the mirror, his eyes saying what he couldn’t put into words, then turned her around to face him, tugging her towel free before pulling her close to kiss her.

She melted into him, letting her hands roam over his body, then taking his hand to pull him out into the bedroom. He followed willingly, letting her lie down before lowering himself over her, watching her face as he settled himself between her thighs.

She put a hand up to his face, her eyes searching his. “Russ,” she started, but he quieted her with a gentle ‘shhhhhh.’ He leaned close, brushing his lips over hers before capturing them in a scorching kiss. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted now.

He laced his fingers through hers, rutting gently against her as she scratched her nails through his hair with her free hand. Russ let out a low groan as his chest dragged against her breasts, and he slid an arm beneath her knee, lifting her leg higher and opening her up to him as he shifted slightly and pushed his way slowly inside her. She sighed into their kiss, arching up underneath him and forcing him in even deeper.

He rocked his hips forward, pressing into the deepest part of her, their breath and moans mingling as they continued kissing, unwilling to separate for even a second. He coaxed her leg up around his hip, freeing his hand to glide along her soft skin, squeezing at her supple flesh, relishing the feel of her beneath his fingertips.

Andi curled her other leg up around his hips, her hands roaming up to clutch at his back as he pulled back, a slow drag that sent shivers zipping down her spine. She hummed softly against his lips as he pushed back in, settling into a rhythm of lazy, languid strokes. It was heaven and torture at the same time, a sweet agony of pleasure, building and building but not enough to reach release. When she began to tremble, letting small, desperate whimpers escape into their kiss, he stopped, holding himself deep inside until she calmed and he could begin the whole process again.

He brought her to the edge over and over, making himself crazy with want along with her. He didn’t let himself think about why, about the fact that he was leaving and this might be the last time he could feel her body, soft and warm underneath him, could feel her velvet grip around his cock.

After what seemed like forever, he finally couldn’t hold back any longer, ramping up to thrust harder, faster, bracing himself up on his elbows so he could watch her. Her head was thrown back into her pillow, her nails stinging as they dug into his back, her thighs quaking as he fucked her hard. She let out a loud, wavering cry as she came, squeezing him so hard it startled a grunt from his lips. A long, low groan vibrated in his chest as he chased his own end, swearing as it hit him hard, making his head spin as he exploded hot and thick inside her.

Andi went limp beneath him, her limbs slipping away to land on the bed, and Russ let himself rest on top of her, his face nestled into the side of her neck. Her heart pounded against his chest, echoing his own pulse, their breathing gradually slowing.

She woke with a start a little while later, a clutch of panic knotted in her chest. But Russ was still there, his arm draped over her waist holding her close, one leg thrown over hers. His breath whispered warm and steady over her shoulder, and she let it lure her slowly back to sleep.

When she opened her eyes to the bright morning light filtering through her curtains, he was gone. She laid there, reliving the night before, unwilling to move and fully admit the reality. But she couldn’t stay there forever, and she finally sat up, her eyes drawn to the scrawled note lying on the night stand. She closed her eyes, biting at her lip, avoiding picking it up for a moment. Then she let out a loud sigh and reached for the scrap of paper.

“Sorry.

I figured this way would be easier for both of us.

Take care of yourself, Andi. You deserve to be happy.

Russ.”

There was no ‘See you when I see you,’ or ‘I’ll call when I get back.’

This was goodbye.

DON'T BE MAD AT ME there will be a final part coming! 💖🥰

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Cold Hard Truth

This was written for @zepskies 5000 follower celebration - I chose a gif prompt, and Alex chose Russell Shaw for me!

This is a continuation of the Russell/Andi storyline in my previous fics, Waiting for the Real Thing and Swearing Is Caring 😊 Hope you enjoy, and please don't hate me!

Pairing: Russell x Andi

Word Count: 4073

Warnings: Smut, angst

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“See anything?” Sweets whispered almost inaudibly next to Andi’s ear. She shook her head, and he touched her arm in response. Night vision had been no help, with all the trees and foliage. Infrared was much better in these situations, but theirs had been destroyed in an earlier firefight.

It was pitch black, the air thick and humid, the buzz of mosquitoes constant. The only sound was an occasional soft shuffle as someone slightly shifted their position. Waiting was the hardest part of the mission, planted in place as they watched for their enemy to make their way into the area. That was, if the intel was right and someone didn’t pay off their informant to betray them.

The sudden staccato of automatic gunfire shattered the silence, a bullet splintering the tree trunk next to her head. A heavy body plowed into her, tackling her to the ground and covering her as she struggled to recover the breath the collision had forced from her body. A burst of answering gunfire from their camp rang out, and Seger called out quietly, “Got ‘im!”

Andi shoved impatiently at the solid form on top of her, and even in the darkness, she could see his white teeth as he grinned down at her. “Get the fuck off me, Shaw,” she gritted out between clenched teeth, and he rolled to the side.

“You’re welcome,” he replied sarcastically, rolling up and to his feet effortlessly. He held out a hand to help her up, but she slapped it away, scrambling to her feet on her own. He leaned in close, and she resisted the urge to punch him as he whispered, “Most fun I’ve had all day.”

Andi woke, disoriented for a moment before she was able to shake off her vivid dream. It was the second night that week she had dreamed about Russell, this time about the first mission she’d been on with him.

She glanced at the clock. It was only 5 a.m., but she was wide awake, so she crawled out of bed and headed for the kitchen to start some strong coffee brewing. She stood there waiting, her lip caught between her teeth as she tried to tell herself there was nothing to worry about. She wasn’t superstitious, normally, but she hadn’t heard from Russ in several weeks. He’d been doing better about keeping in touch, at least letting her know when he was heading out on a job and when he was done and safe. And he’d shown up at her door several times in the last year, when he was close by and had a day or two. But it had been too quiet lately, and apparently her mind was nudging her to be concerned.

The nagging feeling that there was something wrong weighed on her all day as she tried to concentrate on her work. She had tried to call him twice, but no answer. Not unusual, but no call-back either. By the time she finished up her day, she was on the verge of calling Colter to see if he’d had any contact with his brother. Maybe when she got home, got a drink in her and took a breath to calm herself.

She stepped into the parking garage from the elevator, keys in her hand, and walked briskly to her parking spot. As she hit the fob to unlock her car, a reflection in the window caught her eye, but she had no time to react as a heavy body pinned her to the side of the vehicle. There was a stinging pinch of a needle in the side of her neck before everything went dark, and she dropped unconscious to the concrete floor.

“Beer, chief?” Sweets called out, waving a bottle in the air as Russell shifted to look over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, then turned back to his laptop. Filing reports was not his favorite thing about the job, but since he was the team leader on the op, it was unfortunately his responsibility.

They had managed to intercept a huge shipment of automatic weapons meant for one of the largest white supremacist groups in the south. There was an arsenal of guns, grenade launchers, and ammunition now in the hands of Horizon, with off-the-books federal approval and over watch. They had spent the last several weeks all over the U.S., acting as arms dealers to infiltrate their ranks and set them up for the intercept of the large shipment now in their hands. It wouldn’t shut them down, but at least it would interrupt whatever plans had been in the works for the near future.

The other members of his team drank their beers in silence, and finally Russell spoke up. “Go ahead, get outta here – go see your families. I’ll finish up these reports to headquarters. See ya when I see ya.”

One by one, the guys finished their beers and headed out, quiet goodbyes as they left. Sweets lingered at the door for a moment, looking back at Shaw. “So, if you see Andi – say hey for me,” he said, then left Russell sitting alone, staring down at the computer.

He had slipped into old habits the last couple of months – he hadn’t called or texted Andi in weeks. Now he was in the same place he always ended up, guilt and regret mixed with the ache of missing her. He knew the look she’d have in her eyes. He knew she’d be mad and a little distant for a while, but then she’d give in.

And then he’d hurt her all over again.

He sighed, shoving the laptop back and picking up his beer, draining it. He had never had this problem before getting involved with Andi. He wasn’t a fan of the self-reflection and nagging twinges of guilt, but – even though he reluctantly admitted to himself he was being selfish – he thoroughly enjoyed everything else about being with her. He could be himself, she understood the world he moved in on a regular basis, they had history together. The time they spent together was the happiest he’d been in years. And that was as far as he allowed those thoughts to go.

He clenched his jaw for a minute, then pulled the computer back close, finishing the reports and then throwing his belongings into his bag. Within half an hour he was entering the freeway from San Antonio, on his way north to Fort Worth. As much as he tried to tell himself he should just let it go, he was heading back to Andi.

He’d been driving for about an hour when his phone rang, and he hit the speaker phone to answer. “Russ?” It was Andi, her voice sounded a little far away and shaky, but he smiled at the sound of it.

“Hey, guess who’s on the way to Fort Worth right now?” he said, his smile disappearing as an unfamiliar voice replied.

“Russell Shaw?”

His heart was pounding in his chest as he answered. “Yeah.”

“Shaw, you took something that belongs to us. So we took something that you care about. You will return our shipment to us, and we will return your girl to you. No negotiating. We’ll give you 12 hours to get those guns back and deliver them. We’ll send you the location in San Antonio in a couple of hours. Don’t fuck with us. We will kill her. And we will take our time and enjoy ourselves.”

The call went dead. Russell made his way to the turn lane and took the first exit, whipping into a gas station and screeching to a halt before dialing his team on a conference call. “Change of plans. They took Andi, and they want their guns back. Meet me back at the San Antonio base.”

The headache pounding in her skull greeted Andi as she regained consciousness. She slowly raised her head, peeking through barely open eyes to survey her surroundings. She moved a hand slightly, not surprised to find herself restrained, wrists zip-tied behind the back of the chair she was sitting on. Her ankles were strapped to the legs of the chair as well, and she opened her eyes, squinting as the light sent daggers through her brain.

“She’s coming around,” she heard a male voice say, and she looked up as a tall man with dirty blond shoulder-length hair and a beard came close, then hunkered down in front of her.

“Want some water?” he asked, and she glared at him, the lack of trust clear in her eyes. He huffed out a little laugh, holding up a bottle of water in front of her and breaking the seal. “See? Never been opened.”

She nodded, a little reluctantly, but the first rule of being held captive is to take the necessities when they’re offered, no matter how much you hate your captors. She tilted her head back as he lifted the bottle to her lips and drank until it was half gone, and he replaced the lid, sitting it down next to her chair. “Who the hell are you, and what the hell am I doing here?” she managed to say, her voice a little hoarse from whatever drug they had used to knock her out.

“Nothing for you to worry about. We just needed to send a message to a friend of yours.”

“And who would that be?”

He stood there, silent for a minute. “Russell Shaw. And his crew. They took something that belongs to us, and if they give it back, you can go home free and clear.”

“And I should believe you why?”

He shrugged. “Believe me or not.”

Andi stared into his eyes. “I guess we’ll see. Now, if you’re such a stand-up guy, maybe I could use the restroom?”

He stared back at her for a moment, then gestured at one of the other men with a jerk of his head. “Take her.”

Andi took a breath in relief as the zip ties were removed from her ankles and wrists, cringing at the touch of the man gripping her arm as he walked her to the restroom. She took as long as she dared, finally finishing up and coming out the door to her waiting escort. He smirked as he grabbed her arm again, shoving her along and into her chair again. “Thought I was gonna have to come in and help you out in there,” he said, his eyes roaming over her as he tied her to the chair again.

“You want to help me? How about you go fuck yourself.”

He stood up, an angry snarl on his face. “You got a smart mouth. Maybe somebody should stuff it full and shut you up,” he snapped, his hand grabbing at his crotch suggestively.

She bit off a derisive laugh. “If your dick’s the size of your IQ, it wouldn’t even be a mouthful.” A backhanded slap rocked her head back, the ring on his hand opening a little cut on her cheekbone that left a thin trail of blood down her cheek.

“Takes a real man to hit a woman who can’t fight back,” she spat, interrupted by the blond man, who was apparently in charge.

“Enough!” he said, shoving at her attacker roughly. “Get the fuck out. Now.” She watched the other man slink out, then glared up at her captor, eyes glowing with anger as he spoke. “Might be wise to keep your mouth shut. Or I might have to tape it shut. For your own protection, of course.”

Andi bit her lip in frustration, turning her gaze away and holding her tongue. For the moment, anyway.

“Either you give me the back-up I asked for or get ready to watch me break your fucking nondisclosure agreement with every big news outlet in this country!”

Sweets could hear Russell’s shouting before he opened the door, and he stepped inside quietly, watching warily as their team leader paced with the phone to his ear.

“Don’t fucking threaten me, Ann. You do not want all your dirty little secrets out in the open, trust me.” He glanced up at Sweets, his eyes glowing with anger. There were a few seconds of silence, then his expression turned to stone as he exhaled slowly. “And if I do that, you clean up this mess? Make sure they’re put away so she’s safe?” He listened for another moment before finishing the conversation. “We’re at the San Antonio base. I need everybody here yesterday.” He tossed the phone aside with barely enough restraint to keep from shattering it into pieces. “Fucking bitch.”

Sweets stood there, arms folded across his chest. “What did you do, chief?”

Shaw stared back at him for a second, then turned away. “What I had to.”

By 10 p.m. it was over. The majority of the so-called Freedom Coalition were in the hands of either ATF or Homeland Security, and Andi sat impatiently as an EMT finished putting a butterfly bandage on her cut.

“I’m fine,” she argued, and Russell stopped nearby, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

“You were drugged with something, we have no idea what, and somebody tuned you up,” he growled, and she glared back at him.

“Whatever they knocked me out with wore off hours ago, trust me. And I only got hit once, I’m fine.” Russell rolled his eyes at the ‘only,’ and she dropped her gaze for a second, then looked back up at him, her eyes pleading. “Please, Russ, just take me home.”

After exchanging glances with the EMT, Russ sighed impatiently, then nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” She pushed by him, ignoring his muttered, “Fucking stubborn,” as he followed her to his car.

It was quiet for the first several miles on the way to Fort Worth, and Andi finally couldn’t take the silence. “You act like you’re pissed off at me for this whole thing.”

He glanced her direction, but she was staring straight ahead, so he turned his attention back to the road. “Why would I be pissed at you? You got dragged into this because of me.”

“So you’re just doing that thing where you act like we barely know each other because you’re blaming yourself for this whole thing. Like that fixes anything.” There was no response, and she glanced at him, his stoic expression and set jaw, realizing it was pointless to go on. “Fine. I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up when we get there.” She slumped down in her seat, arms crossed, and closed her eyes.

About three hours later, Andi woke to Russ’s hand on her shoulder. “We’re here,” he said quietly, and they got out of the car, heading to the parking garage elevator in silence. He trailed behind her down the hall to her apartment, following her inside and closing the door behind him. She turned to face him, and he looked down at her, his eyes focused on the cut on her face. “Sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I promise. I’m okay.”

He nodded. “Good.” He cleared his throat, then pulled her in for a hug before pushing away. “So, I should head out.”

She stared up at him in hurt and disbelief. “That’s it? You’re just taking off?”

He refused to look at her. “This all happened because of me. Because I was careless. I’ve been spending too much time here. I have enemies, Andi. I put you in danger.”

“So quit. Walk away from Horizon. You don’t have to...”

“I can’t!” He snapped, and she bit at her lip to keep from shouting back in response. “I had to call in every marker I had and then some to get you out of there.”

She was finding it harder to breathe with every word he spoke. “And now you think you owe them?”

“I do owe them. They’re cashing in their chips, too. So I’m not done fighting yet.”

She turned, walking a few steps away before turning back, anger increasing the volume of her voice. “So fight! Pay back what you think you owe them, even though it’s probably bullshit, because I think you’ve given them enough. Fight, and then come back to me. By now you should know how it feels to have somebody to come back for!”

“That’s the fucking problem, Andi!” he yelled back. He took a deep breath before going on, lowering his voice with effort. “I got too comfortable, and look what happened! Why do you think I always stayed away for so long? Why I wanted to keep you miles away from what I do? I do the dirty shit, the nasty jobs everybody wants done but nobody wants to take the blame for. I make enemies, bad ones, people who do the kind of things that give you nightmares. Yeah, you served with me. And yeah, you saw some shit over there, and you’re a badass. But what I do is different. It’s dark, secret, ugly shit that you’re too damn good for. And I won’t let it get this close to you again.”

Andi stood there, fists clenched, glaring at him with tears stinging her eyes, but he wouldn’t let himself look at her again. He stared at the floor as he continued. “I’m headed out of the country tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” Or if - the words vibrated in the air between them even though he didn’t speak them out loud. He turned his back, reaching for the door. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Before he could open the door, Andi spoke, her voice quiet and broken. “Fuck you, Russ.” He froze for a moment, and her voice was barely a whisper when she continued. “I love you.”

He braced his free hand on the wall, jaw clenched as he hung his head, fighting the urge to go to her. But the urge won, and he turned suddenly, reaching her in three long strides. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, swallowing the soft sob forcing its way from her throat. He kissed her until neither of them could breathe, then touched his forehead to hers, his heart pounding in his chest. “This doesn’t change anything,” he whispered, and she looked up at him, her lashes wet with tears.

“I know.” She lifted a hand to sweep a tear from her cheek, straightening up to take a step back. “I need a shower.” He nodded, letting her walk away. He stood there for a couple of minutes, debating with himself, then headed down the hall, knocking gently on the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” she called out softly, already in the shower. He kicked off his shoes and stripped down, then stepped in behind her. She turned, and he felt his heart clench at the sight of her tear-streaked face. He moved closer, pulling her into his arms and holding her as they stood under the hot spray together.

Russ stroked his hands up and down her back, holding her close for a time. He gave her one last squeeze before reaching for her shampoo, and she took a deep breath before stepping back to wet her hair. She turned to let him lather it up, his fingers massaging her scalp before he guided her back beneath the water to rinse it clean. She switched places with him and let him shampoo his hair as she washed herself, and they actually laughed a little as they danced around each other for access to the water to rinse the soap from their bodies.

He handed her a towel, grabbing one for himself as they climbed out of the shower. Andi wrapped the towel around herself and combed through her hair before Russ stole her comb to slick his wet locks back from his face. He stared at her in the mirror, his eyes saying what he couldn’t put into words, then turned her around to face him, tugging her towel free before pulling her close to kiss her.

She melted into him, letting her hands roam over his body, then taking his hand to pull him out into the bedroom. He followed willingly, letting her lie down before lowering himself over her, watching her face as he settled himself between her thighs.

She put a hand up to his face, her eyes searching his. “Russ,” she started, but he quieted her with a gentle ‘shhhhhh.’ He leaned close, brushing his lips over hers before capturing them in a scorching kiss. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted now.

He laced his fingers through hers, rutting gently against her as she scratched her nails through his hair with her free hand. Russ let out a low groan as his chest dragged against her breasts, and he slid an arm beneath her knee, lifting her leg higher and opening her up to him as he shifted slightly and pushed his way slowly inside her. She sighed into their kiss, arching up underneath him and forcing him in even deeper.

He rocked his hips forward, pressing into the deepest part of her, their breath and moans mingling as they continued kissing, unwilling to separate for even a second. He coaxed her leg up around his hip, freeing his hand to glide along her soft skin, squeezing at her supple flesh, relishing the feel of her beneath his fingertips.

Andi curled her other leg up around his hips, her hands roaming up to clutch at his back as he pulled back, a slow drag that sent shivers zipping down her spine. She hummed softly against his lips as he pushed back in, settling into a rhythm of lazy, languid strokes. It was heaven and torture at the same time, a sweet agony of pleasure, building and building but not enough to reach release. When she began to tremble, letting small, desperate whimpers escape into their kiss, he stopped, holding himself deep inside until she calmed and he could begin the whole process again.

He brought her to the edge over and over, making himself crazy with want along with her. He didn’t let himself think about why, about the fact that he was leaving and this might be the last time he could feel her body, soft and warm underneath him, could feel her velvet grip around his cock.

After what seemed like forever, he finally couldn’t hold back any longer, ramping up to thrust harder, faster, bracing himself up on his elbows so he could watch her. Her head was thrown back into her pillow, her nails stinging as they dug into his back, her thighs quaking as he fucked her hard. She let out a loud, wavering cry as she came, squeezing him so hard it startled a grunt from his lips. A long, low groan vibrated in his chest as he chased his own end, swearing as it hit him hard, making his head spin as he exploded hot and thick inside her.

Andi went limp beneath him, her limbs slipping away to land on the bed, and Russ let himself rest on top of her, his face nestled into the side of her neck. Her heart pounded against his chest, echoing his own pulse, their breathing gradually slowing.

She woke with a start a little while later, a clutch of panic knotted in her chest. But Russ was still there, his arm draped over her waist holding her close, one leg thrown over hers. His breath whispered warm and steady over her shoulder, and she let it lure her slowly back to sleep.

When she opened her eyes to the bright morning light filtering through her curtains, he was gone. She laid there, reliving the night before, unwilling to move and fully admit the reality. But she couldn’t stay there forever, and she finally sat up, her eyes drawn to the scrawled note lying on the night stand. She closed her eyes, biting at her lip, avoiding picking it up for a moment. Then she let out a loud sigh and reached for the scrap of paper.

“Sorry.

I figured this way would be easier for both of us.

Take care of yourself, Andi. You deserve to be happy.

Russ.”

There was no ‘See you when I see you,’ or ‘I’ll call when I get back.’

This was goodbye.

DON'T BE MAD AT ME there will be a final part coming! 💖🥰

Tag List #1:

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

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[rizlowwritessortof]

Cold Hard Truth

This was written for @zepskies 5000 follower celebration - I chose a gif prompt, and Alex chose Russell Shaw for me!

This is a continuation of the Russell/Andi storyline in my previous fics, Waiting for the Real Thing and Swearing Is Caring 😊 Hope you enjoy, and please don't hate me!

Pairing: Russell x Andi

Word Count: 4073

Warnings: Smut, angst

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“See anything?” Sweets whispered almost inaudibly next to Andi’s ear. She shook her head, and he touched her arm in response. Night vision had been no help, with all the trees and foliage. Infrared was much better in these situations, but theirs had been destroyed in an earlier firefight.

It was pitch black, the air thick and humid, the buzz of mosquitoes constant. The only sound was an occasional soft shuffle as someone slightly shifted their position. Waiting was the hardest part of the mission, planted in place as they watched for their enemy to make their way into the area. That was, if the intel was right and someone didn’t pay off their informant to betray them.

The sudden staccato of automatic gunfire shattered the silence, a bullet splintering the tree trunk next to her head. A heavy body plowed into her, tackling her to the ground and covering her as she struggled to recover the breath the collision had forced from her body. A burst of answering gunfire from their camp rang out, and Seger called out quietly, “Got ‘im!”

Andi shoved impatiently at the solid form on top of her, and even in the darkness, she could see his white teeth as he grinned down at her. “Get the fuck off me, Shaw,” she gritted out between clenched teeth, and he rolled to the side.

“You’re welcome,” he replied sarcastically, rolling up and to his feet effortlessly. He held out a hand to help her up, but she slapped it away, scrambling to her feet on her own. He leaned in close, and she resisted the urge to punch him as he whispered, “Most fun I’ve had all day.”

Andi woke, disoriented for a moment before she was able to shake off her vivid dream. It was the second night that week she had dreamed about Russell, this time about the first mission she’d been on with him.

She glanced at the clock. It was only 5 a.m., but she was wide awake, so she crawled out of bed and headed for the kitchen to start some strong coffee brewing. She stood there waiting, her lip caught between her teeth as she tried to tell herself there was nothing to worry about. She wasn’t superstitious, normally, but she hadn’t heard from Russ in several weeks. He’d been doing better about keeping in touch, at least letting her know when he was heading out on a job and when he was done and safe. And he’d shown up at her door several times in the last year, when he was close by and had a day or two. But it had been too quiet lately, and apparently her mind was nudging her to be concerned.

The nagging feeling that there was something wrong weighed on her all day as she tried to concentrate on her work. She had tried to call him twice, but no answer. Not unusual, but no call-back either. By the time she finished up her day, she was on the verge of calling Colter to see if he’d had any contact with his brother. Maybe when she got home, got a drink in her and took a breath to calm herself.

She stepped into the parking garage from the elevator, keys in her hand, and walked briskly to her parking spot. As she hit the fob to unlock her car, a reflection in the window caught her eye, but she had no time to react as a heavy body pinned her to the side of the vehicle. There was a stinging pinch of a needle in the side of her neck before everything went dark, and she dropped unconscious to the concrete floor.

“Beer, chief?” Sweets called out, waving a bottle in the air as Russell shifted to look over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, then turned back to his laptop. Filing reports was not his favorite thing about the job, but since he was the team leader on the op, it was unfortunately his responsibility.

They had managed to intercept a huge shipment of automatic weapons meant for one of the largest white supremacist groups in the south. There was an arsenal of guns, grenade launchers, and ammunition now in the hands of Horizon, with off-the-books federal approval and over watch. They had spent the last several weeks all over the U.S., acting as arms dealers to infiltrate their ranks and set them up for the intercept of the large shipment now in their hands. It wouldn’t shut them down, but at least it would interrupt whatever plans had been in the works for the near future.

The other members of his team drank their beers in silence, and finally Russell spoke up. “Go ahead, get outta here – go see your families. I’ll finish up these reports to headquarters. See ya when I see ya.”

One by one, the guys finished their beers and headed out, quiet goodbyes as they left. Sweets lingered at the door for a moment, looking back at Shaw. “So, if you see Andi – say hey for me,” he said, then left Russell sitting alone, staring down at the computer.

He had slipped into old habits the last couple of months – he hadn’t called or texted Andi in weeks. Now he was in the same place he always ended up, guilt and regret mixed with the ache of missing her. He knew the look she’d have in her eyes. He knew she’d be mad and a little distant for a while, but then she’d give in.

And then he’d hurt her all over again.

He sighed, shoving the laptop back and picking up his beer, draining it. He had never had this problem before getting involved with Andi. He wasn’t a fan of the self-reflection and nagging twinges of guilt, but – even though he reluctantly admitted to himself he was being selfish – he thoroughly enjoyed everything else about being with her. He could be himself, she understood the world he moved in on a regular basis, they had history together. The time they spent together was the happiest he’d been in years. And that was as far as he allowed those thoughts to go.

He clenched his jaw for a minute, then pulled the computer back close, finishing the reports and then throwing his belongings into his bag. Within half an hour he was entering the freeway from San Antonio, on his way north to Fort Worth. As much as he tried to tell himself he should just let it go, he was heading back to Andi.

He’d been driving for about an hour when his phone rang, and he hit the speaker phone to answer. “Russ?” It was Andi, her voice sounded a little far away and shaky, but he smiled at the sound of it.

“Hey, guess who’s on the way to Fort Worth right now?” he said, his smile disappearing as an unfamiliar voice replied.

“Russell Shaw?”

His heart was pounding in his chest as he answered. “Yeah.”

“Shaw, you took something that belongs to us. So we took something that you care about. You will return our shipment to us, and we will return your girl to you. No negotiating. We’ll give you 12 hours to get those guns back and deliver them. We’ll send you the location in San Antonio in a couple of hours. Don’t fuck with us. We will kill her. And we will take our time and enjoy ourselves.”

The call went dead. Russell made his way to the turn lane and took the first exit, whipping into a gas station and screeching to a halt before dialing his team on a conference call. “Change of plans. They took Andi, and they want their guns back. Meet me back at the San Antonio base.”

The headache pounding in her skull greeted Andi as she regained consciousness. She slowly raised her head, peeking through barely open eyes to survey her surroundings. She moved a hand slightly, not surprised to find herself restrained, wrists zip-tied behind the back of the chair she was sitting on. Her ankles were strapped to the legs of the chair as well, and she opened her eyes, squinting as the light sent daggers through her brain.

“She’s coming around,” she heard a male voice say, and she looked up as a tall man with dirty blond shoulder-length hair and a beard came close, then hunkered down in front of her.

“Want some water?” he asked, and she glared at him, the lack of trust clear in her eyes. He huffed out a little laugh, holding up a bottle of water in front of her and breaking the seal. “See? Never been opened.”

She nodded, a little reluctantly, but the first rule of being held captive is to take the necessities when they’re offered, no matter how much you hate your captors. She tilted her head back as he lifted the bottle to her lips and drank until it was half gone, and he replaced the lid, sitting it down next to her chair. “Who the hell are you, and what the hell am I doing here?” she managed to say, her voice a little hoarse from whatever drug they had used to knock her out.

“Nothing for you to worry about. We just needed to send a message to a friend of yours.”

“And who would that be?”

He stood there, silent for a minute. “Russell Shaw. And his crew. They took something that belongs to us, and if they give it back, you can go home free and clear.”

“And I should believe you why?”

He shrugged. “Believe me or not.”

Andi stared into his eyes. “I guess we’ll see. Now, if you’re such a stand-up guy, maybe I could use the restroom?”

He stared back at her for a moment, then gestured at one of the other men with a jerk of his head. “Take her.”

Andi took a breath in relief as the zip ties were removed from her ankles and wrists, cringing at the touch of the man gripping her arm as he walked her to the restroom. She took as long as she dared, finally finishing up and coming out the door to her waiting escort. He smirked as he grabbed her arm again, shoving her along and into her chair again. “Thought I was gonna have to come in and help you out in there,” he said, his eyes roaming over her as he tied her to the chair again.

“You want to help me? How about you go fuck yourself.”

He stood up, an angry snarl on his face. “You got a smart mouth. Maybe somebody should stuff it full and shut you up,” he snapped, his hand grabbing at his crotch suggestively.

She bit off a derisive laugh. “If your dick’s the size of your IQ, it wouldn’t even be a mouthful.” A backhanded slap rocked her head back, the ring on his hand opening a little cut on her cheekbone that left a thin trail of blood down her cheek.

“Takes a real man to hit a woman who can’t fight back,” she spat, interrupted by the blond man, who was apparently in charge.

“Enough!” he said, shoving at her attacker roughly. “Get the fuck out. Now.” She watched the other man slink out, then glared up at her captor, eyes glowing with anger as he spoke. “Might be wise to keep your mouth shut. Or I might have to tape it shut. For your own protection, of course.”

Andi bit her lip in frustration, turning her gaze away and holding her tongue. For the moment, anyway.

“Either you give me the back-up I asked for or get ready to watch me break your fucking nondisclosure agreement with every big news outlet in this country!”

Sweets could hear Russell’s shouting before he opened the door, and he stepped inside quietly, watching warily as their team leader paced with the phone to his ear.

“Don’t fucking threaten me, Ann. You do not want all your dirty little secrets out in the open, trust me.” He glanced up at Sweets, his eyes glowing with anger. There were a few seconds of silence, then his expression turned to stone as he exhaled slowly. “And if I do that, you clean up this mess? Make sure they’re put away so she’s safe?” He listened for another moment before finishing the conversation. “We’re at the San Antonio base. I need everybody here yesterday.” He tossed the phone aside with barely enough restraint to keep from shattering it into pieces. “Fucking bitch.”

Sweets stood there, arms folded across his chest. “What did you do, chief?”

Shaw stared back at him for a second, then turned away. “What I had to.”

By 10 p.m. it was over. The majority of the so-called Freedom Coalition were in the hands of either ATF or Homeland Security, and Andi sat impatiently as an EMT finished putting a butterfly bandage on her cut.

“I’m fine,” she argued, and Russell stopped nearby, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

“You were drugged with something, we have no idea what, and somebody tuned you up,” he growled, and she glared back at him.

“Whatever they knocked me out with wore off hours ago, trust me. And I only got hit once, I’m fine.” Russell rolled his eyes at the ‘only,’ and she dropped her gaze for a second, then looked back up at him, her eyes pleading. “Please, Russ, just take me home.”

After exchanging glances with the EMT, Russ sighed impatiently, then nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” She pushed by him, ignoring his muttered, “Fucking stubborn,” as he followed her to his car.

It was quiet for the first several miles on the way to Fort Worth, and Andi finally couldn’t take the silence. “You act like you’re pissed off at me for this whole thing.”

He glanced her direction, but she was staring straight ahead, so he turned his attention back to the road. “Why would I be pissed at you? You got dragged into this because of me.”

“So you’re just doing that thing where you act like we barely know each other because you’re blaming yourself for this whole thing. Like that fixes anything.” There was no response, and she glanced at him, his stoic expression and set jaw, realizing it was pointless to go on. “Fine. I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up when we get there.” She slumped down in her seat, arms crossed, and closed her eyes.

About three hours later, Andi woke to Russ’s hand on her shoulder. “We’re here,” he said quietly, and they got out of the car, heading to the parking garage elevator in silence. He trailed behind her down the hall to her apartment, following her inside and closing the door behind him. She turned to face him, and he looked down at her, his eyes focused on the cut on her face. “Sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I promise. I’m okay.”

He nodded. “Good.” He cleared his throat, then pulled her in for a hug before pushing away. “So, I should head out.”

She stared up at him in hurt and disbelief. “That’s it? You’re just taking off?”

He refused to look at her. “This all happened because of me. Because I was careless. I’ve been spending too much time here. I have enemies, Andi. I put you in danger.”

“So quit. Walk away from Horizon. You don’t have to...”

“I can’t!” He snapped, and she bit at her lip to keep from shouting back in response. “I had to call in every marker I had and then some to get you out of there.”

She was finding it harder to breathe with every word he spoke. “And now you think you owe them?”

“I do owe them. They’re cashing in their chips, too. So I’m not done fighting yet.”

She turned, walking a few steps away before turning back, anger increasing the volume of her voice. “So fight! Pay back what you think you owe them, even though it’s probably bullshit, because I think you’ve given them enough. Fight, and then come back to me. By now you should know how it feels to have somebody to come back for!”

“That’s the fucking problem, Andi!” he yelled back. He took a deep breath before going on, lowering his voice with effort. “I got too comfortable, and look what happened! Why do you think I always stayed away for so long? Why I wanted to keep you miles away from what I do? I do the dirty shit, the nasty jobs everybody wants done but nobody wants to take the blame for. I make enemies, bad ones, people who do the kind of things that give you nightmares. Yeah, you served with me. And yeah, you saw some shit over there, and you’re a badass. But what I do is different. It’s dark, secret, ugly shit that you’re too damn good for. And I won’t let it get this close to you again.”

Andi stood there, fists clenched, glaring at him with tears stinging her eyes, but he wouldn’t let himself look at her again. He stared at the floor as he continued. “I’m headed out of the country tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” Or if - the words vibrated in the air between them even though he didn’t speak them out loud. He turned his back, reaching for the door. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Before he could open the door, Andi spoke, her voice quiet and broken. “Fuck you, Russ.” He froze for a moment, and her voice was barely a whisper when she continued. “I love you.”

He braced his free hand on the wall, jaw clenched as he hung his head, fighting the urge to go to her. But the urge won, and he turned suddenly, reaching her in three long strides. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, swallowing the soft sob forcing its way from her throat. He kissed her until neither of them could breathe, then touched his forehead to hers, his heart pounding in his chest. “This doesn’t change anything,” he whispered, and she looked up at him, her lashes wet with tears.

“I know.” She lifted a hand to sweep a tear from her cheek, straightening up to take a step back. “I need a shower.” He nodded, letting her walk away. He stood there for a couple of minutes, debating with himself, then headed down the hall, knocking gently on the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” she called out softly, already in the shower. He kicked off his shoes and stripped down, then stepped in behind her. She turned, and he felt his heart clench at the sight of her tear-streaked face. He moved closer, pulling her into his arms and holding her as they stood under the hot spray together.

Russ stroked his hands up and down her back, holding her close for a time. He gave her one last squeeze before reaching for her shampoo, and she took a deep breath before stepping back to wet her hair. She turned to let him lather it up, his fingers massaging her scalp before he guided her back beneath the water to rinse it clean. She switched places with him and let him shampoo his hair as she washed herself, and they actually laughed a little as they danced around each other for access to the water to rinse the soap from their bodies.

He handed her a towel, grabbing one for himself as they climbed out of the shower. Andi wrapped the towel around herself and combed through her hair before Russ stole her comb to slick his wet locks back from his face. He stared at her in the mirror, his eyes saying what he couldn’t put into words, then turned her around to face him, tugging her towel free before pulling her close to kiss her.

She melted into him, letting her hands roam over his body, then taking his hand to pull him out into the bedroom. He followed willingly, letting her lie down before lowering himself over her, watching her face as he settled himself between her thighs.

She put a hand up to his face, her eyes searching his. “Russ,” she started, but he quieted her with a gentle ‘shhhhhh.’ He leaned close, brushing his lips over hers before capturing them in a scorching kiss. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted now.

He laced his fingers through hers, rutting gently against her as she scratched her nails through his hair with her free hand. Russ let out a low groan as his chest dragged against her breasts, and he slid an arm beneath her knee, lifting her leg higher and opening her up to him as he shifted slightly and pushed his way slowly inside her. She sighed into their kiss, arching up underneath him and forcing him in even deeper.

He rocked his hips forward, pressing into the deepest part of her, their breath and moans mingling as they continued kissing, unwilling to separate for even a second. He coaxed her leg up around his hip, freeing his hand to glide along her soft skin, squeezing at her supple flesh, relishing the feel of her beneath his fingertips.

Andi curled her other leg up around his hips, her hands roaming up to clutch at his back as he pulled back, a slow drag that sent shivers zipping down her spine. She hummed softly against his lips as he pushed back in, settling into a rhythm of lazy, languid strokes. It was heaven and torture at the same time, a sweet agony of pleasure, building and building but not enough to reach release. When she began to tremble, letting small, desperate whimpers escape into their kiss, he stopped, holding himself deep inside until she calmed and he could begin the whole process again.

He brought her to the edge over and over, making himself crazy with want along with her. He didn’t let himself think about why, about the fact that he was leaving and this might be the last time he could feel her body, soft and warm underneath him, could feel her velvet grip around his cock.

After what seemed like forever, he finally couldn’t hold back any longer, ramping up to thrust harder, faster, bracing himself up on his elbows so he could watch her. Her head was thrown back into her pillow, her nails stinging as they dug into his back, her thighs quaking as he fucked her hard. She let out a loud, wavering cry as she came, squeezing him so hard it startled a grunt from his lips. A long, low groan vibrated in his chest as he chased his own end, swearing as it hit him hard, making his head spin as he exploded hot and thick inside her.

Andi went limp beneath him, her limbs slipping away to land on the bed, and Russ let himself rest on top of her, his face nestled into the side of her neck. Her heart pounded against his chest, echoing his own pulse, their breathing gradually slowing.

She woke with a start a little while later, a clutch of panic knotted in her chest. But Russ was still there, his arm draped over her waist holding her close, one leg thrown over hers. His breath whispered warm and steady over her shoulder, and she let it lure her slowly back to sleep.

When she opened her eyes to the bright morning light filtering through her curtains, he was gone. She laid there, reliving the night before, unwilling to move and fully admit the reality. But she couldn’t stay there forever, and she finally sat up, her eyes drawn to the scrawled note lying on the night stand. She closed her eyes, biting at her lip, avoiding picking it up for a moment. Then she let out a loud sigh and reached for the scrap of paper.

“Sorry.

I figured this way would be easier for both of us.

Take care of yourself, Andi. You deserve to be happy.

Russ.”

There was no ‘See you when I see you,’ or ‘I’ll call when I get back.’

This was goodbye.

DON'T BE MAD AT ME there will be a final part coming! 💖🥰

Tag List #1:

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

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[rizlowwritessortof]

Ahhhhhhhhh, Linda!!!! I swear, Mark Meachum is causing me so much pain right now! 😭😭😭

I'll just be over here, curled up in the fetal position. Come and get me when they figure out a way to fix him. I cannot.

Months Give Way to Minutes

This fic will fill the "Don't you dare touch me!" space on my @jacklesversebingo card. The quote will be in bold.

Summary: Mark finally comes clean to you about a secret he's been keeping.

Pairing: Mark Meachum x You (Established relationship)

Warnings: Grief, sadness, anger, discussion of death. About what you'd expect.

Word Count: 1,315

A/N: Hey all! I've been away from Tumblr for about a month or so. Real Life just getting busy and real. 😏 But I've been watching and LOVING Countdown! After watching today's episode, I had to write this short, angsty little one shot. I have some ideas in my head for longer series for Mr. Meachum, (as well as some smutty goodness, because holy fucking GOD that man is gorgeous!!) but they'll have to wait a while. Hope you enjoy this offering! 😊

Main Master List || Mark Meachum Master List (coming soon!)

You sat on the couch and stared at him where he leaned against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets; his broad shoulders were rounded inward, the way they always were when he felt guilty or defensive.

You stared at him in his jeans and T-shirt. He stared at the floor. And his words hung, palpable, in the air between you.

“Doc found a tumor. It's not operable. It's not treatable. He doesn't know how long I've got…left “

You shook your head. The words weren't penetrating, you couldn't digest them. Or maybe you couldn't hear them past the screaming in your skull.

“I don't…” You began, only to trail off. But it brought Mark's head up so he was looking at you. You watched a muscle jump in his jaw while he swallowed.

“I'm sorry, baby. I should've…said something sooner.”

You frowned at that. “Sooner?”

Mark blinked heavily, before opening his mossy green eyes, eyes filled with remorse, and you suddenly understood.

“You knew.”

He nodded.

“How long?”

His gaze cut to the side before he took a deep breath and answered.

“Since just before Palmdale.”

You felt as though someone had kicked you in the stomach, like you might be sick.

“Palmdale.” You whispered. “That was…months ago. Months!” Your voice rose and Mark's eyes met yours again; they were pleading.

“I didn't know I'd be in there so long. I heard about the Palmdale op the day after I found out. And I just wanted to escape it. Escape the truth, and do something that might make a difference. Go out taking down a bad guy instead of laying in some shitty hospital bed, either writhing in pain or drugged stupid. I wanted my death to mean something!”

You'd never felt such a horrible cocktail of devastation, anger, betrayal, heartbreak and love before. All the emotions seemed to be stuck in your throat, choking you, strangling your words because you couldn't breathe.

“You stole my time and gave it to criminals!” You finally shouted, as though the words had exploded out of you.

Mark frowned, and his seeming confusion made you angrier. You jumped up from your spot on the couch and ran at him, fury winning out in the emotional tug-of-war.

“You've known for nine goddamn months, Mark! For most of this last year, you knew any day could be your last, and you couldn't be bothered to tell me? You stole those months from me, your last months. I am your wife!”

You screamed at him so harshly, it felt like your throat might start bleeding.

Mark's expression became defensive, his voice deep, rough and angry. “Come on! I've been a cop since we met. Any day could have been my last one - every fucking time I walked out the door! Hell, I could step out tomorrow and get hit by a bus!”

You balled your fists up to keep from pounding them against his broad, powerful chest in frustration.

“That is not the same thing, and you fucking know it!”

Mark opened his mouth but then his face fell and the fight left him. He dropped his head against the wall behind him and folded his arms across his chest like he was protecting himself.

He just closed his eyes, quiet for a moment before he shook his head. “I know, baby. I know you're right. I'm an asshole. And I'm weak.”

He opened his eyes and unfolded one arm to reach his hand out and cup your cheek, but you jerked away. “Don't you dare touch me!”

You felt too brittle. A touch would shatter you.

He dropped his hand and nodded slowly as though he agreed with your refusal. He spoke quietly and in the aftermath of raised voices it was almost hard to hear him.

“I knew if I told you, it would be real, it would be happening. I couldn't deal with that. And I couldn't stand to see that look on your face, that broken look, and know I was responsible for it.”

He shrugged. “I thought Palmdale would wrap up in a month or two and I'd just deal with it then.”

You clenched your jaw and spoke softly. “Or die without ever having to tell me.”

You glanced up at him and your heart shattered again. His eyes were closed, arms crossed over his chest again, but a tear fell from beneath his long lashes.

“Well, yeah. Maybe. Like I said, figured you were probably prepared for that kind of news.” He shook his head. “I couldn't take it, the idea of you watching me turn into some kind of poor, pathetic, disease ridden asshole, drooling in a hospital ward somewhere.”

He opened his eyes again and his gaze was desperate. “Baby, I don't wanna go out like that. I don't wanna go out weak and broken. If I'm goin’ out, I wanna go out savin’ somethin’.”

Heartbreak won out over anger and you collapsed onto the coffee table in front of your couch, folding in on yourself with grief.

This couldn't be happening. Not to your strong, immovable husband. He was young and beautiful and perfect and he couldn't possibly be ripped away from you like this.

You felt Mark sit beside you and tentatively wrap his arms around you, obviously unsure if you were going to pull away again. But this time you turned into him, clung to him, and wept endlessly.

“It's a dream right?” You said quietly. “In a minute I'll wake up and reach over and you'll be there and I'll think, ‘Oh my God, what a horrible nightmare.’ Right?”

Mark didn't answer; what could he say? Instead he pulled you tighter and you revelled in the absolute strength you could still feel in his arms. When he held you like this it felt like you were safe, like the world couldn't reach you.

He held you for a long time, until your tears were just tracks on your cheeks, until the sound of your weeping became quiet, shuddering breaths.

When you pulled back slightly, he leaned down and captured your mouth in a soft kiss. It was questioning and a little needy.

You answered his question by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him as close as you could. He gave a stuttered kind of moan and deepened the kiss.

Just like the very first time he'd kissed you fourteen years earlier, you felt the kiss in your toes, in every fluttering butterfly in your stomach and every beat of your heart as it pounded out of control.

He pulled back, and you panted into each other's mouths, his forehead pressed tightly to yours.

“Do you forgive me for tonight?”

It was an old game you'd played in the early years of your relationship, when you were still working out the frustrations between you, learning how to live together, and deciding what mattered to you both.

No matter how hard you fought (sometimes it was because of it) you could never quell the heat between you. So sometimes, you'd just agree to forgive each other for the night so you could fall into bed and work out your frustrations in a different way.

Inevitably, by the morning, the forgiveness was real, and most of the time neither of you could really remember what the fight had been about.

Tonight though, you shook your head. “No, I forgive you now. I mean, I'm mad, and we'll talk more.” Tears formed again and you blinked them away. “But I refuse to spend any of the time we have left…”

You broke off on another choked sob. Mark raised your chin with his knuckle. “Me too, baby. I'm so sorry.”

You nodded and then kissed him again, hoping he'd take the hint. He did.

He lifted you in his arms and for a minute you worried it would be too much for him. But then you realized he'd never risk dropping you or hurting you. So, if he was carrying you to the bedroom it was because he knew he still could.

And you weren't about to give up a single minute in his arms.

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

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[rizlowwritessortof]

Well, Vought is history - yay! Soldier Boy got to punch a gator, Deep got taken down, and Ben got smoochie-faced by Sofia (loved it! lol)

I still think she's got miles to go with him, and she's gonna need a lot more patience than I'd have, but... happy endings all around! Well done, my friend! 🥰💖

UNRAVEL ME - Part 7

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: Here we go, friends! The grand finale…

Song Inspo: “I Could Fall in Love” by Selena

Word Count: 5.2K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, Deep being a skeevy asshole, hurt/comfort, fluff, and an ending…

💜 Series Masterlist

💙 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 7: I Could Fall (in Love)

Ben coughs out the dust and grime trying to climb its way down his throat. Something prods at his shoulder.

“A-Are you okay?”

Slowly blinking his eyes open, he grimaces. Ryan’s face is wary and concerned.

Ben’s arm guides him away, rather than pushes. He sits up with a groan. “Fuck…”

The kid is the one to offer him a hand, which Ben pointedly ignores to get to his feet himself. Butcher is covered in soot, but he sits on a flipped-over fishing bucket with a gun in his hand, recently fired. Ben smells the gunpowder. 

He sees Homelander’s body lying in a deep crater in the ground, complete with three bullet holes in his head, and another in his crotch. Ben hopes the latter shot was first.

But with a jolt, he remembers you, the panic written across your face as the truck drove off with you gagged and bound in the back. 

“Where is she?” Ben asks gruffly. “Where’s that fucking fish boy?”

Butcher gets out his phone from his pocket and calls M.M., putting the call on speaker.

“Hey, where’d you all fuck off to?”

“Motherfucking Deep,” M.M. sighs. “We ran him off the road, but he went rogue with the girl. Took an airboat and dove off into the fucking Everglades.” 

Ben’s teeth clench. He grabs the phone out of Butcher’s hand and starts moving. 

“Where exactly?”

“Looks like you drive an airboat as sketchy as you drive a real boat,” M.M. mutters, after Butcher pulls to a dead stop right in front of his airboat and causes rolling waves as a result. Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie grip tight to the metal sides of the rickety vessel.

Butcher tosses him a smirk, but even Ben eyes him in annoyance. He and Ryan are riding with the maniac. The kid holds tight to his seat while the boat rocks back and forth.

Ben surveys the flat waters of the Everglades ahead of them, but all he sees are black waters and shadowy mangroves in the dead of night. The moon casts its shine down below, making the surface glisten. Apprehension stirs in his gut.

“It’s going to be hard to find them out here,” M.M. says, voicing Ben’s thoughts. “Deep could’ve just dumped her in the water and took off swimming.”

“He don’t know Homelander and Noir are dead. He could be waiting for orders,” Butcher says.

“Wait,” Ryan says. His head tilts, and his brows furrow as he concentrates. “I hear something. Sounds like…like whispering.”

After a beat to focus himself, Ben starts to hear it too.

You and Deep sit together in the shittiest airboat you’ve ever seen. This thing must’ve been baking in the sun for days, because rust coats it inside and out. Old fishing gear stinks up the interior corners, with dried fish guts staining the metal floors. You’re conscious of keeping your tied hands curled together and not touching anything. At least you managed to slide the gag down from your mouth. The tied rag lies loosely around your neck.

Deep has you guys parked in the middle of the swamp, underneath an overhanging mangrove. The pale glow of the moon filters through its branches. You keep glancing up, looking out for snakes. There’s no part of being out here at night that’s safe. 

You glance over at your esteemed “captor.” He sits at the ass-end of the airboat in case he needs to start it up and steer. He’s been checking his phone every few minutes, frowning, like he’s waiting on someone’s call. Worry has settled deep in your gut, but it’s mostly for Ben. Even out here, you and Deep saw the blast that likely ate up the entire warehouse, a huge plume of debris sweeping up into the air like a quintessential mushroom cloud.  

What the fuck happened with Homelander? Is Ben hurt? Starlight and her friends seemed to be helping him. Did they get out too? Is anyone looking for me?

Too many questions filter through your mind at a dizzying speed. 

If they are looking for me, maybe they need a little help. The idea grows in your mind as you stare at The Deep, and his playboy looking profile. You think about everything you’ve ever heard about the aquatic supe, especially about his recent divorce. A smile plays on your lips.  

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “Question. Do you fuck with alligators too, or you strictly into calamari?”

Deep looks almost startled at the accusation. He glares at you, and you think you see a tinge of embarrassment.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he barks. 

You shrug. “I’m just wondering. Is it the little suction cups that do it for you?”

“I said shut up!” he snaps. “Maybe it’s time I call a bunch of gators and throw ‘em a snack.”

There’s a reason you’re baiting him. You know you can’t scream, or else he might really try to hurt you. But if you can fuck with him enough to make him raise his voice, you know that sound carries across the water here better than in the ocean. Overall, the water here in the swamp is flat. 

“And here I thought you could only talk to fish,” you wonder aloud. “Alligators are basically dinosaurs. I feel like they’d be checking you out for their main course more than me. You’re the one who’s got the gills, Fish Boy.”

A tick appears in the Deep’s brow. “You think you’re fucking funny?”  

You catch the edge of a threat in voice, and in his eyes. Fear trembles in your belly, making your chest tighten, but you manage to smirk. 

“Maybe you should ask the gators if I’m funny.”

“You know what, that’s it!” Deep stands up, making the airboat rock back and forth. He swiftly crosses the boat and grabs you, as well as the roll of duct tape he left on the floor beside some extra rope. He smacks a new long strip of tape across your mouth. You breathe harder through your nose, struggling against his hold. His grip tightens on your arms hard enough to bruise.

He glares down at you, and you can see other thoughts swirling in his eyes as he considers you. Other ways he could put you in your place. Your stomach churns, clawing tendrils of fear up through your beating heart.

But the sound of a motor running on the water alerts you both. 

Two airboats come around the corner of a large mangrove. 

Annie’s hand in the air lights their way, as well as the front lights on the boats. 

“Fuck,” Deep says. He pushes you down to sit on the floor again, and he goes back to his seat so he can rev up the boat’s engine to life. He drives out in the opposite direction. 

“Where the hell is Homelander?” he mutters.

“Homelander’s dead, you dumb fuck!” M.M. calls out. “Give it up!” 

Deep swears again.

Your chest flutters with shock—and happiness. But you can’t let that make you idle. You feel a small sharp edge inside of the airboat’s wall. You move backward and try to saw the duct tape from your wrists.

Meanwhile, Deep drives the boat right into a dead end of an enclosed island covered with dense foliage.

There he sharply turns the boat around and drives straight for the two boats tailing him. He locks the steering into place, then he stands up and grabs you up along with him. He smirks down at you.

“Time for some gator bait.”

You utter a sharp scream when he tosses you into the black water. He dives in as well, though he soon disappears as he flees the scene. Butcher and M.M. manage to swerve around Deep’s boat as it slows to a stop without someone to drive it. 

“Get closer!” Ben barks the order at Butcher. He cuts the motor right at the spot where Deep tossed you overboard for a game of Sink or Swim.

Ben stares down into the water, but even with his advanced eyesight, he can’t see you. So he takes a deep breath, and he dives off the side of the boat.

He swims down several feet, splaying his hands wide to try and feel for you. He can hear your whimpers and struggle in the water, but he can’t see you in the darkness…

Until Annie’s hands dip into the water and illuminate golden bright. The depths of the swamp come into view—with long, reedy strips of algae and other particles swirling in the water in browns and greens.

Finally, Ben sees you struggling and sinking toward the bottom of the swamp, along with the flash of rough scales. He swims down to you and hooks a strong arm around your waist. Just as he’s about to start swimming up to the surface, Ben hears some swifter movement in the water. He turns his head just in time to see the sharp teeth of an open-mouthed alligator coming straight for your arm.

Ben swings a hard punch, grunting when his fist connects with the alligator’s snout. The animal careens back in the water several feet, where it pauses, all stunned for a moment. Then it glides away, shaking his massive head as he goes. 

Ben turns his attention back to you. By now you’ve gone limp in his arms. Your eyes have closed as bubbles escape your nose, reigniting the spark of alarm and determination deep inside him. He kicks off from the ground and swims as hard as he can back up to the surface. 

His head breaks through the water first with a deep gulp of air and a little bit of swamp water. He props you up higher at his side to make sure your head is above the surface too. One of the airboats comes around, and M.M. and Kimiko help you and Ben out of the water. 

Ben lays you down on your back. You’re still unconscious, probably swallowed too much water. He folds his hands over your chest and presses firmly on your sternum once. That’s all it takes for swamp water to come bubbling up out of your throat and through your mouth and nose, followed up with hacking coughs.

Ben kneels in the boat and props you up in his arms. Brushing your heavy, wet hair out of your face, he holds your cheek and wills your eyes to open.

Finally, they do. You take him in, weary but relieved. 

“Ben?”

A slow smile curves his lips. “Hey, Chiquita.”

You suck in a shaky breath, tears welling up in your eyes. You raise a trembling hand to his cheek. Then, you gather more strength to desperately pull yourself to get closer to him. You bury your face in his neck and cling to the front of his suit. Ben holds you close, slipping a hand behind your neck and up into your dripping hair. 

“I’ve gotcha, sweetheart,” he says. “It’s all right.”

His voice is gruff, but in this moment, he’s exactly what you need. 

Annie, Butcher, and even M.M. and the others watch the scene with a mixed bag of reactions: surprise and sly smiles being chief among them. 

Suddenly you gasp and pull back to look up at Ben. “Oh my God. Mamá. What happened��is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” he assures. “Waiting for us back on dry land.”

A heavy thump earns Ben’s attention. He glances up and notices the fresh catch on Butcher’s boat. Ryan has The Deep pinned down by his neck, with Butcher aiming a taser to his nads. Ben’s narrow glare meets Fish Boy’s nervous fuckboy face. Ben’s lips twitch at seeing the fear. 

But your hand on his cheek distracts him again. Your eyes meet his, and slowly travel to his lips. You grip the back of his neck and tug him down for a kiss, passionate and full of need.

Ben’s brows furrow, his hands tightening on your waist. You taste like swamp water and salty tears, but your supple lips mold to his is just right, devouring, seeking, and claiming.

Once you all make it back to land, Ben keeps a protective hand on the small of your back while you get through the tall sawgrass and to the main road, where the van is parked. Hughie starts it up when he sees you all coming, but Sofia steps out of the car to meet you. Ben watches you beeline straight for your grandmother’s arms. You hug her back fiercely and weep in relief while she caresses your damp, frizzing hair and presses kisses to your cheeks. 

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” you promise. 

Sofia nods. She crosses herself, kissing the heavens for answered prayers. 

When she catches sight of Ben, she beckons him over. He hesitates, but he heads over to you both. Sofia lets go of you just to grab Ben’s arm. She pulls him down to give him sweet, motherly kisses to his cheek, his forehead, then this other cheek. 

“All right, all right,” Ben says, trying to fend her off. But she just grabs his face and lays one more smacking kiss on his forehead. 

“Thank you, mijo. God bless you,” she says tremulously. 

Ben is uncomfortable with the praise. Namely because he’s the reason you were taken in the first place. But you’re smiling at him through shiny tears. You reach out for him next. He sighs and wraps an arm around you, pulling you to his side once more. 

Ben glances behind him…just to find Butcher, Hughie, and the rest of those assholes smirking at him. 

He glares right back, daring them to say just one fucking word.

Ben signs what seems like the millionth piece of paper in this bullshit contract. If he really wanted to, a scrap of paper wasn’t going to stop him from blowing up this entire building. He gives Grace Mallory a thin smile. 

“Will that be all, sweetheart, or do you want me to lick your taint while we’re at it?” he snarks. It’s a bluff. He’s not giving this bitch the pleasure on principle.

“That won’t be necessary,” she says flatly. She collects the papers and places them in a protective folder. “This is to ensure public safety. If we give you access to your bank accounts, your passport, social security, and all other legal forms of identity, then you hereby agree to retire the Soldier Boy persona and strive to live within the letter of the law.” 

The mention of his forced “retirement” part sparks his annoyance again…but really, at this point? It’s not exactly a hardship. Ben is obviously fucking done with Vought. He hopes the CIA finds a way to put the final nail in that coffin, now that Homelander’s dead. Stan Edgar’s stocks are sure to follow.

Plus, Ben doesn’t need their money, clearly, as all his accounts are still intact. As for fame? Well, people already know who the fuck he is. They now know he’s still alive, and they know the truth. 

Ryan filmed Homelander’s little speech. Every news outlet in America (and even some from outside countries) has run that footage. By now, the whole world has seen how Homelander gave Ben an ultimatum: join him in his deranged plans to dominate the country, or not only would he continue to ruin Soldier Boy’s reputation, but would use you and Sofia’s death to fuel the flames of his media cancellation.

So no, Ben doesn’t need their fake praise. All he wants, all he really wants, is what he’s going to get with you at his side. But first, he needs to go through this platinum-haired lesbo. 

“Considering I just saved the whole fucking world, you think you’d cut me some slack,” Ben grouses.

“What do you think this deal is?” Grace snaps. “Out of the goodness of my fucking heart? You’re lucky you’re not sleeping in a metal coffin, wedged under my feet while I drink my morning coffee.” She punctuates her point by closing her heavy binder of signed forms. “Now, some crucial details…”

Oh, Ben would love nothing more than to backhand this bitch’s face into a wall.

But, he remembers that you’re waiting for him downstairs. 

You decide to wait for Ben outside in front of the Supe Affairs building, mostly because you missed the smells and the sounds of the city. As much as you loved going home to Miami, you’ve really missed New York. There’s a different heartbeat here that you’ve come to love. And now, you feel like you’re on the right track on figuring your next move. 

You sip a sweet Cuban espresso out of a little paper cup while you wait. You’d found a café across the street and even bought a couple of pastries for you and Ben, stuffed in your purse for later. You’re surprised though, when one of Starlight’s—

Annie, you reminded yourself. The supe had given you her personal number. You think she just didn’t trust Ben with you, a civilian. You don’t really blame her. No one’s been more surprised than you to realize this thing you have with Ben—it matters. It’s real, for better or worse.

One of Annie’s friends comes out of the Supe Affairs building to approach you. M.M., you remember, a handsome black man in his 40s, tall and broad. He greets you with a nod, and he has a manilla folder tucked under his arm while he shakes your hand.

“How’re you holding up?” he asks.

“I’m fine. I yacked out half the Everglades. Got to see Homelander, Black Noir, and even The fucking Deep go down,” you reply with a shrug and a smile. M.M. cracks a smile too. The bravado is a joke though. You both appreciate the weight of this, what it means for the country, and really the whole damn world.

Soon, M.M.’s amusement fades. “Soldier Boy’s no different from them, you know.”

Your arms cross, a cooler look shifting across your face.

“Maybe, in some ways,” you say. “But you don’t know him.”

“You might think you do, but a month of fuckin’ the guy ain’t enough.” M.M. took out the folder from under his arm and handed it to you. “Before you make a decision, you should know what he’s done.”

You glance down at the file in your hands, your lips pressing together.

“You think I don’t know he’s hurt people? Killed people?” you say quietly. You look up at M.M. You have a feeling this runs deeper for him, not just a job, or a sense of duty. If it's personal for him, you could understand that, but at the same time, you know this guy works for the CIA for a reason.

“And what’s your body count?” you challenge, raising a brow. “Did they always deserve it? Was it justified?”

You gave him back the folder.

“Believe me, I know what I’m getting into,” you said, breathing a sigh. “I’ve thought about walking away…but if he’s willing to learn, then he’s worth giving a chance.”

M.M. just shakes his head at you. There's something behind his eyes; all the things he knows that you don't. He probably thinks you're an idiot. Sometimes, you think you are too.

“You really think that motherfucker can learn a damn thing?”

You smile over at Ben when he exits the glass double doors of the Supe Affairs building.

“I guess we’ll see,” you say to M.M. You walk away from him to meet Ben halfway.

You can tell just by his grouchy face and his storming gait that he’s pissed and grumbly, but you try to soothe his irritation when he gets to you—by slipping your hands up his arms and around his neck, rising up on the tips of your toes to lure him into a kiss. He hums and takes the bait, squeezing your ass through your jeans. 

M.M. shakes his head as he passes by. Ben shoots him a glance of suspicion, but you steal Ben’s attention back, caressing his cheek.

“You’re free, baby,” you say. “We can do whatever we want now.”

He begins to smirk. You chuckle and tug on his hair at the back of his neck. 

“Within reason,” you add. Your smile presses against the corner of his mouth, before you lock your lips with his again for a slower kiss. “We’ll figure it out together, yeah?”

After a moment, Ben nods. A wordless agreement.

Not to say that you don’t have ideas. You’ve been laying down plans to start your own graphic design business. Luckily, some of your old coworkers still in the Marketing and Social Media team at Vought are dying to jump ship, even if it’s for a start-up. If that gets off the ground, you plan to make time for your personal art. You want to get back into charcoal.

Ben has also been talking about what he'll do, now that he's going to have a lot more time on his hands and more money than he probably knows what to do with. You've been brainstorming ideas with him, but the latest one he's hooked on is opening up a club. Maybe bring something retro back to New York, like the hidden speakeasies throughout Miami, Fort Lauderdale, and Orlando.

You've also been texting back and forth with Ryan, trying to see if you can get Ben to connect with the last bit of "blood" he has left. You're sure that Butcher, the asshole Brit, doesn't like the idea, but you think it would be good for Ryan to have someone who's more like him in his corner. Someone to help him control his strength, and the rest of his powers.

And Ben needs a kid like that in his life, someone who'll maybe start to soften him a little. You're under no illusions though. You know Ryan isn't really Ben's grandson, not in a way that matters.

At least, not yet.

“But first, let’s go home,” you whisper, teasing his kiss-swollen lips with your finger. 

You slowly pull out of his embrace, but you keep hold of his hand. He allows it. The two of you walk hand-in-hand down the street, like you two are just an ordinary couple. Two blips in the sea of New Yorkers making their way to work, going to lunch, shopping, living their lives.

“First things first, we’re getting a new apartment,” Ben says, leveling a pointed finger your way.

You frown at him. “Excuse me? I like my apartment.”

“It’s a fucking hole,” he retorts.

“Yeah, but it’s my hole.”

He eyes you with yet another sleazy smirk, making you shake your head and try not to smile. 

“Shut up,” you say. But after a moment to think about it, you know your place is already small for one person, let alone two. The way this man used to live, it probably felt like living in a tuna can. You sigh. “Okay, we can move. But we both need to be able to afford it.”

“Newsflash, I just got my bank accounts back,” he says pointedly. “I could buy the whole fucking island if I wanted to.”

A smirk tugs at your lips as you shake your head. “Don’t waste your money. The taxes here are insane.”

“Not as bad as California. It’s become a fucking cesspool,” he remarks. He may have already been scouring real estate on his new iPhone, which you’ve been teaching him how to use.

“Touché.” You chuckle. “But I mean it, Ben. I don’t need to live like Will Smith and Jada, not even knowing what a fucking Groupon is.” 

Ben shoots you a look of confusion. It tells you one thing: What the fuck is Groupon? 

You snort a laugh, but you rub his arm and keep walking. He has a lot to learn.

He stops with you at an intersection to wait for the crosswalk with a small group of people. It’s still sometimes a marvel to him that they don’t recognize him, even in his jeans and buttoned-down shirt. Soldier Boy’s face has been plastered all over TV for weeks. Doesn’t anybody watch the news anymore?

Ben shakes his head at the thought, but when he looks over at you, all that other shit becomes background noise in his mind. He takes the opportunity to reach out and curl a wild curl of hair behind your ear, earning your attention.

“You could let me take care of you, the way a man’s supposed to,” he says. For his part, it’s an honest offer.

You raise a brow at him, even though you smile at the affectionate brush of his fingers across your cheek. 

“You’re already taking care of me by being right here, right now,” you say. “We’re gonna hold each other down. You know why?”

He sighs through his nose, but he humors you. “Why’s that?” 

You slip your hand out of his, just so you can turn to him and let your hands glide up his chest and over his shoulders. You raise up on your toes so you can twine your arms around his neck. His hands fall to your waist, as if on reflex, holding you flush against him.

“Porqué te amo,” you whisper. “Te amo y te quiero. …Okay?”

“I’m gonna need the subtitles on that one,” Ben teases. 

Your smile brightens. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it real easy for you to understand.”

Your fingers curl into the soft ends of his hair, and you guide him down into your kiss. 

“I love you,” you whisper a translation on his lips, just in case yours weren’t convincing enough. 

He slowly smiles. “Hmm, had a feeling.”

Your gaze narrows. “Really. That all you have to say?”

He chuckles and nods up at the crosswalk. “Time to move, sweetheart.”

“Uh, no,” you grip him by the collar. “Not until you say it. Before we go any further with apartment hunting and…well, this, I need to know what we’re doing. I need to know if this is for real. But if it’s not, then—”

“Christ, no need to get dramatic.”

You fully glare at him now, pulling away from him and crossing your arms. People give you two odd looks while they move around you to cross the street. You’re not moved though.

Ben blinks at you, a little incredulously. “You really wanna do this out here?”

Clearly, you do.

He fucking doesn’t. Not with the crowd of bored commuters and nosy tourists watching and eavesdropping. He leads you away from the street and stops with you at some outdoor seating. It’s for some douchey-looking restaurant called Essence. 

Ben guides you into his lap instead of the seat across from him, slightly mollifying you from the turn of your stubborn, grumpy attitude.

He holds one of his big hands to your cheek and strokes his thumb across your lower lip. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know,” he murmurs. “But in my long life, I never imagined I’d find someone…who annoys me as much as you do.”

Your hopeful expression falls. You drop your hands from his chest and push away from him. He chuckles and grabs your hand, pulling you back into his arms. You’re frowning up at him with that angry, sexy pout that already stirs his cock in his jeans. 

“Seriously, it’s a fucking talent. You could win the gold medal for being a pain in my ass,” he digs in.

You press a hand to your brow and make a sound of pure frustration. “Look, if you’re just gonna be a dick—”

“But you’re the only woman I’d give up whores, blow, and margaritas in Buenos Aires for,” he says, grinning like the Chesire cat.

You don’t want to laugh, but he’s just too much, in an arrogant asshole that's sort of endearing, kind of way. Your lips start to hint at a smile. 

“If you’re getting to something actually romantic, now is the time, Ben.”

“Not to mention you try not to let me get a fucking word in edgewise,” he snarks. But he wraps his arms securely around you, ensuring you won’t escape any time soon. 

“But you’re mine,” he says. “You’re fucking mine.”

He pulls you into a kiss this time, deep and claiming, but also with a note of tenderness. Afterward, he rests his forehead against yours. Part of him still doesn’t want to voice what’s stuck in his throat, pulsing hard in his chest, but he knew it the moment he pulled you out of the water and laid you down on the boat. For whatever bullshit it was worth, he actually prayed you wouldn’t die. That you wouldn’t leave him, just like everyone else. 

“I—” he starts to say.

“Hey there, my name’s Justin,” greets a server from the restaurant. He’s tall, blonde, dressed in skinny jeans and a crew-neck shirt that’s tight enough to showcase his pierced nipples underneath. “Have you guys dined with us before?”

“You couldn’t have waited 30 whole fucking seconds before butting in?” you snap at him. “Give us a few, okay, Jason?”

His eyes pop open, but he awkwardly raises his hands and backs away. “Jesus,” he mutters.

You turn back to Ben expectantly, with a sweet, if pointed smile.

He stares back at you in amusement.

See? That right there. That’s why he can’t quit you. You may be human, fragile, and human, but you're not as soft as he used to think. You don’t give fucking ground to anyone. He can respect that. 

He guides you back in for a lusty kiss. The words he says next come from a deep well inside him that’s been dry for a good long while. Hell if it’s ever been filled. 

That’s what makes him hesitant. Still, he pulls back from that all-consuming kiss, and finally tells you the truth. 

“I love you,” he says. 

You smile against his lips. 

You don’t mind being his. You don’t mind the headache he’s probably going to bring you on a daily (if not hourly) basis—or all the compromise, finessing, and patience it’s going to take to build a relationship with this emotionally repressed asshole. As long as he keeps trying, you’ll keep trying too…

Though you might need to pacify him with some empanadas every now and then. What was it Sofia always said?

A man well-fed will stay in your bed.

Well, you two are conveniently sitting at a restaurant, with a scared server waiting to take your order. You’ll be sure to give him an extra good tip to make up for your mouth. You generally don’t like to be rude, especially to wait staff, but he did step on your fucking moment.

“Good,” you reply. You stroke Ben’s chest and press a lingering kiss to his cheek. Your lips skim closer to his ear. “You hungry, baby?”

His hands move down to your hips, once again squeezing your ass. His smirk speaks volumes. 

“Fucking starving.”

AN: I guess in a way, Ben did get to have his cake and eat it too. lol 😘

I know this was super niche, but for those of you who have stuck around to read this series, I truly hope you enjoyed it! If I ever get more Patreon requests for these two I'll dive back in, but for now this kind of feels like a weight off my shoulders. Like what M.M.'s "mysterious" folder represents, there are things I didn't go too deep into in this story, but hopefully you get the sense that she's going to help Ben navigate the modern era and learn from his past.

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Soldier Boy Masterlist

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Soldier Boy Tag List (Part 1):

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[rizlowwritessortof]

Ugggghhhhhh.... I HATE HIS BRAIN TUMOR SO DAMN MUCH! This just HURTS!

And this:

In his mind, he still saw the barrel of a gun aimed between his eyes, thinking that narrow darkness was probably the last thing he was ever going to see.

Instead, he got to see you. That was the bleeding duality: a relief that clawed through his chest, and a guilt that sunk those claws deeper.  

'that narrow darkness' - 'bleeding duality' Just WOW.

The anxiety she has to be going through, the fear when he doesn't come home, I can't imagine the thoughts that would be going through my mind in her place. It comes across so well.

"When you could even breathe, ( AFTER THE MINDBLOWING SEX!) you slipped your fingers into his hair and drew him into a softer kiss.

It was a necessary grounding, a moment of peace after the storm."

LOVED THIS ^^^

So good, even when it hurts, dammit. SO GOOD, Alex!!

IF YOU LEAVE ME NOW

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: After struggling not to “label it,” you and Mark come to an understanding about salvaging your relationship.

AN: Ahh couldn't help myself. Releasing this one a day early! This is a Gif Check requested by @spnwoman for the 5K Celebration — set shortly after Sister, Sister! 

Song Inspo: Title inspired by the Chicago song.

Word Count: 4.9K

Tags/Warnings: [Set during 1x03] 18+ only! Heavy angst (medical, emotional, the works), but also hurt/comfort, implied smut (m. receiving oral), and actual smut

Series Masterlist

Mark popped two pills and took them dry. Even the motion of swallowing intensified the sharp pulsing in his skull.

Fuck. As bad as it was, he knew it was going to get worse. Not just headaches, the rest of the bullshit the doctor mentioned. Plus, Mark didn’t need his GED to scour WebMD with the best of them. Seizures, motor function, speech—what it all boiled down to was loss of control. The end of who he was.

He sighed, grimacing, shutting his eyes tight for a second.

He had less than an hour before he had to be at work. No time to go through this too-familiar mental spiral.

He went for the edge of the bathroom sink in a heavy grip, and he stared at his reflection in the mirror, wet hair slicked back from the shower. Apart from the creases under his eyes from stress and intentional sleep deprivation, he looked normal. For now.

He heard the bedsprings creak, and one of the reasons for his lack of sleep came into view. You stepped into his bathroom, barefooted, wearing that old favorite college shirt that liked to slip off your shoulder. Except this time, he was willing to bet you had nothing on underneath. His fault.

Your arms wrapped around his waist from behind. A smile began to tug at his lips on reflex. He felt your head resting against his dewy skin. Your hands inched up his chest and playfully teased with your nails. Little sexy scratch. Little kiss between his shoulder blades. 

“Go back to sleep, baby,” he said. A teasing note crept into his voice, “It’s too early for you.”

“You got in late last night.” Again. He’d been pulling late hours all week. Whatever case he was on, you had a feeling it was a big one. He still wouldn’t give you any details though. Not even when he was gone for almost two days, coming back smelling like a farmhouse and covered in grime.

“I want to see you,” you added softly. “Kinda the whole point of me being here.”

Mark grabbed one of your hands and brought it to his lips. He turned around in your arms, just so he could gather you up into his. Your fingers brushed the edge of the towel wrapped around his waist, a smile playing on your lips…until you noticed the open medicine cabinet, and the now familiar label of his prescription. 

You glanced up at him, biting your lip. “Are you hurting?”

He gave a minimal shake of his head.

“I’m good.”

A lie, for your benefit. You were beginning to figure him out again, now with this new layer of uncharted no man’s land between you. You dropped a kiss onto his chest, but it couldn’t stop the lump of emotion rising in your throat, or the tears welling up in your eyes. None of this was fucking fair—to him or to you.

Mark sighed. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“All right. If we’re gonna do this, promise me no more tears, okay?” he teased lightly.

You shook your head, unable to smile.

“Sorry. Can’t promise that.”

Mark hummed. He released his hold on you, just to take your face in his hands. His thumbs gently brushed under your eyes and collected tears from your lashes.

“Well, then we’ve got a problem. ‘Cause the one thing I can’t fucking take, is seeing this,” he said with a sigh. “What’re we doing here, sweetheart?”

You grabbed onto his wrists and kept his hands in place. You even closed your eyes for a moment, reveling in his touch. You hadn’t had this in so long…

“We’re together again. That’s what’s important, right?” you said, eventually meeting his heavy gaze.

“We’ve still got the same problem,” he said. “I don’t want to see you tearing yourself up over something we can’t change.”

You stared up at him, willing yourself not to spark with upset. Wasn’t he the one who said he’d consider looking for a second opinion?

“Well,” you said, unsticking your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “I actually got you an appointment with another oncologist.”

Mark paused, pursing his lips, a subtle exhale. His hands fell back to his sides. “You did, huh?”

“Yeah, I did,” you said pointedly, “because it didn’t seem like you were in a hurry to do it yourself, and if we wait until you’ve wrapped up your case, it could be too late.”

Your voice broke a little on the end there. It took away most of your bravado, but it also cut through Mark’s annoyance. Just hacked it at the root, really.

“It’s my mom’s friend, Indira Rashid. She can see you on Monday,” you said.

He sighed through his nose. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Really? Your brows raised.

That one hurt. It was a gripping blow, shaking down to your foundations as you glared up at him.

“What do you want me to do, Mark? Walk away and not even fight for you, like you did to me?” you said, your tone as sharp as your words were cutting. He almost looked away, but he didn’t. He looked you in the eyes.

“You really want me to live my life and pretend I don’t know what you’re going through—alone?” you said, a little softer. “If this was the other way around, you’d be fucking pissed if I even suggested you leave me.”

Mark faltered.

Well, shit.

You had him there, and you both knew it too.

Another tear found a path down your cheek, but he swept it away. You took in a shaky breath.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” you said. You dared him with your eyes. “Tell me you don’t want me here.”

Mark quirked a smile. You should’ve been a goddamn lawyer, because there really was no winning against you.

He tilted your chin up to meet his kiss, slow and thorough.

“You know that’s never fucking happening,” he said.

Only then were you able to smile.

You rose up on your toes for a deeper kiss, luring his tongue into your mouth with a soft moan. He held you to him tightly, solid and strong. He still kissed you like this was the first and the last—like he was making up for lost time. He supposed he was, and he wouldn’t stop.

Until your hands slipped in between your bodies to start unraveling the towel from his waist. 

“How much time you have before work?” you asked mischievously. You slid down his body, all the way down to your knees on the bathroom mat as you brushed your hair out of your face.

Mark grinned down at you, equally amused and aroused when you laid soft, purposeful kisses down his bare thighs. Your grip ensured that he wasn’t going anywhere, even if he wanted to.

“Uh, well, I’m thinking just long enough.”

Your sweet giggle was the best fucking thing—aside from the rest you could do with your mouth.

Mark whipped his Ford Bronco into the parking space. Thanks to you, he was running a few minutes late. Punctuality wasn’t usually one of the things bent the rules on, but today, he didn’t give a fuck.

He’d seen a car bomb practically go off on his face last night. He’d knelt down over a cartel thug and gripped his shoulders while the guy choked out his last words. Volchek.

Mark had that name ringing in his ears all night, apart from the high-pitched whirring from, you know, being within blast range.

But you’d also sucked him off three ways to Sunday this morning, so today was looking up. He even smiled after getting out of his car. A real smile, not a maintenance mask. Because his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he saw the text from you.

What time you think you’ll be home tonight? I wanna cook for us.

Jesus, what he’d give to see you in his sad fucking kitchen. He’d been living off of Hamburger Helper and canned tuna ever since he got out of lockup.

Btw, you know all you have here is half of an old breakfast burrito and a jar of pickles. Pretty pathetic.

Mark smirked. He texted back:

Guilty. Can I put in a request for the Thursday Special?

Oh my God. Of course you remember that! 😂

How the hell am I gonna forget naked cooking? You still have those heels I got you? The red ones with a little bling on the side? Tall as fuck.

Maaaaybe…

Ooh, and the matching—

“Hey,” said Oliveras, who was getting out of her own car not far from his.

Mark gave her a distracted nod. “Hey.”

She soon rose a brow when she noticed the way he was texting, smiling to himself like a teenage girl. Considering the night they’d had, it was more than a little weird.

“What, got a match on Tinder?” she said, a small smirk curving her lips.

Mark quickly looked up, like he’d been caught. He put his phone away, his casual gait back in place.

“Nah, just some stupid Facebook meme.”

A snort escaped her. “Facebook? All right, granddad.”

He eyed her in amusement, but feeling his pocket buzz again, he took out his phone to keep texting you while he and Oliveras entered the Wilshire Federal Building and waited for the elevator. She watched him discreetly, her brown eyes perceptive.

“You know, you never said what happened after that night at the bar,” she said.

That definitely earned his attention. Whatever he was smiling at faded away when he met her gaze.

“I mean, it’s not really any of my business, but did you at least get her home okay?” she asked.

Mark's smile hinted back in place. “Yeah, I did. She was all right, just needed to sleep it off.”

Again, not much slipped by Oliveras. Her brows dipped, her head tilted in suspicion.

“Waaait, wait. Did you two actually hook up?” she said.

Mark debated on an answer for that one. The elevator finally dinged and opened up for them, giving him another beat to think.

“Well, technically not that night,” he said, inclining his head, “or the next day, but—”

Amber crossed her arms along with her duffel bag, absolutely beside herself. “How…the fuck did you finesse that?”

Mark’s lips twitched upward. He opened his mouth to reply, but she just waved her hand like a white flag.

“Jesus, don’t say anything,” she groused, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Unbelievable. I thought she was fucking smarter than that.”

Mark's amusement faded. “’Scuse me?”

It was a warning, subtle in his eyes.

Oliveras rolled hers. She wasn’t afraid of bruising his apparent fragile ego. Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe it was you he was defending.

Oliveras tempered what she wanted to say, even what she was thinking.

“Whatever. Forget I said anything,” she said. She did wonder if she should call you though.

She hadn’t spoken to you in months. You two had grown apart after graduating from college and diving head-first into your respective careers; you weren’t exactly friends anymore. Although Oliveras was of the mind that women should look out for each other, whenever possible, taking back the bastard who cheated on you and left you weeks before the wedding…

Well, if she didn’t know you personally, she’d say it was a weak woman move.

Matter of fact, she would’ve punched him in the trachea. She was kind of fantasizing about it now as she and Mark stepped off the elevator and made brusque steps toward the office.

“Look, it’s complicated,” Mark said, in a lowered voice. His gaze was straight ahead. She knew it was his way of saving face.

But what she didn’t know was that it was mostly a stoic front, weighed by thoughts of guilt, desire, regret, and deeper shit too—more complicated than she gave him credit for.

“She’s a good woman," he said, "better than I fucking deserve.”

Something about that look on his face, the tone of his voice…it made Oliveras pause. She quirked a smile.

“On that, we actually agree.”

Was it normal for your heart to be close to shattering one moment, then damn near light and giddy the next? You didn’t think it was good for you. It was giving you whiplash, and possibly acid reflux.

But after you sent one last text to Mark, you ignored the flip-flop fluttery feeling of going too fast down a rollercoaster, and you smiled. More than giving him a “Thursday Special,” you were just looking forward to having a nice dinner together, not unlike the one you two shared with your mom on Tuesday. Not unlike countless other nights you and Mark used to have.

Again, your smile was short-lived. You stopped your car short at a red light, laying on the breaks harder than you should have. It earned you a blaring honk from the car behind you, but you didn’t even acknowledge it.

How could you have a honeymoon phase with what lied over the horizon? Every time you thought of making plans, it just reminded you that nothing could ever be set in stone. Nothing was in your control, and you fucking hated that.

When you eventually got to work, you ran through the motions of doing your job, making sure District Attorney Valwell made it to his appointments, making your calls and follow-up emails, filing the document, writing briefs, even grabbing Valwell’s lunch order (and yours). You ate at your desk and did one of the things you did best—research.

You didn’t trust WebMD. You went right to medical journals and clinical research, like you’d been doing for the past few days. You even called Indira again. You felt bad for taking away her own lunch hour with your questions, but you had to know. 

What she told you about cases like Mark’s only made your heart bleed and your stomach rebel. After you got off the phone, you found yourself throwing up your $20 enchiladas in the restroom down the hall.

That was around the time you got an all too cheerful-sounding text. After rinsing your mouth out in the bathroom sink, you groaned and wiped your face with a rough paper towel. You grabbed your phone out of your pocket and checked the notification: from Mark.

Hey, baby. Sorry, need to raincheck dinner tonight. I’ll be home late.

You frowned in disappointment. If he was postponing the Thursday Special, then he really was busy. Your shoulders sunk, but you replied.

How late do you think?

…No response.

A heavy sigh fell from your lips. This was actually familiar territory. When Mark was at work, he was easily distracted and a terrible texter. Which, fair enough, considering he was usually running down leads and hopping fences and whatever other reckless shit he was bound to do.

Some things don’t change, you thought ruefully.

But it didn’t mean you couldn’t try to change them. 

7:00 AM.

The next morning. You were almost dressed for work, still checking your phone, still out of your damn mind with worry because Mark never came home. He never checked in after around 2:30 PM yesterday, no matter how many texts you sent him.

You called his precinct, and Captain Victor Morales only told you that Mark was out on assignment. He wouldn’t tell you what that meant, or when Mark would be back. All you could do was wait.

Around twenty minutes later, it was about the time you absolutely needed to leave for work, or else you’d get caught in traffic again. But that was also when the front door lock twisted. The door itself creaked open, and there was Mark, looking exhausted and rough. He wore a strange gray jumpsuit, but your eyes were drawn to the bloodstains on the cuffs of his sleeves.

You tried to swallow your tears when you went to him, but relief hit you square in the chest. Mark took the impact of you in his arms with a soft grunt, but he held you on instinct. You wrapped your arms around his neck and shut your eyes against a salty sting.

“Where the hell were you?” You fingered the rough material of his collar. “What are you wearing? You smell like fucking gunpowder, and antiseptic—”

“Just,” Mark interrupted, squeezing your waist. “Just…give me a second.”

“What happened?” you asked, couldn’t help yourself.

Mark shook his head. Heavy sigh. He couldn’t tell you, he realized.

 Just seeing your face was a relief, even creased with worry and tears. He felt guilty for that, and a fuck ton of other things, but he couldn’t tell you.

He couldn’t tell you that he lost a member of his team, or that he felt like he was the one responsible with his half-cocked scheme going shit sideways. He couldn’t tell you that his hands had been literally coated in Drew’s blood, or that Mark watched the man's eyes roll up and disappear behind his lids as blood continued to pour out of his chest.

Drew didn’t get to go home to his wife, but somehow, Mark was the son of a bitch who was allowed to come home and find you waiting for him.

“Sorry. Long night…can’t really get into it,” he rasped. You smelled good, like your face lotion and a hint of perfume. He was a mess, probably getting three flavors of grime on your nice silky blouse and black skirt.

You relented, nodding shakily and sweeping your hand over his greasy hair in a caress.

“You should get cleaned up,” you said.

After a beat, Mark nodded. Every muscle in his body protested, but he pulled away from you. It was hard to meet your gaze as he aimed for his bedroom. He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and scrubbed himself in a shower so hot, he probably burned off a couple layers of skin. He still didn’t feel entirely clean when he walked out.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

While getting dressed in some old sweatpants, he caught sight of the time by the digital clock on his nightstand. He checked his phone too. Nothing from Blythe or the team. They would get eight hours of recovery before they were expected back, reporting for fucking duty.

Mark rubbed the aching space between his brows as he stepped out of the bedroom. He stopped short when he found you in his kitchen, scrambling up some eggs. You’d already kicked your shoes off, leaving you in just that flowy blouse and a tempting skirt, perfectly shaped around your ass and thighs.

It also looked like you went to the grocery store yesterday. He saw the evidence of it in the jumbo carton of eggs lying on the counter, the little cannisters of salt and pepper (the ones you had to hand-grind yourself, which only you would buy), and the slices of ham and deli cheese you were ripping up to add into the steaming pan. The smell wafted nostalgia up his nose and into his brain.

On any other day, he would’ve smiled.

On any other day, he would’ve sidled up behind you, dragging his hands, heavy with intention over your hips, playfully and possessively up your sides. Your body would respond before your head could catch up, arching up against his chest like a cat. He’d whisper only half of the filthiest ideas he had in your ear, just to see if he could break your concentration. Most of the time, he won.

Today, he paused in the doorway and watched you. In his mind, he still saw the barrel of a gun aimed between his eyes, thinking that narrow darkness was probably the last thing he was ever going to see.

Instead, he got to see you. That was the bleeding duality: a relief that clawed through his chest, and a guilt that sunk those claws deeper.  

You glanced over your shoulder and aimed an attempt at a smile his way.

“This is almost done,” you said. The wooden spoon moved deftly in your hand.

“You’re gonna be late for work,” he said.

“I called out sick.”

He blew out a sigh, a shake of his head. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You turned off the stove, shifted the pan of eggs off to the side before your frown turned his way. Really? said your eyes.

Mark couldn’t hold your gaze for long. He escaped the inviting aroma in the kitchen and got as far as the living room. You followed him to the couch and took a seat right on the edge of it, beside him.

“I know you can’t tell me what happened, but I know this isn’t a routine case,” you said. You were almost hesitant when you reached out to caress his cheek, earning his carefully guarded gaze.

Whatever it was, he was trying hard to keep you out of it, which only gave you a deeper pit in your stomach. You were afraid for him in so many ways, but you knew there was probably nothing you could say to pull him out of what he was doing. It was his job, and if Mark took one thing seriously, regardless of the means, it was his fucking job. You knew it all too well.

You found the courage to ask him a question, even though the answer had the potential to cut into you again.

“What do you want, Mark? You want me to stay, or do you want to handle this by yourself?”

“I’m fine,” he said.

You shook your head. “That’s not what I asked.”

Mark’s lips twitched slightly. “It’s not about what I want.”

Your hand slid down to his chest, feeling the steady thrum underneath.

“Then what about what you need?” you asked. Like it was that simple.

What am I gonna do with you? Mark thought, smiling ruefully. After how thoroughly you’d hated him last week, it was like dousing ice-cold water over his head when you said shit like that. But his heart remembered, pulsing painfully, the way it all was before. He could have it again, at least for a little while.

He should’ve told you to go to work—that he’d be fine, just needed to sleep the night off.

He should’ve just let you go altogether.

Maybe he really was just a selfish asshole at his core.

He slid a hand behind your neck, through your hair, and guided you to him for a rougher kiss than he meant it to be. He swallowed the hint of your surprise and was satisfied when your body responded to him before your brain could catch up; your eyes fell shut, and the tension melted from your frame as you sunk against him.

You grabbed for his shoulders and straddled his hips when he hefted you into his arms. Mark slid his hands up your skirt until it bunched all the way up your waist, taking the opportunity to squeeze the plush of your ass. There was no part of you he didn't crave getting his hands full of.

You were of a similar mind as you tugged his gray henley up from the hem, soft hands burning up his stomach, chest, and shoulders. The solidity of his frame; you knew that when he held you, he had you.

Teeth clicked and tongues warred, tasted, devoured. His lips dragged down to the spot where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing, biting, his hands claiming your hip and tangling in your hair. Breaths panted hot in the small spaces in between moments.

You managed to slip a hand down into his sweatpants and palm over the growing bulge, smiling when he groaned into your mouth. You reached behind the band to find his cock, already hot and heavy and hard for you.

His resulting hiss was sharp behind his teeth, his grip on your bare thigh just shy of bruising as he throbbed in your hand. His voice devolved into a deeper, more guttural groan as his head tipped back against the sofa. You worked him over with a sensuous hand, using beads of his precum to stroke your thumb over the sensitive head.

You had half a mind to slide down between his legs like you did yesterday morning, but he had you gripped tight in his arms, like he didn’t want you going anywhere.

And he didn’t. He wanted your thighs spread for him, just like they were now. He slid your panties down as far as they’d go, and he ripped the black lace on either side, earning a small gasp from you.

“I liked those,” you said, nipping his lower lip in retaliation. Mark smirked against your pouting mouth.

“I liked ‘em too. But now they’re in my goddamn way,” he said, that trademark cockiness in his grin that made you want to slap him and kiss it off his lips at the same time.

He tugged the ruined fabric slowly, with purpose, letting it slide between your wet folds and brushing your clit. You clung to him with a quiet whimper, especially when his long fingers found a familiar path into your slippery channel. The knuckle of his thumb pressed against your clit as well, making you whimper. A small zing of pleasure sparked in your lower belly, reaching the very depths of you. It just wasn’t enough.

“Need you,” you whispered into his mouth. Your fingers ran through his hair, lovingly first, then scraping your nails along his scalp.

He groaned, nodding in agreement. His fingers withdrew from your core and spread some slick up to your clit. He drew circles with a firm, tantalizing pressure, enough to have your voice shuddering his name and your hips bucking into his hand. "Oh, fuck, please..."

"Good angle, right?" he teased. Smug bastard.

"Mhmm," you nodded, smiling into his lips. But all you could really do was cling to his neck while his fingers wreaked havoc on your pussy. Just when you began to taste that delicious edge, the crest of a tidal wave—he stopped.

He fucking stopped, withdrawing his fingers and moving his hands back to your waist. Your uneven breaths also accounted for your shock, and then your annoyance. But before you could even start to call him an asshole, he grabbed you up strong by your hips, just so he could all but impale you on his cock.

Choked of whatever words that might've slipped off your tongue, you gasped and cursed in the same breath. The inner walls of your pussy quivered around his length and thickness as he worked himself deeper inside. There was just so much of him, you sucked in deeper breaths just taking him, inch by inch.

But you led the rhythm, a rolling sway that built its momentum as you rode him. Mark tore through those last clinging buttons of your blouse and freed your breasts, snapping the bra open too. Straps and silky fabric got tossed to who gives a fuck where. All that mattered was his hands cradling you possessively, his beard rasping against your skin as his teeth dragged over the sensitive buds of your nipples.

There wasn’t any part of you he didn’t know, no square inch of supple flesh he hadn’t mapped out, devastated, and claimed. But it didn’t stop him from relishing the taste. Every sound out of your mouth was black velvet in his ears, adding to his satisfaction when your body practically hummed underneath his touch.

The bob of your hips faltered, distracted, your limbs trembling and your thighs burning.

“You close already, baby?” Mark rasped, deep and ragged in your ear. He was just as wrecked as you. The feeling of you, so goddamn tight and warm and wet—fucking perfect. Making him almost lose his goddamn sense of reality. He thrust up inside you, hard enough to knock a gasp out of you, feel you clench on him in response. Your nails raked down the back of his neck.

“You are, I can fuckin’ feel it,” he gritted out. Like his sixth fucking sense.

“Yeah,” you confessed, breathless and desperate. “Little more. Need your help, please—”

“I’ve got’cha,” he said. His hands tightened on your hips and gave you both what you needed, a few hammering strokes that hit just the right spot—that sensitive place inside that made your inner walls quiver and throb. A rush of heat and white spots on the edge of your vision, you buried your face into his neck and screamed your release.

Mark felt your inner walls pulse and tighten impossibly around his cock. He drove into you through the height of your orgasm, as long as he could hold out, until his body locked up on him too. He held himself inside you, nestled deep as he could until he was spent. You shuddered at the feeling of his warmth coating your inner walls. It soon began to leak out between your thighs.

Mark rolled his shoulders with a short wince at the sting your nails had left against his back. He didn’t mind though. He just smiled and rubbed a gentler hand up and down your spine, quelling the little goosebumps.

When you could even breathe, you slipped your fingers into his hair and drew him into a softer kiss.

It was a necessary grounding, a moment of peace after the storm.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and let his forehead rest against yours. He felt the tickle of your hair against his cheek, the rise and fall of your breaths evening out in a quiet room, blending with the low hum of the AC.

He could hear the faint sounds of cars passing by outside, another morning at full swing. He only had a few hours left to rest, but even these minutes were important. They were yours, and his.

“Thanks,” he said. “For, uh…staying.”

You blinked your eyes open and pulled back a little, prompting him to do the same. This part was important, and you wanted him to know that.

“I’m not leaving unless you tell me to,” you said.

Mark’s lips tugged at a tired smile. “Then buckle up, sweetheart.”

Once again, your soft giggles filled the room.

AN: The angst! You could bottle it. 😫💙 How do you like how they figured out this hurdle together?

...And are you ready for another one? lol

The next one-shot for this series is a fun little flashback to their first date! But what's also coming up in the future is very much inspired by “You’re Losing Me (From the Vault)” by Taylor Swift. Thanks again, @waynes-multiverse for that perfect - hella angsty - inspo! 😂

(Hint: The reader might finally find out what Mark's "special assignment" has been for the past couple of weeks.)

Until then, please let me know what you thought of this little angsty/smutty adventure! lol Your feedback fuels my creative spark! 🥰💜

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[rizlowwritessortof]

I rarely read a fic that makes me actually cry. This did.

There was a taste of this when Dean talked about it in the show, about endlessly drowning, and the thought was horrifying. You just made me feel like I was there with him. God, how much suffering that man went through, and still never stopped fighting.

This was amazing. It hurt like hell, but it was absolutely amazing.

Echo

A Supernatural Story

~ Falling into himself again as Michael takes over his body, Dean is forced into darkness, alone but for the ghosts of her…~

Dean Winchester x Reader

2780 Words

Angst, Past Character Death - Set in the tiny seconds of a moment in the middle of a scene in 14x9

For @jacklesversebingo - the prompt is Echo by Jason Walker

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The world was dark. 

The air was gone, sucked from his lungs in an instant. 

He couldn’t feel his body, couldn’t tell where his skin ended and the blackness began. 

Every muscle pulled in towards the center of his being and Dean’s jaw dropped as a pained scream edged its way passed his lips. 

He let it go and it rang through the nothing. Desperate. Defeated. Ripped from reality. 

He fell. 

There was nothing holding him anywhere but he felt himself falling, crashing towards even more nothing. The void was vast, and he knew he’d never find the bottom, the top, the end. 

There was simply nothing. 

He’d been there before and he knew couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t wade through the endless abyss praying for help that wouldn’t come, begging for parole from the pitch. 

“Sam!” 

The shadow swallowed his voice. 

“Cas!”

His cry faded into the hollow. 

A sharp coldness curled around him. It tangled itself around each limb, twisted against his throat, and covered his blind eyes. He could feel the pressure as it squeezed, felt the power holding him down. It pushed and released and pushed again, quickening his fall. 

And then he remembered: the penthouse, the giant window overlooking a busy city. Michael’s beautiful vessel, her evil dark eyes. The wood of the spear’s rough handle rubbing against his palm. The blade pointed at her throat. 

The room spun. His vision blurred. 

“Not again. Not again, you son of a bitch!” 

He raged at the angelic force and suddenly felt his body again. He clawed at the coldness, kicked at the pressure, and twisted himself free.

He hit the ground. A formless, undefined line in his mind that he could stand on. 

He called out again, but there was nothing, not even a ghost of his voice. 

“Please, no.” He gripped his head and grit his teeth. “Not again. I-I can’t.” 

Fear crawled like prickling insects up his spine and flooded into his head. Panic gripped him tight and he doubled over as he struggled to breathe, to settle, to get ahold of himself. 

“Please!”

“Dean?” 

Through the darkness, a soft light appeared to his left. He turned towards it and felt his being washed in warmth. 

She looked up at him from the hood of the Impala. The chrome shone in the darkness, lit by the beautiful memory of her smile. She held out a hand and chewed the corner of her mouth nervously. 

“Y/N?” His voice cracked around her name, his throat raw from screaming. “What is this?” 

She laughed, pure and sweet, and rolled her eyes at him. “You gonna stand there all day starin’ at me or you gonna come sit?”

He took a step as the scene came perfectly into view: a sundrenched field outside of Montgomery. A cloudy blue sky, a warm summer breeze. Y/N in that cute blue tank top and Daisy Dukes that were cut off a little too high and frayed perfectly.

“I remember this,” he whispered. “This… this is when we had our first kiss… like twenty years ago.” 

Y/N laughed again, gentler this time, and took his hand. “You’re actin’ crazy, Dean Winchester.” 

Her fingers curled around his and he sighed. She felt solid, alive. 

“Not crazy,” he told her, moving in closer. “But this isn’t real, Y/N…” 

She pursed her lips and cocked an eyebrow. “It’s as real as you want it to be.”

“Want?” he laughed sadly. “Need, more like it.” 

Y/N tugged on his hand, pulling him closer. “Whatever you need, Dean, I’ll give you. You know that.” Slowly, her knees spread around his waist and Dean let himself fall against her. He set his arms around her back, splayed his fingers out against the back of her head. He breathed her in, soaked up that familiar scent of apples and sunshine. He held her close, finding peace in her warmth. 

Y/N nuzzled into his neck and he felt her soft lips, her hot breath on against his ear. 

“Twenty years, really?”

Dean sighed and shrugged as he pulled back a bit. “I rounded up.” 

“Good,” she teased. “That made me feel old…” 

Her eyes sparkled in the light that wasn’t really there. She existed only in his memory. 

“You’ll never be old, Y/N.” His heart was breaking at the thought, but it was true. Twenty years, forty- it didn’t matter. She would never grow old. She’d always stay just as beautiful. 

She walked her fingers gently up the buttons of his burgundy flannel and tugged on his collar flirtatiously. 

“Well, you gonna give me that first kiss or what?” 

Dean stared into her eyes, remembering the first time they’d played this scene and wondering if it would feel the same. 

He grinned. “You ready?”

She laughed. “I been ready, Winchester. Lay it on me.” 

She closed her eyes slowly and her lips parted with a sultry exhale. 

Dean sucked it in and leaned close. As his lips reached hers, the light vanished and Y/N was gone. 

He fell through the empty space she’d left behind and crumbled in on himself. 

He called for her, but the darkness was silent. He thrashed at the inky world around him but there was nothing to hit, nothing to kill. He couldn’t make it bleed, couldn’t make it feel the pain that was spreading through what was left of him. 

“God dammit! Let me out!” 

He spun on the spot, screaming at nothing. 

“Michael!”

An icy flash of power, like a bolt of lightning, struck the top of his skull and vibrated through him, forcing him back down to his knees. The coldness webbed through every nerve and cell, and frozen tears welled in his eyes. 

“Please… somebody…” 

The tears flowed free and he let them go. There was no need to suck them back and act tough. He was alone. 

Alone. 

He always knew he’d be alone in the end. Always knew he’d be the man who broke the world. A failure. An unworthy, useless, unimportant bastard. 

Knees up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around himself, freezing and defeated. His soul was shattering and there was no pulling back up this time. 

“Dean…” 

Once more, her sweet voice broke through his shivering pain. 

“Are you OK?”

Green eyes lifted. Cracked lips parted with a sigh. 

Y/N was there again, standing a few feet away with two cold beers in her hands and a lifetime of worry in her voice. Her hair was longer than before; her spirit a little more worn. Aging bruises covered her arms and the faint outline of a handprint shadowed her throat. 

His handprint. 

He remembered this night, too. 

That night when she crept into his room with nothing but comfort despite the hell he’d put her through. When she’d hid behind his old AC/DC shirt so he couldn’t see the majority of the souvenirs the demon had left her with. When she’d brushed the tears from his eyes and smiled when she saw the black evil was truly gone. 

“I… thought you could use a drink,” she said, holding out the beer. 

Dean felt the moment so intensely it was as if he’d never left it. Guilt pushed down on his shoulders even as he stood to take the drink. 

“Could probably use more than a beer,” he joked. 

“Yeah, well, Sam drank all the bourbon.” Her sad laugh was pained. Two ribs were broken, he remembered. 

His stomach tensed. “Y/N, I’m so sorry-”

Closing her eyes, she lifted a finger to her lips. “Shh. We’re not doing that tonight.” 

Her tenderness struck him in the chest just as it had that night. He’d nearly killed her. Tricked her into freeing him from the Devils Trap, used her as bait to get Sam where he wanted him, strangled her until she fell broken on the stone floor. 

“How-” He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t known then either. “How do I make it up to you?” 

She smiled and took a sip of beer, looking away. “Maybe…” 

He held his breath. He could never make it up to her, not in this lifetime, not in this universe. You can’t put your hands on the woman you love and ever make it right again. He knew he’d never make it better. 

Y/N sighed and turned back to him. Tears glistened in her eyes like diamonds and he felt each one dig into his heart. 

“Maybe we just try to move on, Dean. We can’t fix the past. We can only make the future better.” 

She was too perfect, too pure and loving. He never deserved her. 

Dean fell to his knees at her feet, looking up at her the way he had then. It was too much. She was haloed in darkness and it was waiting for him. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips. 

“Don’t leave me,” he prayed, whispering against her warm skin. “Please.” 

Y/N sank down and cradled his hand in both of hers. She kissed his fingertips and took a breath. 

“I’m not going anywhere, you idiot.” She smiled. “That… the Mark did this to you. To us. I know you’d never… I just need us to look forward, OK?” 

He shook his head, licked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down to hold back a sea of doubt. “Y/N…” 

“Dean. Listen to me. I’m not leaving. You can be guilty and sullen and hate me forever if that’s what you need, but I’m not goin’ anywhere. I trust you.” 

She kissed his hand again. 

“I need you.” 

He nodded and took a breath. “I… I need you too.” 

She smiled and let his hand fall. “I love you, Dean.” 

His chest was aching. Death by a thousand cuts would have hurt less than the memory of what he never said. He didn’t say it then. He didn’t say it a million times that he should have. 

“I…” 

Would it make a difference if he said it now? She wasn’t really there. Just a ghost of guilt. A record of his mistakes. 

Y/N smiled softly and lifted her hand to his cheek. “I know baby,” she whispered, “I know.” 

He held his breath and closed his eyes, needing her touch, begging for her hand to land, but it never did. 

She was gone when he opened his eyes again. Lost to the depths of his lonely captivity. 

He fell forward and beat his fists against the nothing. He scratched and clawed at the empty hoping Michael could feel it. Praying it was tearing him up. 

“You bastard! Let me out!”

His rage burned hot, his voice rang free. 

“Get out! I cast you out!”

His vision was fading as a dark vignette closed in around him. 

“Sam! Cas! Anybody!” 

A cold wave struck him, the frozen power spinning him around like a twig in a tornado. He roared against the wind but it did little good. He struggled to grab hold of something, but all was lost. 

“Help me!” 

The rush dropped away and he tried to catch his breath. His lungs were burning, his body aching. 

“Somebody!”

“Hey! Will ya shut up? I’m- I’m trying to tell you something…” 

He knew what he’d see before he turned to look. Her voice was ragged and thick with blood. Her breath was too shallow, too staggered. 

“Y/N. No…” 

Of all the memories his mind could conjure up, it picked the worst one. 

Y/N was stumbling toward him with her hands covering a bloody hole in her gut. She’d been ripped apart because Dean hadn’t gotten there in time.

He rushed at her, catching her just as her legs gave out. Her skin was cold, her lips paling quickly. 

“Y/N, don’t-” 

She grabbed at his shirt, curling her fingers into the flannel as he lowered her down to the ground. He held her head in the crook of his arm and pressed his right hand to her stomach. 

Her scream was pitiful and it cracked his soul in half. 

“Dean… listen, OK?” 

Even in her last moments, she was worried about him. He didn’t deserve her, never did. He shook his head, hating the world, hating himself. 

“Listen.” She coughed and a spray of blood painted her chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand. 

“Hold on, OK?” He smiled down at her but the truth was in his eyes. This was the last time he’d see her, the last time he’d get to hold her. “We’re gonna get you to a hospital. Sam’s getting the car.” 

She shook her head and gripped his wrist, making him look at her in earnest. 

“Dean.” She took a deep breath and held back another painful cough. “I’m… I’m gonna… Fuck, I’m so tired. Listen to me-”

Every word, every breath, pushed blood out into his hand. He grit his teeth. 

“Y/N, you don’t have to-”

He knew what she was about to say and he knew he wasn’t worth the words, not twice. 

“Shut. Up!” 

He laughed despite the horror of feeling the life run out of her. “Sorry. Shutting up.” 

Y/N shuddered badly, her shoulders shaking against his arm. She grappled with a heavy breath and then shook it off, focusing her eyes on his. “I’m dying,” she said flatly. 

He nodded. “I know.” His throat tightened. His vision blurred behind rising wetness. 

“And…” She cringed as pain spread through her system. She blinked quickly and pushed on. “And I need to know that… you’ll… that you won’t. That you won’t give up. Ever. OK?” 

A fresh, hot gush of blood coated his hand. 

“Ever?” 

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Winchester. Ever.” 

She smiled and her lips trembled. The color was nearly gone from her face and she couldn’t hold her head up alone. 

“You are… strong, Dean. So strong. And brave. And so… so fucking smart. You can’t give up.” 

He remembered her words as if they were transcribed on his heart. He’d taken them out and reread them a thousand times but it didn’t seem right now. He’d let Michael win. He’d given up everything because he wasn’t worthy. He wasn’t strong enough. He’d fucked up everything. 

Y/N didn’t know about Michael, didn’t know what he’d been through, and he was glad. He didn’t want to disappoint her, didn’t want her to see him fail again. 

Her hand fell and her body shook. 

“Y/N!” 

Her eyes fluttered and her breath was hard and torn. “Dean, please. Don’t give up. You- you’re- you’re my hero.” She smiled and the pain faded from her face. “I love you.” 

He closed his eyes as she vanished. 

He held his breath as the warmth of her blood lifted from his hands. 

He screamed her name, begging her to return, but she was just an echo. Just a memory trapped in his head with him. 

He swatted the tears from his cheeks when he’d had enough and stood up, gathering his strength for the fight. He was going to break out even if it killed him. 

“Michael! Come on and fight me like a man you coward!” 

He screamed and screamed, kicked and raged against nothing. He beat his fists at the ground until he bled and shouted until his voice left him. 

When there was nothing left of him, he fell again. Down, down, down. The floor had given out when he gave up. 

Nothing to catch him, nothing to slow his descent. 

He was drowning again, lost in the empty, just fodder for the shadows. 

Alone. 

Maybe if he searched for her, combed through the corners of his mind, he could bring her back. Maybe if he prayed, he could keep her with him. Maybe if he had Y/N, he’d have the strength to break free. 

A blast of cold struck him again and he knew it was Michael toying with him. The icy power gnawed at his bones and tightened around his heart. 

He struggled to breathe, to push back, but it was no use. 

He was broken. 

He was lost. 

Alone. 

When the cold lifted, he saw an orange glow in the distance. It was dark and warm like a neon sign flashing into a stormy night. He went to it, quickly breaking into a run as it called to him. The smell of stale beer and fresh limes hit his nose and he took a deep breath as he stepped into the bar. 

His bar. 

He was home. 

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[rizlowwritessortof]

Ooooohhh, this was so good!! I really hope Red, White and Douche is finally dead!

And I love that the reader - and her Grandma 😊 - finally drilled their way into Ben's heart.

Hopefully Deep gets what's coming to him, too! Anxious for the next part, Alex!! Glad I finally got caught up!

UNRAVEL ME - Part 6

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: Smut, followed quickly by angst lol. Here we go!~

Song Inspo: “Tu Figura” by Diez 47, Kapo & Manchego

Word Count: 5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Smut, angst, blood and violence. Plus, a Fools Rush In moment (blink and you’ll miss it), Butcher & Co. are back, and so is the star-spangled prick.

💜 Series Masterlist

❤️ YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 5: La Vida Es...

(Life Is...)

In the morning, you wake to a firm chest beneath your cheek. The fuzz of his chest hair makes your nose wrinkle.

You move over a little, so you can bury your face into his neck instead. You stretch yourself out long, before sinking boneless against him. He chuckles deeply, sinking his fingers in your wild hair that tickles his cheek and his neck.

“Well, good morning,” he says, his voice rasping with sleep and heady in its meaning. 

You hum in contentment. You begin to press small, lazy kisses under his jaw, down his neck. He cups your cheek with his large hand and guides you back, so he can see your face and greet you properly. 

But before his lips meet yours—

You blink awake. Slivers of light infiltrating through the window blinds all but pierce your eyes, and you turn your head away with a groan. You’re back in your bedroom, albeit very naked.

You dimly remember Ben carrying you to your bed afterward…  

The memories of last night come in flashes of movement and feeling.

You remember the heat of it, his hands and lips and tongue all over your body, mapping over every soft curve, and most memorably between your legs. He pulled two releases from you before he even turned you over, pulling your hips up to meet his hard and aching cock. 

He had to cover your mouth with his hand while he took you deep from behind, so hard and goddamn good that your trembling arms fucking gave up, unable to hold you up anymore. You sunk against the mattress, clawing at the sheets and pressing your face into the pillow, whining and whimpering as you unintentionally provided him with a deeper angle. 

He held out until you came once more, and with a ragged groan, he spilled his load deep inside you. You shivered at the feeling of it, writhing against him. He couldn’t help but collapse on top of you.

When you playfully complained that you couldn’t breathe, he chuckled, shifted over onto his back and took you with him, until you were lying on top of his fuzzy chest and panting to catch your breath. He brushed back your hair from your face (and out of his mouth). 

You eventually were able to move your body, using his shoulder as leverage to get up. Your arms shook, but you managed to shift up his chest. Your eyes met his, with something more than just lust and satisfaction twining in between.

You gave him a gentler kiss. Slow, but deep and thorough.

Now, you’re alone.

You throw on an old college shirt over a pair of leggings before you leave your bedroom, expecting to see Ben in the guest room opposite.

You don’t find him.

Again, the bed is made and all is as it should be. You quickly go to the kitchen, and you don’t find your grandmother. Maybe she’s still sleeping, but where the hell is this man? Did he take your car?

A quick peek out the living room window to confirm.

No, it’s still in the driveway. Did he call a taxi? Damn your ability to sleep like the dead.

He left without saying goodbye. Or maybe last night was goodbye.

“If you stay, you stay, and we can figure out how to get your life back. Both of our lives back.” You pause, just to heave a shaky sigh. “But it that’s not what you want, then you have to go. You leave in the morning, and you don’t come back, because I can’t take this shit anymore—”

Guess I have my answer, you think, even though your eyes begin to sting with unshed tears. One manages to pass your defenses, slipping down your cheek. You hastily wipe it away.

Heaving a sigh, you turn and come face-to-face with The Deep. His green and yellow suit covered in faux fish scales are familiar, as is that cocky grin of his.

Your shrill scream echoes on the walls of your grandmother’s house. 

The Deep smiles. 

“Hey,” he says, eyeing your legs on the way back up to your face. Your stomach dips with discomfort and alarm. You hastily step back—into a firm chest. You gasp and whirl around. 

“Black Noir?” you say in confusion. “You’re…you’re dead.” 

He tilts his head and does something that the real Noir would never do. 

“Noir 2.0, bitch. Get ready for the upgrade,” he says. 

He grabs you and smothers your cry.

Ben steps out of the taxi with just a duffle bag. Inside is a Ziplock full of Cuban pastries Sofia packed for him, after she caught him leaving.

The conversation was more annoying than he’d like to admit. 

He was just about to unlock the front door with his bag on his shoulder, when a tsk had him pausing. He looked over and found Sofia standing there in her purple flowery nightgown and matching slippers, staring at him with her arms crossed.

“Where are you going?” she asked. She approached him and slapped his arm. “You don’t say goodbye?”

The “slap” felt more like a feather-tap, but he still somehow felt…guilty. He covered that with an indulgent grin in her direction. 

“It’s been a good run, Sofia, but I gotta get going,” he said. “Trust me, it’s better for you if I go.”

“Easier, maybe,” she nodded. “Yes, easier. But ask your heart if it’s right.”

Ben paused, but after a beat, he turned away from her to grab the doorhandle.

“I don’t have time for this shit—”

Sofia slapped his hand this time. Ben frowned at her audacity, but she just raised a brow at him.

“You’ll need some food for the road, no?” she asked. “You have no money, and I don’t want you stealing.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m kind of on the clock here, sweetheart.”

Again, she shot him a narrowed look. She grabbed his wrist and guided him over to the kitchen, where he reluctantly allowed her to guide him down for a seat at the island.

She busied herself with preparing a sandwich with deli meat and cheese. After eyeing him a moment, she made two sandwiches. She doubted the first one would fill even half his stomach, the way he ate.

“So you’re just gonna leave before my granddaughter wakes up, is that it?” she accused.

Ben avoided her gaze and didn’t answer. Sofia sighed and washed her hands after she finished preparing the food.

“Ah, Benjamín.” She leaned across the counter and patted his cheek fondly. “How long have you lived, and you still don’t know the answer.”

His frown deepened. “To what?”

“Qué es la vida?” she smiled. “What is life?”

Ben’s expression flattened. “Look, I really don’t have fucking time to wax philosophical with you—”

“Life is cruel,” she said, in a harder voice. “Yes, the cliché is true. There’s sickness and sin. Money, politics, and death. I think you know a lot about that.”

Ben’s gaze on her was stoic. But behind those walls, there was part of him that acknowledge her words, even though he didn’t want to.

“But, in the immortal words of Celia Cruz, ‘It’s more beautiful to live singing,’” Sofia said. Her face lightened with a smile. She pressed a hand over his heart, firmly, to remind him that it still beat. “When this is full, all the hate and hurt will pass. But when it’s empty, life will be longer than it already is for you, mijo. Harder too.”

Ben guided her away from him, though he was careful about it.

“I can’t stay,” he said. But after a brief hesitation, he kissed the back of her hand and took the food she packed up for him. “Thanks.”

He walked out of the house. With every step, again, he felt the weight of being someone’s disappointment.

Now, Ben begins to feel regret. He stands in the lobby of the Miami International Airport. He’s about to try and figure out a way past the security check and into the baggage hold. Before that, he means to cash a check he stole from Sofia’s purse.

He stares down at it, and he thinks of you. He wonders if you’ve woken up yet, your hair all wild as you blink awake like fucking Bambi.

The thought makes him smile. But then, he wonders if you’ve already noticed he’s gone. You’re probably angry at him, like you always are. So fucking hot and cold. One minute you’re tearing him a new asshole, and in the next, you’re practically begging him to fuck you.

She’s fucking crazy, he thinks, with a stubborn shake of his head.

But you like it.

He can almost hear your voice in his ear.

He can see your daring smirk in his mind’s eye. Your tempting mouth, your soulful eyes, your smooth skin, and the way your voice broke when you called his name last night, over and over…

The fact that he can’t just get it all out of his fucking head irritates him, and yet, it makes his dick twitch in his pants.

“Fuck,” he mutters. Make a fucking decision, you fucking pussy. He paces the floor of the lobby with the damn check in hand. He rakes a hand through his hair in aggravation, probably looking half-insane. “Fuck!”

A mother glares at him as she passes by with her toddler. The woman holds the little girl’s hand tighter as they get in line to get their suitcases checked. Ben can’t help but stare after them. The girl’s hair is curly and wild down her back, just like yours.

Gritting his teeth, Ben looks down at the check once more.

“Goddamn it.”

He tears it in half. Then, he storms outside to hail another cab.

He returns to Sofia’s white house with its mango tree in the front yard. He yanks out his duffel bag and gives the cabbie his last fifty dollars, hard-won from those old Cuban guys playing dominoes.

Ben walks up the cobblestone steps up to the front door, though he frowns. A subtle alarm trills inside him when he twists the knob and finds the door unlocked. He steps inside, and his stomach dips further. The house is empty, but a rug is half flipped over in the living room, and the stools at the kitchen island are flipped over, along with broken glass on the floor.

Ben calls your name. He calls out for Sofia too, but no one answers. No one’s here. 

He finally notices a smartphone sitting on the dining table. It doesn’t look like yours, but it starts to buzz and ring with a video call. Ben struggles to swipe the green button to get it to answer. The camera is too close to his face at first. He backs up at seeing Homelander’s stupid fucking face. 

“What the fuck do you want, you little cunt rag?” Ben snarks.

“Well, first of all, that’s super fucking rude,” Homelander snarks. “Especially considering what I’ve got here.”

Homelander instructs The Deep to back up with the phone camera, so Ben can see that you and Sofia are tied up together and blindfolded in the cargo bay of a truck. Gags are tied in your mouths. You both look terrified and confused, but huddled close to one another.

“I think these mean something to you?” Homelander says with a subtle smirk. “I thought we were gonna have to stop you at the airport, but you just came sniffing right back. Like a fucking dog.”

Ben doesn’t answer, but he fights hard to control his temper. He doesn’t want to give this cocksucker the satisfaction, even though his fingers flex around the phone and spread spindly cracks across the screen. 

“What the fuck you do want?” Ben says. His voice is deep with an underlying threat. Something in him threatens to soften when you recognize his voice though.

“Ben?” you say, though it’s muffled by the gag. The Deep warns you to shut up, prodding at your side sharply with his foot. You cry out in pain and indignation.

Ben seethes. 

“It’s time we meet again. I have a proposition for you,” Homelander says, seeming amused. “Hold onto this phone. Instructions are to follow shortly.”

“Stop playing games you fucking prick—” The call ends abruptly on Homelander’s end, infuriating Ben. His hand clenches in anger, and he nearly hurls the phone across the room.

A chime stops him. He looks down at the screen and finds an address and a timeframe in a text message. 

“That sounds like a ransom to me,” a familiar voice drawls. 

Ben looks up to see Billy Butcher on the other side of the room, along with Hughie and the Asian chick as backup. Butcher’s handler, Blondie, and the French whore have broken into the house to close Ben in from behind. He can’t be bothered to remember the rest of their names, but he knows their faces. He never forgets a fucking face.

The blonde girl’s hands glow along with her eyes, while M.M. holds a suspect gas mask. 

Ben chuckles darkly. What fucking else today, huh?

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” he says, turning back to Butcher, “showing your face to me.”

“Couldn’t help but hear about your little problem,” Butcher says, with that smarmy grin of his that irritates Ben on sight. “Homelander got ahold of your getaway driver. Somehow you managed to dickmatize her along the way, huh?”

All right, fuck this, Ben thinks. He might not be suited up, but he doesn’t need a weapon to deal with these assholes.

Ben begins to advance with heavy, threatening steps, but Hughie holds out a placating hand. 

“Wait, wait! We can help, okay?” he says. “We can help you get them back. Same deal as before. You just need to help us take down Homelander.” 

“Otherwise it’s nap time, motherfucker,” M.M. says, holding up the gas mask more firmly. 

Ben glances back at him with impassive arrogance. He doesn’t show how the threat triggers anger and apprehension lacing taut down his spine. Not going back in the fucking box. He steels himself back up. If they fucking try it, he’ll blast them all to kingdom come. 

His lip curls in a sneer. “What makes you think I’d fucking trust any of you?”

“Because this time, we’ve got us an ace in the hole,” Butcher says. He looks over and beckons to someone just out of Ben’s sight in the hallway. 

When he steps into the room, out of the shadows, Ben just stares. Hard. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Two hours later…

Ben strides into the warehouse, now wearing his supe suit. His gun and knife are both strapped to his belt, but he still feels somewhat incomplete without his shield. That thing had his back for decades, before the titanium broke in two up in that Tower.

He’s still able to hear the zoom of cars occasionally passing by on State Highway 9336. Dusk is dimming the sun behind the horizon, casting a warm glow through the windows. The swamp of the Everglades lies on either side of the main road and surrounds the warehouse, which is probably why this place is full of old boating gear. The endless chirp of cicadas blends with the stench of sweat and rust and humidity. 

There’s a large back wall that’s open like a garage, with a cargo truck backed into it. Homelander is there, flanked by The Deep and Black Noir. Ben raises a brow at Noir. 

“Irving,” Ben greets, his brow raised in wary confusion. “Heard you were dead.”

“He’s not the man you knew,” Homelander says. His lips twitch at a smile.

Ben rolls his eyes. He doesn’t give much of a shit about Black Noir anyway. Whoever they have wearing that suit, he’s probably even weaker than the old Noir. 

“All right, I’m here. Now what’s this proposition?” Ben says.

He can hear shifting in the back of that truck. A whimper. His eyes narrow in on it with a deepening frown, as something in his chest tightens. It has to be you back there. You and your grandmother.

This plan better fucking work.

One Hour Ago

Ben doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the plan, let alone having to work with Butcher and his rag-tag group of assholes. But he can’t admit what he knows, deep down.

If he goes to face Homelander and his cocksucking groupies alone, he doesn’t know what’ll happen to you. Already, the thought of you in the hands of that petri dish prick boils his blood, and deep down, it stirs a foreign well of fear deep in his gut.  

He glances over at Butcher from the passenger seat, and then over his shoulder. The rest of the team is in the back of the van, with Frenchie and Ryan (Ben’s grandson?) locked in a game of Connect 4. Annie and Hughie are cheering Ryan on while Kimiko sits on the floor holding the game in place. Ben shakes his head at the scene. 

He doesn’t know how to feel about that damn Ryan, other than irritation.

“The kid might be strong, but is he really going to fight his own father?” Ben says to Butcher, in a lowered voice. He knows the kid will still hear him, but at least he pretends not to.

“Look, I’m tapped out on V24,” Butcher says. “We need every big gun we got, and the kid’s gonna shake him. In that Swiss cheese psychotic fucking brain o’ his, if nothing else.”

Ben snorts. Still, he finds it all hard to believe. “How’d you get him to turn on his own father?”

Butcher eyes him, but he ultimately keeps his attention on the traffic ahead.

“Just…told him the truth,” he replies.

“Whatever,” Ben shakes his head. “This is just a means to a fucking end, understand? If any of you get in my fucking way, I’m torching everybody. Any shady shit afterward? Say goodbye to your fucking nuts.”

That, he says loud enough for the entire car to hear him. Annie wears a bitch of a face, but Hughie shoots her an imploring look, like the whipped little pussy he is. The blonde eventually calms down, sharing a look with M.M. Even Ryan looks uncertain. Butcher gives him a reassuring look through the rearview mirror, before he turns to Ben.

“You don’t have to worry about that, guv. We’ve got it sorted this time,” he says. He also barely manages to stifle a wheezing cough.

Inside, Butcher knows he doesn’t have much longer. There’s no time for fuckups or hangups this time. This is truly the last try to end it all.

Now

Homelander notices Ben’s line of vision toward the truck, and his smile deepens. He gestures to The Deep, who steps back to the vehicle and grabs the door handle of the wide cargo bay. It shudders up to reveal you and Sofia, bound at the wrists and ankles with duct tape, gagged and blindfolded. 

Deep snatches the blindfold off of you so you can blink watery eyes at the change of light. Your gaze frantically takes in your surroundings until it catches on Ben. Fear gets momentarily replaced by a swell of relief. 

Ben sees it, and something reaches into his chest to squeeze like a vice. 

Deep grabs you up by your hair. You cry out around your gag and try to kick at his shin, but it’s no use. He just wrangles you against his chest in a hold that sparks Ben’s anger further. His teeth clench hard enough to creak in his ears.

Homelander notes his reaction with a sly smile. 

“The proposition is simple,” he begins, gathering his hands behind his back. He slowly paces the floor like it’s yet another stage. “You can come back with us with no fuss, get your life back. We’ll call it a miraculous rehabilitation of all the ‘crazy,’ and you and I will work together to create a stable, more united country.” 

Ben watches him with a stony gaze. Homelander shrugs his shoulders.

“Or, you can leave if you want. Fuck off back into obscurity. You’ll have to duck the CIA and the rest of the government hunting you down for the rest of your life, but I guess you’ll sorta be free.” Homelander halts his steps, meeting Ben’s gaze. “I’ll tell the press that I tried to stop you. Oh, how I tried. But you were too erratic, too unstable to control…”

He turns to point at you and Sofia, being held by The Deep and Black Noir at gunpoint. 

“Oh, and them?” Homelander says. “They’ll be the tragic victims in your escape.”

Ben’s jaw ticks. His anger grows and grows, but the more he seethes, the more satisfied Homelander becomes. 

“Ooh, you do look fucking angry,” Homelander teases. “Honestly, I’m kind of surprised that this is working as good as it is, but there’s no accounting for…taste.” 

His mouth quirks, eyeing you with disdain. You stare back at the supe in disgust. 

“Fuck you,” you toss at him through the gag. “Me cago en tu puta madre, grimy-ass motherfucker!”

Ben smirks, just a little. He has a feeling you’d be even more colorful with it if that gag wasn’t so damn tight. He doesn’t understand every word, but he doesn’t really need to.

Sofia utters your name in worry, though it’s muffled. The Deep kicks her roughly to the side. You thrash against him in outrage, trying to kick at his shins, but Deep grabs you by the face with a gloved hand. 

He smirks. “Ooh, got us a feisty little bitch.”

“Enough,” Ben’s voice booms throughout the room. 

You turn your tearful eyes on him. The hope and pleading shining in them strike a chord in his chest. But he forces himself to focus on Homelander, his lips curving with a smirk of his own. He thinks he understands this sniveling, thumb-sucking pussy even more now. 

“Is this the way you try to get what you want? All whiny and fucking desperate,” Ben says. “What, you can’t accomplish anything on your own? No, you need your old man to step in and validate your bullshit plans. Make you feel like you're worth something.” 

Homelander pauses the moment Ben began to speak. The more his words sunk in, the tighter Homelander’s face became, his lips twitching. His brow threatening to furrow.

Ben knows he’s hit a nerve. He actually chuckles. 

“I was right,” he says in satisfaction. “You’re just a broken fucking toy. And you always will be.”

Homelander angrily opens his mouth to retort, but his words get choked in his mouth. A blast of golden light breaks through a back window and hits him from the left. It actually makes him stumble, more from the surprise of it than anything. Annie and Kimiko ambush through the back door of the warehouse.

Kimiko goes after The Deep first, while Noir swings into action by fending off Butcher and M.M.’s guns. Homelander is shocked and angry at the intrusion, especially when Ben comes at him head-on. Ben knows he’s at a disadvantage though, especially because he no longer has his shield to help protect him from the other supe’s eyes burning red. 

A laser beam hits Ben right in the chest, pushing him several feet back. It tears through his suit, and even manages to hurt him, like a red-hot sunburn crackling across his skin. Ben throws up an arm to protect his face, for whatever good that’ll do him. His gaze unconsciously flits over to you. Deep still holds you by the arm as he fights off Annie, but your gaze meets Ben’s too in that moment. He reads your worry. For him. 

Homelander steps forward to start closing in. Ben grunts in pain against the onslaught of the burning laser against his arm and torso. His knee hits the ground hard, one hand bracing himself on the rough cement.

But another beam intervenes, hitting Homelander directly in the chest.

Fucking finally, Ben thinks. He watches Ryan run in ahead of him. The strength of his laser beams actually pushes Homelander back, his father pausing to stare back at him in shock. Ryan mostly ands firm, even after he pulls his powers back. His young face betrays his nerves, but also his determination.

“What…but…son, why?” Homelander utters. His expression falls into anger, after he glances from Butcher to Soldier Boy, and back at his son. “Has Butcher been talking to you? Filling your head with more fucking lies?”

“I just saw it with my own eyes,” Ryan says. He glances at you and Sofia in concern, then back at Homelander. “I saw you, Dad. You were going to hurt these people.”

Homelander rolls his eyes, chuckling a little. “Son, I was just—”

“And my mom,” Ryan says more firmly. Tears fill his eyes. “The whole reason she had me…was because you hurt her.”

Homelander’s jaw locks. In that moment, it was like watching cracks of the mask splinter in his eyes. He seems to come back to himself, grasping for words.

“S-Son, you know you can’t believe anything these mud people say—”

“No!” Ryan says. His eyes burn red and bright, and he lasers Homelander again. He grunts angrily, his own eyes taking on a glow. He meets Ryan’s attack with his own with a powerful beam. When Ryan begins to struggle, Butcher reaches out and grabs him back by his jacket, saving the kid from the backlash. 

Homelander stumbles back himself. He has seething menace in his eyes, but he turns back to The Deep, who ducks one of Annie’s blasts aimed right for his head.

“Deep!” he barks. “Fire up the contingency plan.”

Ben doesn’t like the fucking sound of that. He focuses himself, and tries to harness the power in his chest as he gets up from the ground. 

He becomes distracted when he hears Sofia’s disgruntled yelp. He sees her being helped out of the truck by Hughie and Frenchie while Kimiko continues to fight Noir. Hughie takes off her blindfold. But before Annie can get to you, Noir kicks her away. That’s when Kimiko jumps on his back and gets him into a headlock.

While Annie distracts him with star bolt after star bolt pelting his chest, Kimiko finally manages to snap his neck—until the bone breaks through the skin. Blood floods from his neck and splatters Kimiko’s face as she grits her teeth, but she holds onto the body until it hits the ground.

Annie holds out a hand to her and helps her up. Both women have to wipe the blood from their hands afterward. 

Meanwhile, The Deep climbs into the driver’s seat of the truck. He starts it up, then drives out of the open garage of the warehouse with you still inside. Your hands and feet are still bound, so you can barely support yourself as you get knocked around. You look up in panic.

“Ben!” you scream around your gag.

His head snaps over in your direction, his eyes widening a fraction. His brows furrow in anger.

He starts running for you, but Homelander cuts him off with a swift punch. Ben’s fury grows and grows, fueling the reactor bubbling in his chest cavity. It takes on that nuclear glow as he continues to fight the caped cunt.

“Aw shit,” M.M. says with widening eyes. “This place is about to fucking blow.”

“We need to get Deep anyway!” Annie calls back to him. She heads out of the warehouse along with Hughie, Kimiko, and Frenchie.

M.M. guides Sofia out with a protective arm around her shoulders, but she still looks back over her shoulder at Ben in worry.

Butcher grabs Ryan’s shoulder. “We’ve gotta get the fuck outta here!” 

Ryan begins to follow his lead, but he stops short, looking back at Ben. He’s keeping Homelander occupied for now, but there’s always a chance that he flies out of the blast range at the last minute. 

Even now, there’s a part of Ryan that doesn’t want to see his dad go down. He doesn’t want to see him die. But Ryan also knows that he’s the only one who can help. The only one who can end this…for his mom.  

Ben grabs Homelander by his cape and drags him to the ground, but Homelander kicks him off. Just as he’s about to break away and escape into the sky, Ryan flies over and punches him down to the ground, so hard that deep cracks form in the cement. 

Ryan levies punch after punch, until Homelander grabs the kid’s fist in an iron hold. Homelander stops, panting for breath. He laughs somewhat incredulously as he feels something wet at the corner of his mouth. His fingers came away bloody for the first time since he was a child. 

“Good try,” Homelander nods. He curls a wide backhand, ready to finally teach his son a real lesson.

He doesn’t know that he’s just given Ben a perfect shot.

Ryan kicks a solid heel at his father’s dick, making the man actually flinch with a muttered curse. Maybe it’s a cheap shot, but it lets the kid tear away from Homelander’s hold, just before the room becomes engulfed in a fiery explosion.

AN: 😬😬😬 We've finally made it to the grand finale in the next part!

Next Time:

You glance over at your esteemed “captor.” He sits at the ass-end of the airboat, in case he needs to start it up and steer. He’s been checking his phone every few minutes, frowning, like he’s waiting on someone’s call. Your worry has settled deep in your gut, but it’s mostly for Ben. Even out here, you and Deep saw the blast that likely ate up the entire warehouse, a huge plume of debris sweeping up into the air like a quintessential mushroom cloud.  

What the fuck happened with Homelander? Is Ben hurt? Starlight and her friends seemed to be helping him. Did they get out too? Is anyone looking for me?

Too many questions filter through your mind at a dizzying speed. 

If they are looking for me, maybe they need a little help. The idea grows in your mind as you stare at The Deep, and his playboy looking profile. You think of everything you’ve ever heard about the aquatic supe, especially about his recent divorce. A smile plays on your lips.  

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “Question. Do you fuck with alligators too, or you strictly into calamari?”

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Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List (Part 1):

@spnwoman @waynes-multiverse @luci-in-trenchcoats @rizlowwritessortof @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@deansbbyx @chernayawidow @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @chevroletdean

@foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @winchestergirl2

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @my-stories-vault @spnbabe67 @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2

[rizlowwritessortof]

Whoa, close one in the club, I think - and nice save!

Verrrrry nice. 🥵🔥🔥🔥

On to the next chapter, can't wait to see what his decision is!

UNRAVEL ME - Part 5

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: A slightly shorter chapter, but an important one. 😉

Song Inspo: “Please Me” by Bruno Mars ft. Cardi B

Word Count: 5.8K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, PTSD/trauma, smut (v. fingering, oral – m. receiving), romantic fluff, the big ultimatum…

💜 Series Masterlist

❤️ YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 5: Amor Prohibido

(Forbidden Love)

You pull up to your grandmother’s house and open up the trunk of your old Camry to start grabbing the groceries. Ben doesn’t let you, however. He loads up both arms, shooting you a wink.

Is this his way of hitting you with some old-fashioned chivalry? Does he think it’ll get him closer to slipping you a little something after he takes you out tonight?

You raise a brow, but you unlock the door for him and follow your pack mule to the kitchen. You put away the groceries while Ben stalks off to grab a shower. You’ll do the same, you suppose. You don’t want to look grungy while he’s looking all coiffed and smelling all good and…

Fuck, you rake a hand into your hair. Okay, it’s just one night hanging out. A couple drinks, maybe a little dancing, and we’ll come home at a reasonable hour so this man can get his rest, because even if I have to drive him to the airport and shove his ass on that plane myself, he’s getting the fuck out of here.

Because the longer he stays, the more you find yourself conflicted. He’s cut as hell, sure. He’s got a jaw that could break some glass, as well as your spine. Big hands that could probably handle you every which way—but no. Fuck no.

The man was insufferable. Dangerous. He’d literally taken someone out in front of you, even if it was to save you (and himself from being caught).

Still, you pick out a dress to wear. You take an “everything shower,” exfoliating, shaving, cleansing, moisturizing, and even brushing your teeth. You style your hair and pick out your best bra for the little red dress, plus something lacy to match underneath.

You’re still doing your makeup with a painstaking hand when your grandma slips inside your room. She finds you in the bathroom, surrounded by bottles and products, combs and makeup brushes, eyeshadow and lipstick. She raises a brow.   

“Hmm, and what’re you doing in here?” she asks, with a knowing gleam in her eyes. “You’re going out? I’m making dinner, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna show Ben around town after dinner,” you reply, though you pause. “Or, I mean. I guess he wants to take me out. Whatever.”

Sofia spies your little smile. You can’t quite hide it while you smooth out your eyeliner. She gives you a softer look through the mirror. You hesitate again when you notice her.

“What?” you ask. 

“Ay, mija. If you love him, you should just tell him,” she says.

Your head quirks in confusion and a recoiling expression of fuck no. You open your mouth to set her straight, but then you remember a key tidbit: she’s supposed to think he’s your boyfriend.

And that look on her face says even more. Her smile evokes the wrinkles and laugh lines in her cheeks, a certain impish gleam. Your eyes narrow slightly as you begin to realize…

“You really think I wouldn’t recognize ese Soldier Boy when you brought him into my house?” she says in amusement. Her arm gestures wide, and in the direction of the guest room where Ben is also presumably getting ready for tonight.

The rest, she says in Spanish. “I’ve grown up watching his movies since I was a little girl. He was more clean-shaven back then, but the beard isn’t so bad, no?”

You splutter laughing, covering your face with both hands to hide your embarrassment. You really should’ve known better than to try pulling a fast one on your grandma, of all people. Despite pushing her late seventies, the old woman’s memory is still sharp as hell.

“And your boyfriend let the cat out of the bag himself this morning when he couldn’t remember your last name. After four months? Pfff,” Sofia says, waving a dismissive hand. Her face then shifts, becoming more stern. “What I don’t know is why you lied to me, eh?”

You lower your eyes contritely. “Sorry, Mamá.”

“Mhmm,” she says wryly. “Why don’t you tell me why he’s here, and I’ll fix your hair.”

You frown. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

She just shakes her head and guides you to sit on the closed toilet lid.

“Eh-eh. Sit down, I’ll fix,” she insists.

“I mean, I spent a lot of time…” you start to say, but at one sharply raised brow from your grandma, you pipe down. “Okay, well, I guess I just gotta start from the beginning.”

So you do. You tell her the whole story, from the moment you ran into Ben in that alley, him forcing himself into your car and into your apartment, how he threatened you, though he never actually hurt you. You glide over some of the more intense parts of your buddy comedy road trip, namely all the murder and dumping Webweaver’s body into a lake—type shit, but at least you and Ben (and your car) made it here in once piece.

“And now you’re going out with him tonight?” your grandma asks, with a knowing smile.

“Out of everything I just told you, that’s what you focus on?” you snip. She tugs at your hair, earning a yelp out of you. She shushes you for good measure while she continues styling you.

“It’s not like that between me and Ben,” you say, after a beat of hesitation. “He’s just…arrogant. He’s annoying. He’s old-fashioned, and he’s such a…a man.” When Sofia steps back, fluffing your hair one last time. You reach for your perfume and spray all the key spots: both sides of the neck, elbow creases, wrists, and a quick one down your cleavage. 

Sofia’s lips once again twitch at a smile.

“He’s also, uh, kind of funny. In his own way,” you admit, thinking of the time you two watched The Princess Bride together. His frustrated commentary at Buttercup had been fucking hilarious. “And you know, he likes it when I cook for him. Doesn’t think it’s too ethnic or too weird. He told me I shouldn’t give up on my art.”

You pause when catch your own reflection in the mirror, realizing that your face is warm just thinking about it. About him. 

“And what do you think that means?” Sofia asks. She meets your gaze in the mirror. 

You turn away though, blinking those dumb, naive thoughts away. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you say. “Even if he stayed, he’s not the kinda guy who settles for the little brown girl. His life is bigger than mine. More dangerous too.”

“Dangerous,” Sofia echoes, her eyes narrowing. “The way you’ve gotten in trouble with the law because of him?”

“Yeah, exactly,” you sigh. You take her hand with both of yours. “Mamá, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bringing all this to you.”

“Ay, mija,” she says. My daughter. She brushes your hair back and kisses your forehead. In those two words, you know what she means.

Nosotros somos familia.

We’re family.

We protect each other. 

“The way I see it,” she says, “he’s our only hope of stopping Homelander. Or else, this country will end up just like Cuba. With a tyrant, a madman, destroying everything we’ve built for ourselves.”

You hold in a sigh as your heart sinks, measure by measure.

You don’t have it in you to tell her that Ben’s not that guy. He’s already checked the fuck out on being a real hero. He probably never was to begin with.

After dinner with your grandmother, Ben insists on driving when the two of you go out, even though you’re not really in the mood to have a good time anymore. Let alone with him.

You smile politely when he says, with actual sincerity, You look beautiful.

Though you do have to fight a blush at the way he looks at you, his green eyes roaming up and down your body from the shade of read on your lips, down to the tall, strappy heels on your feet, like he’s trying to commit each of your curves to memory without even touching you.

You can’t allow yourself to enjoy the way he hums along to the radio, or the way he fights Miami traffic like an old man, yelling obscenities through the closed window. You can’t see the point of allowing yourself relax or smile, or even let him touch you. Because eventually, he’ll have to leave. 

When he pulls up to the nightclub you told him about, you try not to let yourself react to his hand guiding you inside by the small of your back, or the way that hand moves around your waist to keep you close in the throng of warm bodies and pulsating music. 

He wears one of the black button-down shirts you bought him, along with some dark brown slacks. You gave him one of your grandfather's old flat caps to help hide his face from potential street and building cameras. He didn't seem too concerned about the exposure when you two left the house, but you know that he's on edge.

This scene probably isn’t what he’s used to. Even if it was, it's been literal decades since he's been in a club, so you know you have to do some leading too. You can feel him tense up every time someone else brushes against him. He’s frowning, thick brows knitted together as he looks around.

“What the fuck is this music?” he asks in your ear, so you can actually hear him.

You realize then that this might be a little much for him. If you can feel the bass of the rap music in your chest, you can only imagine what this is like for him.

You think of that night, when you had to wake Ben from what was likely a horrible nightmare. You chew your lip in concern, noting the way his eyes flicker across the room. You need to pull yourself out of your funk for now.

“Let’s get a couple drinks, then we can go dance!” you suggest, giving him an encouraging smile. Ben relaxes, just slightly. He allows you to guide him with your arm wrapping around his.

You two sit at the bar for a little while, thought admittedly it’s too loud to hear one another. And even after two glasses of scotch, he’s still reluctant to get up and dance with you.

The truth is, this whole place is grating on Ben. It’s too fucking loud, and he’s already regretting the way he let you talk him into coming here. He should’ve followed his instincts and taken you to a movie or something.

“Well, what do you want to do, sit here all night?” you ask. He doesn’t appreciate the testiness already creeping into your tone. The pulsing lights and deep thump, thump, thump of the bass is setting him on edge, catching in the edges of his vision.

The gleam of camera flashes, Crimson Countess’s fake fucking smile, a mask falling over his face, the gleam of sharp silver and whirring sounds, smoke rising from his own flesh.

“If that’s what the fuck I feel like doing, then that’s what the fuck I’ll do,” he snarks, without even really looking at you. He keeps his gaze firmly ahead on the rows of taps on the bar, as if that can stop him from gripping his glass tighter. He sets it down on the counter, so he doesn’t shatter it.

“Are you serious? That’s your idea of a good time?” you ask incredulously. You slide out of your seat and stare at him with your hands on your hips. “Why did you want to come out with me then if you’re not even going to hang out with me? Maybe I’ll just go dance with someone else.”

“Go right ahead and fuck off then, sweetheart,” he snapped. He tossed back a big mouthful of his third scotch.

You begin to bristle in anger, about to tell him where he could fuck off to while you were busy actually trying to have fun…until you catch that look in his eyes, glazed over and unresponsive.

Your brows furrow. “Ben?”

He slightly flinches at the clink and shatter of a glass when a man nearby stumbles on something sticky on the floor. Ben blinks hard, his jaw working.

Something’s wrong. You know it in your blood.

So you act. You call his name more insistently, earning his attention. You circle your arm around his and lead him off the stool. “Let’s go.”

“…Where?” he says, belatedly.

“Just follow me,” you say with a wink, adopting a more flirtatious smile. You don’t know how much of him is actually in this moment with you, but maybe that’ll get his attention. You shift your hold on his arm and take his hand instead.

You lead him away from the tight crowd on the dance floor and around the bar, and into a dark hall near the bathrooms. It’s still loud though, that baseline dropping as the DJ’s sirens go off in the club. 

Ben stumbles, his left hand shooting out to smack heavily against the wall. He dents the plaster. You quickly move in front of him and rest your hands against his chest.

“Ben, you with me?” you say in a measured tone. “Hey, you okay? You hearing me?”

His brows furrow in answer, but you can tell he’s not all there. His breathing is growing ragged. You feel his chest getting warm, and then hot. 

Oh, fuck, your blood runs cold. Is this the strange new explosive power that nearly crumbled Vought Tower? Is this club about to get wiped off the map, like that building in Midtown? Are you about to get blown sky high along with it?

No. Fuck that. 

You grab his face in your hands. “Ben, you focus on me, okay? Before you blow your cover. Before you hurt someone.”

He blinks at that, and even begins to push you away.

“Fuck off,” he grunts.

Run, is what he thinks. Instinct tells him to push you a way, literally. Before you get yourself fucking killed. Before he…

Again, you’re not having it.

You raise yourself up on your toes and give him a forceful kiss. 

He breathes sharply through his nose. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with his lips. Piece by piece, he’s able to ground himself and realize where he is, the feeling of your hands cradling his face, your breasts pressing against his chest. 

Then he grabs a hold of your waist with an iron grip, dragging you to him and holding you flush against his body. He slowly begins to respond, sucking your lower lip into his mouth. The warmth in his chest cools to embers, but the heat between you two shifts. He sinks his fingers into your hair and squeezes the flesh of your hip, then your ass.

He presses you against him, and you moan at the firm planes of his body against yours. His semi-hard cock already strains against his slacks, trapped between you and pressing against your stomach.   

You two end up stumbling into the women’s bathroom, where he clears the room of a few 20-something girls retouching their makeup. 

“Get the fuck out,” he growls.

Gasping in fear, the girls pack up their little purses and scatter.

You laugh breathlessly, earning the edge of Ben’s smirk, before he hefts you up onto the bathroom counter by your hips. A yelp escapes you, but you recover quick, gripping his shirt and pulling him down to you for a rough kiss. His tongue invades your mouth and plunders where he sees fit, all while those big hands smooth down the gentle slope of your back, along the curve of your waist, and finally squeezing your ass cheeks again. A low hum resonates in his throat at the feel of you, soft and pliant under his hands.  

You giggle in response. “An ass-man, huh?” you whisper against his lips.

Ben chuckles. He blazes open mouthed kisses along your jaw, takes your earlobe between his teeth. When he speaks, his voice is full of aroused grit in your ear. “Call me a connoisseur. You’ve got the most delectable fucking ass I’ve seen since before I went under.”

Before you can even shudder in reaction, he grabs your thighs and pulls you right to the edge of the counter. You pay him the favor of wrapping your legs around his hips and grinding your core against the growing bulge in his slacks. He groans.

“Fucking soaked already, sweetheart? I’ll bet you are,” he grunts. “Let’s fucking see.”

He bunches the skirt of your dress up to the tops of your thighs and drags your panties down. The lace burns across your skin when the fabric tears. You gasp, provoking his grin. He pulls them off your thighs and tucks them into his back pocket. He considered ripping them right off you, but he wants to save them for later.

While one hand winds into your hair and grabs the back of your neck, the other slips between your legs and brushes long fingers through the slippery folds of your pussy. You whimper at the first brushing contact, grabbing his shoulders tight. Your nails bite into flesh through the fabric when he finds your weeping channel, a smirk already spreading across his face.

“Oh, yeah. Fucking soaked,” he murmurs. Two deft finger pads carry some of that wetness up to stroke your clit, and you utter his name with abandon. Your thighs clench, and he tightens his hold on your hair while he works you over with his fingers. First just circling your clit, then shifting to his thumb, increasing the pressure. His ring and forefinger slip deeply into your pussy and curl inside your walls; the sensation raises you half off the counter as you whimper in his ear.

“Ben,” you say, broken and needy. Your hips buck against his hand desperately. 

“That’s it, baby. I gotcha,” he says. His voice is both rough and smooth in your ear. And when you finally come, your inner walls fluttering tight around his fingers, he swallows your cries with a ravaging kiss. He strokes you through your shuddering orgasm. His thumb continues to firmly circle your clit, until you whine into his mouth and squeeze his hand again.

“Oh fuck…” Your thighs tremble hard as a second wave of sensation emanates deeply from your core. Your fingers are scraping through his hair, then holding onto his strong arms tight as you heave for breath.

He finally withdraws his hand and strokes your back as you come down. His smirk presses against your temple.

“That’s a two for one, sweetheart. You’re fucking welcome,” he says.

You roll your eyes at his self-satisfied tone, but a blush still warms your face. He certainly knows what the hell he’s doing.

You thank him with a thorough kiss; it’s slow, but no less heady when you sensuously lick into his mouth. For a moment, he loses himself in you with a groan of pleasure. He squeezes your waist on reflex.  

Your hand slips over the buttons and wrinkled fabric of his shirt, a nice olive green that you picked out for him. You brush past his belt and stroke his thick, hard arousal through his slacks. Already it’s bigger than you thought. Jesus.

You pull away though, making Ben raise a brow at you.

An amused smile twitches at your lips. “I’m gonna return the favor, don’t you worry. But I’m not getting on my knees in this dirty fucking bathroom.”

You manage to slide off the counter on your legs now somewhat turned to jelly. Ben grabs your waist again when you nearly lose your balance. You smile in thanks, slipping your hand into his.

“Come on,” you whisper.

You lead him out of the bathroom, and out of the club entirely.

If there’s one thing Ben won’t miss about Miami, it’s the cocksucking motherfucking traffic.

It’s backed up for a mile cross the bridge leaving Miami Beach, and even heading to the island is a narrow two-lane bridge packed with cars.

It’s almost midnight, for Christ’s sake!

Once again, your music is playing in the car speakers, though this time at least it’s at a moderate volume.

You notice him tapping the wheel with two fingers. The same fingers that made you come twice in under ten minutes. You shifted in your seat, your thighs subtly rubbing together. Ben is too annoyed staring out at the traffic not moving in front of him to notice you eying him. You’d had an idea of where to go next in order to give you two some privacy, but you figure now is as good a time as any to make good on a promise.

You unclip your seatbelt and finally earn Ben’s attention with furrowed brows. He watches you bite your lip, the briefest hesitance before your smile peeks through. You turn up the radio, a little Bruno Mars giving some perfect mood music.

Then you’re leaning over to unbuckle his seatbelt as well. It’s in the way of his actual belt, which you work open with slow movements.

Ben’s smirk overtakes his face.

“What’cha doing, sweetheart?” he asks, despite knowing full well.

He spreads his muscles thighs a bit wider to make room for you while you unzip his slacks and slip your hand past the band of his boxer briefs. His eyes darken when you get a full hand of him and pull him free.

“Just thought this ride needed a little more entertainment,” you tease, swirling your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock. Already it was swollen and weeping for you. You lower down and licked up the salty beads, smiling when he swears. He shifts against the seat.

“Just don’t crash my fucking car,” you say, just before you take his cock into your mouth. It takes some work to get him all the way down. It’s not just the length, but the girth that you can barely wrap your whole hand around. You suck just the tip first, literally just getting a taste for him. You salivate around him, not just because the guttural sounds he’s making turn you on, but because it lets you slip your way down his cock easier.

Eventually he hits the back of your throat, making tears spring to your eyes. But you take your time and breathe through it, starting again at a faster pace. The tempo of the song works perfectly.

His grunts and heavier breathing, along with his hand falling into your hair and clenching tight let you know how well you’re doing. You begin to quicken your pace, sucking him hard and sloppy.

“Fuck—” he groans. His hips buck into your mouth on reflex and make you choke. You slip halfway off of him as you cough.

“Aw, shit,” he grunts. He forces his fingers to relax in your hair. “You’re good. You got it.”

You squeeze his thigh in retaliation, but you can’t help but choke out a laugh.

“Maybe try not to kill me with your cock, okay?” you reply.

He smirks. “There are worse ways to fucking go.”

“You would say that shit,” you roll your eyes. But you’re serious about what you’re doing, and you take him more firmly into your hands. You work him back up with slow, sensuous strokes before you grace him with your talented mouth again. By the time Ben’s able to drive away from Miami Beach, he’s narrowly avoided causing two fender benders and sending a bicyclist over the fucking bridge.

But you finally sit back in your seat, catching your breath and wiping the remnants of his spend from the corner of your lips. He eyes you, now more relaxed and amused while catching his breath. You wear a self-satisfied smile of your own.

“Ooh, park here! Hurry before someone takes it!” you point out a parking spot in excitement. Ben has circled the packed, narrow parking lot three times, but you’re here. You’ve led him to Bayside, the downtown area in the mainland.

There you take his hand and lead him to the outdoor music venue. A Latin band is playing tonight, and a trio of trumpets joins the melody of an enthusiastic pianist and the rhythmic beat of conga drums. 

It’s much more relaxed and not so overwhelmingly loud as the nightclub, even though there’s just as many people. Bayside is also just a big string of kiosks and outdoor vendors.

Ben buys you ice cream, raising a brow, but not commenting at your three giant scoops. You don’t play when it comes to ice cream, you tell him. 

Though he’s amused when you give yourself brain freeze, as well an ice cream mustache. He kisses it off the corner of your mouth with a quick swirl of his tongue. You blink up at him, laughing a little like you can’t believe he just did that.

Ben smirks and pulls you in by your waist, there in the middle of tourists and locals alike, shopping and eating and talking and laughing. Ben bows his head to claim your lips with his own. He tastes rum raisin and coconut on your tongue, and you taste rich Rocky Road on his. 

After a while, you break away slightly to rest your forehead against his. His heart gallops under your palm.

“What’re we doing?” you whisper.

“Making tonight count,” he says, slowly smirking. “As many times as we fucking can.”

The band on stage shifts into the next song—a more sensuous bachata.

Biting your lip, you toss your empty ice cream cup in the trash and return to Ben, grabbing his hand.

“Dance with me then,” you ask him. You implore him with your eyes.

He takes a breath, but he nods and allows you to guide him closer to the band. You stop on the edge of the bigger cluster of people dancing, keeping on the outskirts.

“Remember what Mamá taught you this morning?” you say, guiding his hand to your waist and the other in your hand. “There, just like that.”

You start slow, even slower than the music itself. It takes a bit of time for Ben to relax, but when he does, it’s because he’s finally remembering the steps he learned. He leads more often than you do, even if he does get distracted by that freeing look in your eyes, and the sway of your hips.

When the music slows, so does Ben. He holds you closer and moves in a simple two-step. Your gaze meets his for a moment. That silence between you is charged with things that won’t be said.

It’s near two in the morning when Ben pulls the car into the driveway of Sofia’s house. As much as you would like to continue this strange new world between you two, you feel like you’re adrift at sea, lost in the swell of his tide, and everything you didn’t want to feel rising to the surface.

“So, this has been fun, but…” You take a breath. “Ben, are you really leaving, or not? Be honest with me, what are we doing here? Are we just fucking around or…”

After after tonight, is that really all this is? What does he want from you? 

Ben hesitates, but he tucks a few stray curls behind your ear, even though most of them don’t obey him.

“Come with me,” he says eventually. “We can make it a vacation for two.”

You’re surprised by his offer. Your insides flutter, but the hard reality checks back in. 

“Ben—”

“Just think about it,” he says, looking away. His gaze casts to the throng of people, dancing, eating, laughing, living. The difference between him and them, is that Ben knows he’s on borrowed time. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

For a moment, you actually do consider it. You shake your head though.

“Ben, I can’t. My family’s here. My life is here,” you say.

His eyes begin to dim. Then, he frowns.

“What life?” he says. “You’ve got no fucking job, and you’re moving back in with your grandmother. You’ve got even less going for you here than I do.”

You gape at him. Your disbelief turns to anger, but you leave the car without a word—just a huff of exasperation.

Ben shuts off the car and follows after you just as steamed up, even as he watches the sway of your hips in that dress when you walk. You stop abruptly on the walkup to the door, and you spin around on those impressive heels.

“You know what? You’re right. I am a hot fucking mess,” you snap. The beginnings of tears well up in your eyes, halting him where he stands. “But you know what? The difference is I have a family to hold me down until I figure it out.”

You gesture at him widely with both hands. 

“But you…you don’t even know the meaning of the word. Family. Lover. Friend. You don’t have a fucking clue!”

Ben’s face tightens into a glare, but his reaction only spurs you on.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you spit. “You don’t have anything or anyone. If you did, maybe you wouldn’t have spent 40 years on ice, and maybe you wouldn’t have needed me to hide your ass like a fucking refugee.” 

He grabs your hand when you try to walk away from him, and he forces you to turn around. You find yourself staring up into his darkened eyes.

“I’ve warned you about that fucking mouth of yours,” he growls.

You scoff in his face. “I think we both know what you think of my mouth.” 

With that, you rip your hand out of his grip. He actually allows you to do it, which surprises both of you. 

You turn on your heel and walk into the house, leaving him to brood for a while. God knows he’s good at that.

You enter the house as quietly as you can. You realize just how loud you were being outside, but hopefully you didn’t wake up your grandma.

You find her passed out and snoring on the living room couch while the TV blares. Your smile of amusement lightens you from the stress in your crunched brows. You go to her and fix the throw blanket she’s half-covered herself with, making sure it covers her feet, up to her shoulders. She’s a plump lady who gives the best hugs, but she’s short. The blanket covers her just right when you settle it the right way.

You grab the remote and turn the TV down by half the volume. She must have taken her hearing aids out.

Hearing Ben’s clomping steps behind you though, you still turn to shush him over your shoulder. Ben rolls his eyes, but otherwise ignores you. The two of you part ways into your respective bedrooms. 

It’s not the way you thought this night would end, but maybe it’s for the best. You slip out of your heels and take off your hoop earrings while the entire night goes through your head again. The club, his near meltdown at the club, and the way you successfully distracted him…

So fucking annoying, you think, when you picture his stubborn, arrogant face.

But then, you remember his hands on your body, and his rich, sinful voice in your ear.

You think you paid him back pretty well though. It gets you hot again just thinking about the sounds he made, his hand clenching in your hair. He’d had to grip the headrest of your seat to make sure he wouldn’t hurt you, digging his strong fingers into the plush foam. You couldn’t help but relive how satisfied it made you to get those reactions out of him, but also, just how he’d unraveled you with a practiced hand. 

You don’t regret anything you said, but…maybe it’s okay to let yourself want him.

Just for tonight. 

You leave your room, closing it behind you. You pad across the hall on bare feet and knock lightly on his door. You know his hearing is sharp enough to have heard it.

A few short moments later, he opens the door and regards you with nonchalance. There’s a gleam of curiosity in his eyes, though. 

“Can I come in?” you ask.

His bows furrow. “What, here to chap my ass some more?”

To your surprise, however, he actually lets you in. You smile slightly at his wording, but you go to him. You’re not sure what he sees when he looks at you, but you don’t try to hide what you feel, or what you want when you look up at him. 

“Look, I don’t wanna fight anymore,” you say. Hesitantly, you reach out a hand and touch his chest, still warm through his shirt. Again, you’re reminded of what happened in the club, and all the scars he tries to hide.

“So what is it that you want?” Ben asks, but, his tone has a shade less sharpness in it.

“I want to make tonight count,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hands slide up his arms and squeeze tight on his biceps. “I want you to touch me, and make me come until I can't remember my fucking name.” 

You whisper the words against his chest, pressing a kiss there. 

“Let me feel you too, and I’ll help you let go for a while,” you promise. 

Ben’s hands slip around your waist. His eyes darken with a desire that never truly left. He bows his head to begin, but you hold a finger to his lips. 

“But then, I need you to make a decision,” you say. “If you stay, you stay, and we can figure out how to get your life back. Both of our lives back.” You pause, just to heave a shaky sigh. “But if that’s not what you want, then you have to go. You leave in the morning, and you don’t come back, because I can’t take this shit anymore—”

Ben kisses you hard, cutting off your words. He drags you tighter into his embrace and turns you around, guiding you onto his bed. Your head falls against the pillows with a huff.

His body comes in to cage you, but you welcome his weight as he wraps his arms around you. You kiss him back more fervently, and there’s an underlying desperation here. You just don’t know if it’s yours, or his. 

You help him yank his shirt off, ripping buttons as you go. You finally get to feel his warm, bare skin and kiss wherever your hands explore. His fingers tangle into your hair, in a way he seems to like doing. He yanks your face up to his for a ravaging kiss, all teeth and tongue and sloppy wet. 

“Ben, wait,” you pant for breath. You hold his face in your hands. “Just…please, don’t break me.”

Ben pauses, blinking down at you with kiss-swollen lips. 

He has a moment of gentleness, sweeping his thumb across your cheek. His lips curve into a grin. 

“Don’t you fucking worry, Chiquita. I’m about to take good care of you.”

AN: 😘 The best is yet to come (lol)...

Next Time:

In the morning, you wake to a firm chest beneath your cheek. The fuzz of his chest hair makes your nose wrinkle.

You move over a little, so you can bury your face into his neck instead. You stretch yourself out long, before sinking boneless against him. He chuckles deeply, sinking his fingers in your wild hair that tickles his cheek and his neck.

“Well, good morning,” he says, his voice rasping with sleep and heady in its meaning. 

You hum in contentment. You begin to press small, lazy kisses under his jaw, down his neck. He cups your cheek with his large hand and guides you back, so he can see your face and greet you properly. 

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: PART 6

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Soldier Boy Masterlist

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Soldier Boy Tag List (Part 1):

@spnwoman @waynes-multiverse @luci-in-trenchcoats @rizlowwritessortof @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

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@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2

[rizlowwritessortof]

He can be really smooth when he wants to. When they say 'lock up your grandmas' on The Boys promos, they're not kidding! 😂 I think he's having a lot of fun charming Sofia, and she's having a ball flirting with him - I kind of love her character! 😊🥰

And I think Ben is enjoying himself, because why else is he hanging around longer than planned? Not that he would admit that!

Finally catching up here, on to the next chapter!! 🥰

UNRAVEL ME - Part 4

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: Here we go! Another big step in their adventure...

Song Inspo: “Mi Muchachita” by Luis Segura (English lyrics)

Word Count: 8.8K

Tags/Warnings: Fake dating (lol), meet the family, some old-school machismo, Dominican food, bachata, “North Cuba” (Miami), angst, rom-com vibes

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❤️ YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 4: Food & Family

After driving through the loops of highway along I-95, Ben grows frustrated at the thirty or so signs of exits that lead to different parts of the city. One wrong turn, and it could send you miles away from where you were—even over the bridge to Miami Beach.

You consult the GPS on your iPad, since your new “burner” phone is just an old-style flip phone. 

You’re able to point him where to go to get to the airport. He finally takes the right exit, but he pulls off the highway split, off the main road, and heads into the alley of a side street.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer you, just pulls to a stop and shifts the car into park.

“It’s been fun, sweetheart, but I think it’s time we part ways here. I’ve got a couple errands to run before I get the fuck out of here,” he says.

You consider him shrewdly. “Errands? What the hell do you mean? How’re you gonna even get a plane ticket? You don’t have any money…”

And it dawns on you. You suck in a breath, then you glare at him.

“What’re you going to do, Ben?”

“That’s my fucking business, all right?”

“What’re you gonna do, knock over a bank? Kill a few people on your way out?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, sweetheart,” he says. He looks at the darkening alley ahead rather than at you. He’s keeping an eye out for anyone that might spot you two in the car, until you lean over and lay a hand on his forearm.

“Ben,” you say. “Look, I’ll pay for your ticket.”

His brows crunch together. “I don’t want your fucking money, all right?”

You hesitate. Now that’s a first. But you still take your hand back to start digging into your purse for your wallet. He reaches out and stops you with a big, warm hand over yours. Firm.

“You hear what I fucking said?” he snaps.

You just sigh. “Ben, breaking into a bank—”

“Doesn’t have to be a fucking bank.”

“All right, a store! Either way, that might raise a few alarms, don’t you think?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Ben says. His gaze cuts away from you and toward the city behind you both.

Suddenly, it hits you. This is it. No more of this asshole being a human crater exploding into your life. 

But it’s also kind of hard to imagine him getting on that plane alone, fucking off to obscurity again. You bite your lip while considering him. It feels like a waste.

“What if…what if you stay and fight?” you say. “Fight off Homelander. Expose him for the piece of shit he is.”

Ben’s steely expression just hardens further. “I’m done talking about that frosted hole. Whatever formula they mixed him with in that fucking lab, it didn’t come out of my ball sack.” 

You roll your eyes. God, he’s so gross. “Ben. For God’s sake. Don’t deflect—”

“You do realize I have the FBI, the CIA, and the whole rest of the alphabet soup on my ass, right?” he says. Finally, he looks at you. “They don’t want me here. They didn’t even try to find me when the fucking Commies… So no. Fuck ‘em. I’ll make new somewhere else.”

It’s truly incredible, considering how damn angry you were at him yesterday. Angry and afraid.

Now, you begin to feel a twinge of…concern. Yes, he’s arrogant and vulgar, selfish, and more than a bit of a dick at times. He’s killed people, whether on accident or on purpose, even if it was partially for your sake. But after last night, getting just a glimpse of what he went through, you wonder if he really deserves to be run out of the country. 

I may regret this, but…

“Listen,” you begin. “It’s getting late. Do you want to have dinner with me and my family? You’ll get some good food, one more night States’ side.”

Ben looks just as surprised by your offer as you are to suggest it. His lips begin to quirk upward, albeit incredulously.

“You offering to be my tour guide?” he asks.

You give him a knowing look. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s just dinner. Nothing else.”

You raise a finger, gesturing at him to hold on a second, and you grab your phone to call your mom first. She’s easier to talk to than your father, who would probably bombard you with questions about the trip and why it was taking you so long to get home.

“Hello?” your mom answers.

“Hey, it’s me,” you reply.

“Why are you calling from this weird number? Did something happen to your phone? Is that why you haven’t been answering our calls?”

“Yeah, sorry, I lost my phone and had to get a replacement,” you lie on the fly. You’ve had to get good at it over the past week. “I made it to Miami though. I’m almost home.”

“Oh, that’s great! Meet at Mamá’s house though. We’re making dinner right now,” she says.

You smile. Looks like Ben is going to get to meet your grandma too. “Really? Oh, okay. We’ll meet you there then.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“Oh, I’m uh…bringing a friend,” you say, though your face begins to heat in a blush at the way Ben smirks at you.

“A friend, huh?” your mom asks, in a suspicious tone.

“Yeah, okay see you soon!” You hang up the phone before she can ask you any more questions. Sometimes she can be as bad as your dad. You shift your attention to Ben.

“Okay, let’s switch seats. I think it’ll be easier if I drive,” you say.

He raises a skeptical brow at you. “Where are we going?”

You offer him a smile. “Oh, just wait. You’re in for a good time.”

Homelander’s angry strides are heavy and unmistakable. Vought employees veer out of his way and give him a wide berth, keeping their heads down all the while. His heated steps bring him to the Surveillance team, where The Deep has been at the helm for the past couple of months.

And what the fuck does he have to show for it? He’s sipping a soda while flirting with one of the glorified interns trying to sort through the classified files on her screen. Deep perks up when he notices Homelander barging into the room.

“Oh! Hey, sir—”

“Where the fuck is my son?” Homelander snaps.

Ever since the incident last week, Ryan has been ducking out of his room more than usual. Despite him choosing the right side, Homelander’s side, Ryan hasn’t been working with the production team on his superhero image.

Nothing useful has come in about Soldier Boy, and now Butcher has disappeared from their sight as well. Though that one doesn’t matter so much. Homelander will be happy to see that bastard die of the cancer already eating his brain. There’s probably nothing Homelander could do that would be more fucking hilarious than that.

“Uhh, not sure, sir. But we do have something new on the Soldier Boy front,” Deep says. He cues a finger at the girl, Ashley or Annika or whatever the fuck her name is.

She presses a play button on her computer screen, and Homelander bends at the waist to scrutinize the footage. It captures an alleyway between the main building of Vought Tower and the garage.

“This is the day of the, um, the incident,” she adds.

Soldier Boy exits the building, stumbling out really. He eventually crosses paths with a young woman. To Homelander, she almost seems familiar.

Soldier Boy grabs her arm, says something to her that makes her eyes widen with fear, then drags her toward him so he can cover her mouth with his hand. They wait there against the wall for almost thirty seconds. Then, he pulls her into the garage with him.

“Who the fuck is that?” Homelander asks.

Allie chimes in. “Ah, she was a Vought employee, sir. She recently quit without prior notice.”

“See, we had Webweaver on this, but the police just found his body in Lake Marion, South Carolina,” Deep says. 

A slow smile spreads across Homelander’s face. “Fucking finally.”

“Uhh, what?” Deep says.

It’s a lead, Homelander thinks. A trail. One step closer to hunting down dear old Dad. 

Emphasis on fucking old.

Your grandmother lives south, west, and more west, almost right on the edge of the Everglades—a 1.5-million-acre wetlands protected by the state. When tourists and natives alike end up on the news for getting their limbs bit off by alligators or left half-dead by a cottonmouth snake, it’s usually because they were stupid enough to hike through the mangroves and jump into the swampy waters alone.

You pull up in front of your grandma’s house and park in the paved driveway. It’s a modest three-bedroom, Spanish-style home that your dad grew up in with his two brothers, your Uncle Felix and Uncle Luis. They re-painted the outer walls the color of a soft sunset in golden orange, the roof tiles a darker terracotta. A rod iron gate around the property meets at the front with a small arch Ben will later have to duck his head under.

You can already smell freshly cut grass as the sprinklers run in the front yard, but for the moment, you stay in the car to figure out the game plan.

“So,” Ben says, “what role am I playing for tonight, sweetheart? Your work friend, or your boyfriend? Both have their pros and cons, and potential benefits.”

His grin is far too cocksure not to irritate you on sight. You’re already regretting this lapse in your sanity that led you to try being nice to this asshole.

You also realize that you haven’t exactly thought this through. What if they recognize him from the news? 

…Well, your parents don’t like social media and your grandmother barely even knows how to text, let alone what Instagram is. 

“Let’s just play it by ear,” you say, resisting a sigh. “But for now…God, fine, you’re my boyfriend.”

“Okay,” he gamely nods. “How long’ve we been dating?”

“Long enough for me to bring you to see my parents, so let’s say a few months,” you say. Then, you grab his wrist. “Please, try to tone down the cursing and general pussy talk around my family. They’re Catholic and…conservative.”

Again, his lips twitch upward in a way you don’t really like.

“Sure,” he says, “I can turn on the charm.”

He turns his wrist under your grasp to bring your hand up to his lips. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I can be very convincing.” 

A warm blush spreads across your cheeks, prickling down your neck.

Shit. You’re already regretting this. 

After slipping your hand from his grasp so you can look yourself over in the little car mirror, you get out of the car first. Ben follows your lead and walks up to the front door with you. 

You look over at him with a more critical eye, humming to yourself. You try to fix his wrinkled shirt, straighten his collar. Ben watches you do it with an amused gleam in his eyes. 

“My mom is the queen of snap judgments,” you explain. “One damn smudge or wrinkle and she’s gonna think you don’t bathe.”

You lean up and sort your fingers through his hair a little, sweeping the strands away from his brow. You have to ignore the way he’s watching you. 

When you turn and knock on the door, Ben settles a hand on the small of your back. You shoot him a raised brow. He winks at you. You don’t have time to comment or even push his hand away, because that’s when the door opens.

You greet your dad with a wide smile to cover up your nerves. Out of anyone that could’ve opened the door, why did it have to be him? He kisses your cheek when you lean in to hug him, but he eyes the man beside you with a note of appraisal. 

“Who’s this?” he asks. 

“Dad, this is Ben,” you say, choking out the second bit, “my boyfriend.” 

“Sir,” Ben greets. He offers the man a firm handshake. 

“Victor,” your dad replies, though he shoots you a look. “You didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend.”

“Is that her?” your mom says. She comes out to greet you and Ben, taking in his tall, handsome form with a pleased scrutiny. “My goodness, this is your friend, huh?” She gives you a teasing wink. “I didn’t buy that one for a minute, but it has been a long time since you’ve brought a man home.”

Ben’s smile takes on an amused glint when he casts you some side-eye. 

“It’s kinda new,” you confess, trying to ignore the hot blush in your cheeks. Your mom is already having way too much fun with this, but she immediately levels up her own brand of Cuban Mom Charm, taking Ben into the house by his arm. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ben. I’m Gloria. This is my husband Victor,” she says, gesturing at your dad, who stands stoically behind her. Ben gives him another nod, then hits your mom with a kind of suavecito that would put James Bond to shame. 

“Now I know who to thank for giving my girl her beautiful smile. We’ve got Miss Florida herself right here,” Ben flirts, squeezing her hand on his arm.

Gloria twitters a laugh, making you bite your lip against a snort. 

She leads him further into your grandmother’s house, while you and Victor follow behind. Ben takes note of all the pictures on the walls and housed in various frames on virtually every shelf and accent table: your parents’ wedding, your father and your uncles when they were young, and you at various ages—kindergarten through your high school graduation, followed by your college graduation. 

There are pictures of you with your parents, your ten first cousins and thirty second cousins, your aunts and uncles, and you with your grandmother—the woman who’s currently cooking up something that smells delicious in the kitchen. Garlic and onions and olive oil; the smells mingle together with the red and green bell peppers being sautéed in a pan with some kind of red sauce. 

Your grandma Sofia takes in Ben from head to toe with wide-eyed, blinking surprise, even a bit of wonder. She glances at you, at Ben’s hand once again resting on the small of your back. Slowly, she brightens.

“Ay, Diosito mio, who’s this handsome man in my house?” she says.

Ben smiles, but you step in before he can flirt with her too. 

“Mamá, this is Ben. Uh, my boyfriend,” you tell her while giving her a big, warm hug. You try to blink past the tears stinging your eyes. You’ve probably missed your grandma the most. 

She squeezes you tight, but she also smacks you on the ass. 

“Hey!” you protest, laughing in embarrassment.

“Oye, you couldn’t call to tell us you finally got another man?” she chides. “How long has this one being going on?”

“Um, a few months—”

The old woman gasps, as if you told her that her recorded episodes of Caso Cerrado, the Latino version of Judge Judy, had been erased. Taking another look at a highly amused Ben, she crosses herself and delivers a kiss to the heavens. 

“Ay, Padre Santísimo. Finally, a man who doesn’t dress como un niño malcreado—like Justin Bieber.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. Your mother snickers, while Ben chuckles deeply. He doesn’t know who the fuck Justin Bieber is, but he knows about at least one of the pussy man-boys you’ve dated in the past. He slides you a knowing smirk.

“No, ma’am. She’s got a real man now,” he adds.

You blow out a subtle breath, trying with all your might not to glare at him. You do shoot him a tight smile, a warning in your eyes.

But he just trails a strong hand across the small of your back. The sensation makes tingles travel down your spine. 

You bite your lip and return your attention to your mom, who grabs some cheese and salami for you and Ben to snack on. You sit with him at the kitchen island and help your grandmother peel potatoes for the meal. By now Victor has claimed his usual spot on the couch, no doubt to catch up on one of the ten new baseball games he always has recorded. If there’s one thing your dad is obsessed with, it’s baseball. 

Ben lingers with you though, casually resting a hand on the back of your chair while he leans back in his seat at the island. 

“What’s on the menu?” Ben asks. 

“Carne guisada, white rice, and tostones. Eh, fried plantains,” Sofia replies. “Have you ever had Dominican food before?”

“No, but it smells delicious.”

“Ay, mija, have you not been feeding him?” your grandma reproaches, to your long-suffering sigh. 

If she only fucking knew.

Your mom watches in amusement while taking over stirring the stew. Meanwhile, Sofia rounds the kitchen island so she can tug you down by your arm.

“What have I taught you, huh?” she whispers. “A man well-fed will stay in your bed.” 

Mortification burns hot in your cheeks. Your hand comes up to half cover your face. 

“Ay, Mamá,” you hiss. Inside, you’re dying a thousand deaths. 

You glance at Ben over your shoulder. He sips at his beer, but by the way he’s smirking, of fucking course he heard her. 

“You call her ‘mom’ too?” he asks.

“Yes, they all call me that because I am everyone’s mother here,” Sofia says. She wipes her hand free of parsley bits and pats Ben’s hand where it rests on the counter. “But you, young man, can call me Sofia.”

“Mamá!”

Ben eats dinner with gusto. Your grandmother is satisfied and pleased by how much he’s clearly enjoying the braised beef stew. She even loads him up with his third serving. You watch him in amusement, even though you shake your head.

He’s stuffing his face as if he’s never eaten real food before. Though you wonder when the last time he had a real home-cooked meal was…before you met him, that is.

Ben and Victor talk about baseball and the classic players they admire (with Ben having actually met a few of them). While the men are distracted with their conversation at the far end of the table, you have to endure your mother and grandmother’s grilling. 

Where is he from?

What does he do? 

How old is he? 

Spring weddings are just beautiful in Miami, you know. Your cousin Julissa had a spring wedding by the beach. Wasn’t it nice?

Needless to say, you should be winning an Oscar for your own improv performance tonight.  

“Where are you guys staying tonight?” Gloria asks.

Your grandma looks affronted. “Well, here of course.”

You laugh a bit nervously. “Actually, Ben can’t stay. He, um…he has a plane to catch in the morning, for a business trip.”

“Oh, what kind of business? You said he works at Vought too,” Gloria asks.

You nod, though you have to think quickly to come up with something plausible. You glance over at Ben, who briefly meets your gaze. The look in his eyes tells you that he’s caught the edges of your conversation and wants to know what you’ll say as well.

“Uh, Ben is in Vought’s Sales Division,” you say. “Sometimes they have him travel overseas.” 

“Oh, wow. Where are you going, Ben?” Gloria asks him.

“Buenos Aires,” Ben replies. “Vought’s trying to develop another Voughtland down there. They’ve been trying for years, but the locals figure they’ve got enough entertainment, what with the tourist traps and the drug cartels and all. So they’ve brought me on to seal the deal. Think of me as a…well, as a closer. ‘S why they pay me the big bucks.” 

You resist the urge to shake your head, but you do squeeze his thigh in warning under the table. He gives you a smile and a raise of his brows. Eying him pointedly, you shift the conversation. 

“So he’s planning on staying at the airport tonight, since it’s such an early flight,” you say. 

Sofia shakes her head, as well as a finger in the air. 

“No, no. You are a guest in my home, so you will stay here tonight. I won’t take no for an answer,” she says. 

Ben gives you a self-satisfied smile, before he answers her.

“Well, who am I to say no?”

It seems strategic, the way your mom corners Ben in the kitchen to try and fish more information out of him. Meanwhile, your dad pulls you aside into the living room.

“So tell me. What’s going on with that job of yours?” he asks. His brows have that telltale furrow of concentrated Dad Worry. On Victor, it looks just shy of being angry.

You cross your arms, debating with yourself for a moment. You’ve been lying a lot tonight, but this is something you know you have to come clean about, even if you know it’s a victory for your father.

“I quit, okay,” you admit.

His shoulders loosen in relief. His gaze raises heavenward while his hands rest on his hips.

“Thank God,” he says. But then, he concentrates back on you. “This mean you’re finally moving back home?”

“I didn’t say that,” you snap. “I’m gonna stay here with Mamá for a little while until I figure out what I’m gonna do. But I’m going to find something in New York. I have time now. Maybe I can finally start my own graphic design business.”

For the past year that you hadn’t been able to find other work to leave Vought, you’d begun to spin the idea in your mind. You have friends in the Marketing department who could help you build a website, run some ads across socials. You know how to create your own content, do your own marketing, even reach out to potential clients. All you need at this point is some time and money. You have one, and you can use some of what you have in savings to invest in the idea—to build something of your own. Something honest.

Victor’s jaw clenches. He swipes a hand of frustration over his face, his gait shifting with the effort of keeping his anger contained in his mother’s house.

“Why do you always have to be so damn stubborn?” he grits out.

“Why’re you always trying to control my life?” you counter, just at hotly. “I’m not a little girl. I’ve been doing what I have to do on my own—”

“But that’s it. You don’t have to,” he says. “You wanna get blown up in one of those buildings? Or run through in the street by one of those fucking supes, like that girl two years ago? You’re smart, mija. Use that brain for something besides selfish little ideas that don’t go anywhere.”

Your mouth falls open, but nothing else escapes. Your heart is in your throat, a painful lump as tears cling to your lashes.

“You went to NYU because the schools here somehow weren’t good enough. Now you’re in debt,” he continues, raising his hand up to his brows. “Hasta los ojitos. ¿Verdad? You tried to make it in that city because you wanted to be an artist. And where did you end up? At a corrupt fucking company that worked you like a dog, and nearly got you buried under a pile of rubble like it was 9/11 all over again.”

His words cut into you like so many knives. A familiar well of acid had been churning in your stomach; now it reaches up into the base of your throat where you’re already choked by embarrassment, resentment, shame.

“Okay, dessert!” your mom calls from the kitchen, this time unaware of her husband. She brings out the large pan of flan she made last night and sets it on the table while Ben begrudgingly brings out the smaller plates and spoons. The smell of Café Bustelo reaches you as the cafetera begins to steam and boil on the stove. Sofia lifts the top of it and nods when she finds that the espresso is done percolating.

“Quién quiere café?” she asks.

Heaving a sigh through his nose, Victor raises a finger. Ben notices you, sees whatever he sees in your face, no matter how you try to bury it down. You can tell that he’s heard every word, just by that look on his face. Ben approaches you and your dad, once again sliding a hand across the small of your back, but you speak before he has a chance to say anything.

“You want coffee, right?”

Ben nods slightly, letting you leave him to escape into the kitchen. He shifts his attention to your father. The man is shorter than Ben, but still a presence that commands respect in the house.

“You still work for Vought after everything that’s happened?” Victor asks him.

Ben’s brow turns wry. “Oh, I’ve got an exit strategy.”

Victor nods. That seems to mollify him a bit, even as he watches his daughter. Ruefulness enters his gaze, even if it’s still hard with his convictions. It just reminds Ben of his father’s blue-eyed stare—the kind that always pierced straight through his skin and saw every scrap of weakness underneath.

“She’d rather live in that fucking cesspool than listen to me,” Victor says. “Young, stubborn, thinks she knows it all.”

Ben’s lips tug at a smile. Yeah, that’s fucking you.

“She thinks she can handle it out there by herself, but take away all that attitude, and what?” Victor shakes his head. “She’s fucking soft.”

Ben glances over at him, then at the silver medals framed in glass on the wall. There’s a picture of a younger version of the man in front him, leaner, just as stoic, wearing an army green uniform and a captain’s insignia. If Victor looked to be in his mid-fifties now, that would’ve put him in his early 20s during the Vietnam War.

Other than a few photo ops after the Tet Offensive and a movie he did in the late ‘60s, Ben spent most of his time snorting coke and fucking the female cast of Bewitched. (Elizabeth Montgomery blamed her failed marriage on him, but that shit was wrecked long before he came into her picture. Literally.)

Ben’s gaze drifts away from the shiny wall of accomplishment, and back over to you across the room. You’re helping your mom set out the plates of flan after she cuts each slice. He sees how hard you try to bury everything you have boiling inside behind the task, swiping a stray curl out of your eyes as you go. He’s come to recognize that look, and the things you do to keep moving forward.

“She can be,” Ben nods at your father. “But maybe she’s stronger than you think.”

Victor’s brows furrow, but Ben doesn’t stick around for more. He joins you back at the dinner table and takes a small white espresso cup you offer him. Your fingers brush with his on the pass, but its his hand casually curling wily strands of your hair behind your ear that earns your attention, your slightly widening eyes.

He smirks down at you before taking a seat. Despite yourself, your lips tug at a smile, and you join him.

After dessert, your parents finally head back home. You finally allow yourself to confess to your grandmother that you quit your job. It’s easier to be honest with her than with your parents sometimes.

She’s sorry to hear the news, knowing you enjoyed your independence in New York. While you didn’t necessarily love your job, up until now it had allowed you to have the life you wanted.  

Since she has more room to spare in her house, she’s graciously agreed to have you stay with her for a little while. You know what you told your dad, but you wonder if you can even go back to New York after this. He might just win after all.

But of course, there’s also Ben.

“I still don’t know what the big fucking deal is,” he says, somewhat grumpily. 

You sigh and shove an extra blanket into his hands from the hallway closet. 

“Look, my grandma is fun, even a little mischievous, but she’s not actually going to let me share a bedroom with my ‘boyfriend’ under her roof. Conservative Catholics, remember?” 

You also hand him a towel to take a shower. “Besides, it’s not like I’d let you into my bed anyway. Can you please just remember our deal?” 

He nods, albeit reluctantly. “Don’t you fucking worry. I’ll be out in the morning before God and everyone wakes up.” 

You hesitate, leaning your back against the doorway to your room. Ben will be staying in the second guest room down the hall.

“Well, you can still knock on my door before you leave,” you say, with a slight smile. “You know, if you wanna say goodbye.”

Ben eyes you, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Might as well get that outta the way now,” he says.

Your smile fades in confusion, but before you can react, he slips an arm around your waist and guides you in close. After a beat to gauge the look on your face—surprised, but not angry, by the way your eyes roam his face—he bows his head to claim your lips.

It’s a thorough kiss, and a little demanding as his lips move over yours, but it makes a tendril of heat lick down your spine as your fingers curl around his biceps. 

You find yourself at a loss when he breaks away. His eyes open to meet yours, smiling when he finds you breathless.

“Goodbye, sweetheart,” he says.

And he lets you go, allowing your hair to slip through his fingers. 

You’re tempted to smack that self-satisfied look off his face, but you shake your head with a smile. You guess you can give him one for the road. 

Butcher, Hughie, and the rest of the boys are tearing apart Webweaver’s disgusting apartment. Considering the supe’s phone is dead, and he hasn’t been seen in over 24 hours, Butcher is willing to bet that Soldier Boy killed the little prick. 

Unfortunately for Butcher, Webweaver was feeding him information. 

“There’s nothing here,” M.M. says in disgust, wiping his hands of a sticky substance. He’d rather not know what it is.

“He had to know something in order to pick up the cunt’s trail,” Butcher says. He points to Webweaver’s laptop, where Hughie is trying to hack the password.

Butcher’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Fishing it out and peering at the ID, he smiles slightly at the text. 

I’m close to your apartment. Can we talk?

Ryan. Finally, the kid is coming around. Butcher types out a reply.

Give me half an hour. 

Butcher considers his next words carefully, and he adds…

There are things we needa talk about.

There was too much shit he hadn’t told the kid, for fear of pushing him away. (Already done.)

Or fearing the kid wouldn’t believe him. (Ain’t got nothing left to lose now.)

Butcher only half suppresses a wheezing cough.

Oh, yeah, he’s still fucking dying. But if there’s one thing he’s going to do, it’s find Soldier Boy, so he can make good on their deal on snuffing Homelander.

He knows he’ll have to be even more creative with how he gets the supe to agree, seeing as Butcher double-crossed him once before. But this time, he has M.M. and Annie actually on board with the plan. Homelander plans to get V24 in the military with Victoria Neuman’s help.

So all the fucking Spice Girls finally agree: right now, Homelander’s the bigger threat. Then, they’ll somehow deal with Soldier Boy.

Or better yet, the two will kill each other. 

“Got it!” Hughie fist pumps the air. He’s been able to crack into Webweaver’s laptop, even though he balks at having to sort through a tremendous amount of disturbing pornography.

He finally finds a file labeled: Parking Lot, June 3, 5:34 p.m.

He presses play. The first thing he sees is your scared face come into frame, followed by Soldier Boy. 

​​“Oh my God,” you breathe. “Soldier Boy?” He glances up at you through furrowed brows. He looks ragged and soot-stained, his breathing labored as he leans against the wall. He focuses on you. “Uh, a-are you okay?” you ask shakily, clutching your messenger bag.

“All right,” Butcher drawls. “Who the fuck is that?” 

In the morning, you wake to the sun in your eyes through the windows. You get up and check the room across the hall. The door is open, and the bed is made, clear of Ben’s things. You feel disappointed that he didn’t wake you up before he left.

I guess the one goodbye was good enough for him, you think, not willing to wonder why that kind of upsets you. 

Whatever. It’s for the best. Soldier Boy is finally out of your life, and you can focus on what you need to do to pick up the threads of your life.

With that decision made, you go about starting your day. You don’t bother to change out of your pajamas. You just fluff out your curls and venture out to the kitchen, where the smell of Cuban coffee once again wafts stronger in the air. Your grandma might be Dominican, but she’s embraced her daughter-in-law’s Cuban-centric community with the little things, like espresso and pastries in the morning.

There you find something unexpected. You find Ben sipping coffee, chatting with your grandmother at the kitchen island while she makes breakfast. Her favorite radio station plays on the counter and masks the contents of their conversation, but they’re smiling and laughing, having a good ol’ fucking time.

Until Ben notices you standing there with your mouth hanging open. He grins.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee. Sofia smiles over at you too.

“Ben,” you say. Your voice strikes a higher pitch than usual. “What happened to your flight?”

“It got cancelled,” he claims, though he beckons you over. You remember then that this little play is still going on—meaning you force yourself to smile and go to him as if you’re so very happy to see him.

Why the hell did I ever think this was a good fucking idea?!

He takes full advantage of the boyfriend charade, laying a heavy hand on the small of your back. It travels around your waist and comes to rest on your hip. He brushes his thumb back and forth over the thin fabric of your pajama top, and even has the gall to eye you with a grin, likely noticing that you aren’t wearing a bra.

“I invited him to stay for a couple more days, get to know the family,” Sofia says while stirring some scrambled eggs. Bacon is also sizzling on another pan on the stove.

While her back is turned, you shoot Ben a knowing glare.

To think you were a little disappointed about being rid of him. Now, you’re just angry and irritated as good sense hits you upside the head. The longer he stays with you, the better chance of Homelander or the government finding him. 

You’re quiet throughout breakfast while Sofia asks Ben more questions about himself.

“Do you go to church?” she asks, with a raised brow.

You snort into your coffee, but Ben just rubs the back of his neck. 

“I’ll admit, I’ve skipped a few Sundays,” he says, somewhat dismissively.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. His skin would probably burn if he took one step inside of a sanctuary. 

“Well, what about kids. Do you like children?” Sofia asks.

Your eyes widen. “Mamá, seriously?”

“I always thought I’d have a few,” Ben replies. You turn to look at him, and the sincerity of his tone and the sudden thoughtful gleam in his eyes surprises you even more.

“Guess I’ve been waiting for the right time to settle down,” he says, glancing at you. It’s hard for you to read that look, but it makes you wonder what the fuck he’s thinking.

He goes back to eating.

After breakfast, you get up to help Sofia clear the table. While she’s putting the pastries away, you grab Ben’s arm and lead him closer to the living room. 

“You really need to go,” you whisper-hiss. “You promised me—”

He rolls his eyes. “All right, keep your fucking panties on. Just one more night of R&R and I’ll get gone.”

“You better be for real, because I can’t—”

“Ay, mi canción,” Sofia says. She comes over and tugs on your hand. “You remember this one, right?”

The song that plays on the radio is “Mi Muchachita” by Luis Segura, the song your mom would always wake you up with on Saturday mornings to get you up to help her clean the house. It was a tradition your grandma started when your dad and his brothers were kids. She later got your mom hooked on it when she came to stay with your family for a few years, shortly after you were born. Gloria had needed the help, and her parents had already passed away a few years back.

Now, Sofia leads you away from Ben so that you can dance with her. She pulls into the bachata—ironically, the dance that began in the bars and brothels of Santo Domingo. In the 1960s, it was the dance of the lower class, the degenerates, and the campesinos. Bolero rhythm was its heart, but the spirit of the common people was its soul.

You protest at first at being uprooted from your grumpy mood, but your grandma has a way of hooking you into almost anything. Eventually your tense shoulders relax, and you’re laughing and twirling under her hand while you let your body inhabit the song.

Ben watches the scene in amusement, becoming transfixed by the sway of your hips, to the quick and natural steps of your feet…until Sofia grabs his hand too. 

“Hey, no. I’m good,” he says. “I don’t dance…whatever this is.”

“So I teach you,” she insists, beckoning him closer. “Come, come! Watch me. Es fácil. Real easy.”

You step off to the side to give them room, and you giggle while watching Ben try to follow her instructions. Sofia is persistent though. She teaches him how to step in counts of two, how to lead her back and forth, then turn her around. She even sends you a cheeky look while she has the man’s hands trapped either in her hand, or on her waist.

You hide your laughter behind your espresso cup. Damn. She’s still got game.

After a few minutes, Sofia leads him over to join Ben’s hand with yours, claiming she needs a rest. She guides you into his arms, and you step in with a good-natured smile.

“This is a bit fucking much,” he mutters to you. “It’s too complicated.” 

“You’re actually doing well. Just feel it though. Don’t watch your feet,” you continue to instruct him, amused by his hesitance. 

He seems to be into this though, and he begins to gain some confidence the more he learns the flow of the steps. He holds your hand more assured as he moves from side to side in time with the beat. For a white boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he has some decent rhythm. 

Ben throws in a spin that’s not quite bachata-like. It feels more like the swing of the ‘40s, the stuff you’ve only seen in movies. Still, it thrills you when you end up even closer in his arms, his warm chest pressed to yours. He looks down on you with hooded eyes that slowly roam your face, stopping on your lips.

He begins to bow his head toward yours, but you clear your throat and smile, a little nervously. You place a hand on his chest and push him back subtly as the song comes to an end. 

“Oh! Before I forget,” Sofia says. 

You almost forgot she was there. Instinctively you freeze where you stand, still catching your breath all too close to Ben. 

“Can you pick up some things from the store for later? I’m making arroz con pollo,” she says. “But you know what, I’ll give you a list, ‘cause I’m out of some other things too.”

Glancing up at Ben once more, you take the excuse to step away from him. You agree to take your grandma’s list, and you head to your room to get changed. 

The man not only follows you to the car, but insists on “getting out of the house” and going with you to the local Cuban-owned grocery store and café. 

“Christ on a Cross, is this the price of steak nowadays?” he mutters, eying all the cuts behind the cold glass. “Used to be cheaper to order it at a fucking restaurant.”

You’ve stopped here to pick up a couple packages of ground beef. You shoot him a glance, wondering why he cares when he had enough money to buy the restaurant, once upon a time. Maybe it’s the principle of the matter with him.

“Welcome to the modern world,” you drawl. “It’s getting too expensive to live, and jobs don’t want to pay for shit.”

He raises a brow, but he follows you down the aisle.

Ben is kind of the worst to go shopping with. He sneaks things into the cart when he thinks you’re not looking. You tell him you’re not buying him three different cakes and a dirty magazine. Where the hell did he even find that? 

You stuff it all back on a shelf, behind some boxed novelty cakes imported from Mexico. Though you agree to buy him one dessert, after you throw in some peaches. 

“You may be a super soldier, but you should eat more fruits and veggies,” you quip. Stuffing himself full of takeout, booze, and weed all the time can’t be good for him.

Ben raises a wry brow at you. He sidles up close while you’re putting goods on the checkout counter. His hand molds to the curve of your waist as he speaks lowly in your ear.

“I’ve got all the peaches I need, sweetheart.”

You blush hotly and send him a wide-eyed look over your shoulder. His hand means to drift lower on your ass, but your lips purse, and you smack his hand away.

“Do you have no shame?” you whisper-hiss. Giving him one kiss was like feeding a stray dog. Now he thinks he can keep sniffing your ass for more. 

“Come on, Chiquita. Would it kill you to lighten the fuck up?” he teases. 

You roll your eyes heavenward, praying for strength. You manage to get through the rest of the transaction of the checkout line mostly in peace, and Ben does all the heavy lifting of putting the bags in the car. However, you’re giving him a bit of a cold shoulder as you get back into the car.  

“All right, what’s the matter now?” he asks. “For Christ’s sake, you don’t have to be so fucking frigid.”

“Why did you come anyway?” you ask, slamming the trunk closed. “Just to cop another feel? What, did you think I was gonna blow you in the alley behind the bodega?”

Ben hesitates with a frown. There’s a moment where you think he might give you an earnest answer, but ultimately, he just shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

You scoff, both incredulous and disgusted as you rip the driver’s side door open and get inside the car. You barely wait for Ben to do the same on the passenger side, before you’re turning the ignition and angrily shifting the car into reverse. 

You back out with more force than Ben would’ve recommended, but he flexes his fingers on his thigh. He doesn’t want to tell you that he hadn’t liked the idea of you going out alone. Not without a weapon, some protection.

But he also didn’t think you’d still be cockblocking him so much after last night. And this morning, he thought you were actually warming up to him…

Guess not, he thinks sardonically, with a roll of his eyes. Whatever. It’s not like he’ll be wanting for pussy when he gets to South America. Pretty soon, it’s going to be him fucking bitches on nude beaches, drowning himself in margaritas, blow, and pussy all day long. 

He doesn’t know what it is about you though. He knows you’re into him, even if you won’t admit it… 

It’s that challenge, that Latina fire that stokes his blood every time he looks at you. Gotta be.

He also knows that the moment he leaves, one of two things will happen. Either Vought finds you, or the CIA does. If it’s the latter, they’ll question you. Even if they don’t get the information they want, they could try to protect you and your family.

Regardless, Ben knows he can’t stay. That’ll just make things worse, for himself, and for you. All he can do is take advantage of the hours he has left here.

“Look, what’s your problem, huh?” he tries again. “Think I can’t show you a good time?”

You heave a sigh without looking at him. “It’s not about that, Ben.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“You’re leaving. You’re not going to stay and fight the deranged prick who’s on the verge of taking over the whole damn country,” you say sharply. “You’re gonna fuck off to who knows where, bury your head in the sand, and numb yourself for the rest of your life. So there’s no point in exploring you and me. I’m not gonna be some quick fuck and ‘Sayonara, sweetheart. Been a good time.’ No! None of that shit.”

That falls heavily between you two, even with the radio playing at a moderate volume.

Ben simmers in the near silence while you drive through the heavy traffic in Miami. You curse when you get stuck at an intersection. 

“This is taking fucking forever,” he grumbles.

You whip your head over at him again. “Okay, and? Should I part the Red Sea of Miami for you?”

“All right, Christ. Enough,” he says. He rubs at his forehead like you’re giving him a headache. 

Good, you think. The feeling’s mutual.

Ben crosses his arms in his seat and stares out ahead. Traffic is starting to easy up, allowing you to inch closer to the righthand turn. 

You blow out a sigh, contemplating the man riding shotgun. You’re not sure why he’s still here with you. Why he doesn’t want to just leave his old life behind and make new somewhere else. It’s obvious that he wants you, but does he care about you? 

There’s no point in exploring you and me.

You hadn’t meant to say that, but it left you with a sinking feeling in your chest afterward. You still feel its hold on you now, steely fingers gripping your heart.

It’s fucking crazy. You must be crazy…to want him to care.

But before you can let your mind devolve any further, Ben breaks you out of your thoughts when he points out a McDonald’s up ahead. 

“How about you pull over into the drive-thru there,” he says.

You raise a brow at him. “You’re hungry again? Already?”

He shrugs. You shake your head, but your lips begin to tug at a smile. This fucking bottomless pit.

“All right, I’ve got this.”

You take him to a hole-in-the-wall Cuban bakery. The sign is half-scratched off, but you know it from memory. This place has been here for over 50 years, since waves of Cubans fled the iron fist of Fidel Castro’s communism in anything that would float those 90 miles—from pristine sands, and the home of guava fruit, plantains, and pure sugar cane, to the rough shores of the Florida Keys.

Ben polishes off a Cuban sandwich and three guava and cheese pastries, washing it all down with three beers and a cigar he got by talking shop with the locals playing dominoes in the dining area. The men are old enough to remember him as Soldier Boy. Even though they watch the news all day long, they have a healthy mistrust of everything they see.

They're more inclined to trust the supe they watched and admired when they were young men, the supe that (they thought) represented the ideals of the American dream; the same dream they themselves had fought for when they arrived in this country.

“Don’t worry, we’re not gonna out you to the press,” says the only one of them who speaks English. “I’ll just get to tell the wife that I shared a cigar with Soldier Boy. She don’t gotta know when.” 

The other men laugh, Ben included. You roll your eyes. 

They talk him into playing around of dominoes with them, offering to “teach” him how to play, as long as he bets $5 to start with. You lean over his shoulder and help him make the right moves. Your dad and your uncles taught you how to play when you were a kid.

With your help, he ends up winning $200 dollars off of the old men. They don't get mad about it, all too happy just to spend time with one of the only superheroes they respect. You realize then why Ben is getting along so well with these guys; the man himself is at least twenty years older than them. This is essentially a group of his peers.

And what does that make me? you wonder, not knowing whether to laugh or be icked out. The longer you stare at Ben's profile, the line of his jaw, the cut of his beard, the roguish sweep of his hair and the shape and broadness of his form all too casually sitting in a metal chair, the more that thought fades to the back of your mind.

You focus more on Ben, specifically the way he's all too smirky and cocky and proud of his winnings. You’re amused at the way he counts the bills to himself later in the car. You’d think he won the lotto at Atlantic City or something. 

“Hey,” he says, earning your attention. “Let me take you out before I go. Call it a thank you.”

You give him an incredulous look. “You haven’t tested fate enough today? You should be lying low. Me too for that matter.”

“Relax, Chiquita. Nobody fucking knows we’re here,” Ben says, continuing to count his bills. He glances over at you though. “Besides, you’ll be fine, long as you’re with me.”

You consider him with a tilt of your head. Long as you’re with me, huh?

He wants to actually do something for you. More than that, he wants to protect you.

You fight the small swell of butterflies in your stomach. Matter of fact, you hate those little shits. A small sigh escapes your lips.

This guy is fucking exhausting.

“How many goodbyes are we going to have, Ben?” you ask.

He quirks a smile. 

“Just humor me.”

AN: Did you like the little scene change? I had to give things a more tropical vibe for Miami. 😉 Plus, we got a bit of the fake dating trope sliding in there, meeting the parents, some disappointed father syndrome -- checking some rom-com boxes right? 😂

Next Time:

You lead him away from the tight crowd on the dance floor and around the bar, and into a dark hall near the bathrooms. It’s still loud though, that baseline dropping as the DJ’s sirens go off in the club. 

Ben stumbles, his left hand shooting out to smack heavily against the wall. He dents the plaster. You quickly move in front of him and rest your hands against his chest.

“Ben, you with me?” you say in a measured tone. “Hey, you okay? You hearing me?”

His brows furrow in answer, but you can tell he’s not all there. His breathing is growing ragged. You feel his chest getting warm, and then hot. 

Oh, fuck, your blood runs cold. Is this the strange new explosive power that nearly crumbled Vought Tower? Is this club about to get wiped off the map, like that building in Midtown? Are you about to get blown sky high along with it?

Fuck that. 

You grab his face in your hands. “Ben, you focus on me, okay? Before you blow your cover. Before you hurt someone.”

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Soldier Boy Masterlist

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Soldier Boy Tag List (Part 1):

@spnwoman @waynes-multiverse @luci-in-trenchcoats @rizlowwritessortof @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

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@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2

[rizlowwritessortof]

DEAN WINCHESTER WHEN… HE EATS YOU OUT.

Dean’s the kind of man who looks at your thighs like they’re his favorite place in the world—and he means it. He’s not shy about it either. He’ll get that cocky little smirk, the one that says he knows exactly what you need, and say something like, “Lay back, baby. Let me take care of you.”

And when Dean goes down on you? You’re not getting a quick fix. You’re getting worshiped.

He starts slow, like he’s unwrapping a gift. Kissing your thighs, dragging his stubble over your soft skin just to make you shiver. He’ll press your legs open with those strong, calloused hands—firm, gentle, but unrelenting. Then he dives in, tongue dragging slow and hot through your folds, groaning like it’s the best thing he’s tasted all week.

Dean’s messy with it, too. He’s not shy about spit or noise—sloppy, wet, intentional. He eats you like he’s starved for it. Like you’re the only thing that matters. He’ll flatten his tongue against your clit, then flick it just right—watching your hips jerk, listening to you gasp.

“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he mumbles, voice thick with hunger. “Could do this all night.”

And he means it.

He doesn’t stop when your thighs tremble. Doesn’t stop when you start to beg. He wants to feel you fall apart on his mouth. He’ll add his fingers—two thick, slow, curling just right—and look up at you with those goddamn eyes, pupils blown wide, like he’s high off your taste.

When you come, Dean holds you there. Keeps licking, keeps stroking, letting you ride it out until you're shaking. If you whimper about it all, he just groans into your cunt and keeps going, giving you another one just to see you melt.

He loves it when you grab his hair, when you grind against his face like you need him. And when you finally pull him up, wrecked and breathless, he kisses you slow and deep—mouth still slick from you.

“Still breathing?” he teases, brushing your hair back with a grin. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not done.”

With Dean, one orgasm is never enough.

Not when he’s between your legs, not when you taste that damn good.

[rizlowwritessortof]

Okay, just - you are SO TALENTED at your descriptions. Of everything. Wrangling the kids, the shock of having the car commandeered by a cocky cop, the surroundings - it was pretty damn close to watching an episode on TV, I could picture EVERYTHING in my head, and completely losing myself in the story.

And then, Mark showing up at her door, after she loses her job (thanks to him lol). The whole exchange was perfect, your description of him was perfect. Malibu Cruella de Vil - I DIED.

And the absolutely panty-melting sex!!! Oh. My. God. SO fucking good. I think my laptop almost melted when I was reading it, for real.

Fan-fucking-tastic. Absolutely looking forward to the next part!!

No Rules in Breakable Heaven

Abandon the Ship Pt. I

And you say I abandoned the ship, but I was going down with it...

Series Summary: It starts with a chase and ends with his name in your mouth. He says it’s just for fun. Late nights. No strings. No promises. You were never supposed to matter. But he keeps coming back like a habit he can't quit. He’s bleeding time, and you’re getting too close to something meant to burn out fast.

Pairing: Mark Meachum x reader

Warnings: +18 due to language and smut (p in v, oral f/m, fingering), meet-cute (Wayne's Version), strangers to lovers, one-night stand, drinking, humor, tiny humans, a pinch of angst, fluff?

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: Aaaah, new character alert (& Cruel Summer vibes)! So happy I finally get to share this!! This was what probably sucked most about all the bad luck recently because I've been so stoked to do this for weeks!! I have definitely some interesting plans for this, depending how the show goes 🤞🤓

Series Masterlist || Tag List || Patreon

Los Angeles mornings have a chaotic rhythm in designer packaging.

The sun climbs slow and golden over the hills, the air is still soft with sleep, and the city hasn’t decided yet what kind of madness it wants to be today. In these quiet hours, before the honking and the sirens and the buzz of espresso machines, you load three small children into a luxury SUV like a very determined sherpa, tugging straps tight and adjusting sippy cups like a one-woman pit crew. 

“Okay,” you say brightly, securing the last car seat strap with a satisfying click, brushing a Cheerio out of the baby’s curls before slamming the door shut. “Who remembers what we talked about?”

“No yelling,” Mila says, swinging her feet.

“No trash cans,” her twin brother mutters with a suspicious look in his eyes.

“Snacks,” Noah offers with great confidence, clutching a half-eaten graham cracker in one sticky hand.

“Close enough,” you sigh and slide into the driver’s seat. 

The twins – Miles and Mila – are four, full of righteous opinions, and identical only in destructive potential. Noah, the baby is nearly two and convinced you have magic powers because you know where the food lives. 

You’ve got a system. You can wrangle them like a pro – park visits, potty breaks, stroller logistics, snack distribution. You’ve handled full-blown meltdowns in the middle of Whole Foods and a spontaneous naked rebellion during music class. By now, you know you can handle any lemons (or diapers) life throws your way.

Today, for example, it’s spilled yogurt, someone’s sock in the toilet, and a small argument over whether bees have bones. You manage all three before 8 AM – fully dressed, caffeinated, and armed with the kind of calm that only comes from deeply internalized panic.

This morning, like most, starts at Echo Park. 

It’s a staple on your approved outing list. Safe, scenic, stroller-friendly. You’ve done the swings, the climbing structure, and the obligatory duck sighting. You’ve run interference on a toddler standoff over a sand shovel. You’ve kissed a scraped knee, and Noah has climbed into your lap as soon as you sat down on the bench. 

You’ve let him. You always do. 

You then check your watch. It’s been just under two hours. Enough. 

It’s just past 11 AM, and it’s time to get them back in the car once again before someone decides to pee in public. The late June heat in Los Angeles is already starting to settle in – the kind of warmth that fools you into thinking the day will stay pleasant before the concrete starts to bake and everything smells like burnt tires and desperate ambition.

“Okay, team,” you call out across the playground. “Wrap it up. The countdown’s running. Shoes on. Water break, then back to the car.” 

Groans. Crushed spirits. The usual protests.

You herd them toward the exit gate like a very tired Border Collie. Behind you, two small hurricanes tumble through the grass, still high off sugar and sunshine. They are locked in some kind of chase game that involves yelling, giggling, and occasional threats of mortal revenge. 

Meanwhile, your arms ache from carrying Noah, who is perfectly capable of walking, but has recently decided he’s emotionally allergic to the ground and too insulted for the stroller. But the finish line is in sight.

The car is parked in the middle of Echo Park’s lot while three small humans orbit around you like caffeinated moons as you throw your purse and phone onto the passenger seat and load diaper bags, stroller, two bikes, and bag full of sandbox toys into the trunk. 

“Okay,” you say, breathlessly, heaving the last bag into the car. “Everybody chill. Everyone breathe. Mila, I swear, if you take off your shoes again–”

“I’m a raccoon,” Mila informs you, twirling as she holds the hem of her dress like a movie star. “Raccoons don’t wear shoes.”

Miles is spinning in tight, dizzying circles on the sidewalk as well, with his arms straight out and his shirt on backwards. You made a note to fix it twenty minutes ago, but you’re too far gone now.

“Hey!” you call. “Miles, keep spinning like that and you’re gonna barf.”

“I like barfing!”

“Cool. Let’s save it for after lunch,” you tell him and look at them – your little circus, all noise and limbs. 

This is your life, now. Juice stains and bandaids. Screaming over sunscreen. Three little people who talk to you like you’re Google and God combined.

You exhale through your teeth, palms bracing against the SUV. It’s sleek, dark, and more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned. You’ve memorized every button, every storage compartment, every stain removal protocol. You know exactly where the granola bars are hidden and which seatbelt sticks in the heat. 

You should be more tired, and some days, you are. But right now, you’re just trying to get them into the goddamn car, already calculating who’s going in first. 

And then you hear it – footsteps. Loud. Fast. Coming right toward you like for some godforsaken reason, you’re the target.

You whip around to see a man sprinting across the parking lot. 

Tall. Built like trouble and doesn’t know how to sit still. Longer, shiny hair. Trimmed beard that says ‘yes, I know what I’m doing, and I’m doing it well.’ Black jeans on bow legs, a gray t-shirt clinging to his broad chest, a battered leather jacket flaring behind him like a cape, his expression wild and focused.

And then, dark green eyes lock onto you. 

You flinch instinctively, already stepping in front of the kids. This is fucking LA, after all. The crazy doesn’t hide in this town – it lives everywhere. 

“Hey! I need your car!” he shouts, reaching into his jacket as he skids to a stop in front of you.

Your heart skips before he flashes a badge, and you exhale with relief – but only for a second. 

“LAPD, Detective Meachum,” he says, baritone voice breathless and rough with adrenaline. “I need to borrow your vehicle. Emergency. Official police business.”

“I–… What–” You blink, already shaking your head before you realize you’re doing it. “No.” 

“No?” His mouth curves with the kind of smile that has probably gotten him out of a hundred bad decisions.

“That’s right. No,” you repeat and don’t budge. “I have three kids under the age of five, a half-eaten granola bar melting in my bra, and I’m not about to let some sweaty stranger with a badge and a beard and zero sense of boundaries Grand Theft Auto nap time.” 

His brow raises. Then he smiles a little. “You like the beard?”

You freeze, your heart pounding faster, mouth opening. “Wha–”

“Just saying, you mentioned it.” He smirks.

Asshole. 

“What in the Fast and the Furious hell is wrong with you?!”

He really looks at you then – like he’s used to getting what he wants and doesn’t know what to do when someone pushes back. Sharp green eyes are already sizing up how much trouble you’re going to be as his chest rises and falls fast, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. 

“Ma’am–” 

“Oh, don’t ma’am me,” you snap. “You don’t get to ma’am me and then try to leave me stranded in a parking lot. I have three children here. Three.”

His gaze flicks to the twins, to the toddler, then back to you. The kids aren’t crying. They’re just staring at him like he’s the lead actor in a movie they’re too young to see.

Honestly, you feel like you’re too young to see that movie. 

You can smell the heat on him – sweat, asphalt, and something a little reckless. His apple green eyes glitter in the sunlight, and for a second, just a second, your brain fucking stutters.

He gives you a crooked grin, breath still catching in his chest. “I can see that. They’re cute.”

You narrow your eyes to a glare. “Don’t.”

“They’ve got your eyes.”

“They absolutely do not.” 

His lips twitch, but he schools it quickly. “Look, I’m trying to be polite here.”

“Oh, how gracious of you,” you huff. “What d’you want me to do, huh? Just stand here while you joyride in my car?”

“I wouldn’t call it a joyride. I’m chasing someone. Armed suspect. Probably shouldn’t have told you that.” He smiles, and you hate how good it looks on him.  

His voice is clipped, clipped, clipped – like every second he talks to you, he’s losing ground. And yet there’s a glint in his eyes that doesn’t match the urgency. Amusement. Or maybe something worse – fucking charm. 

“You can’t just take someone’s car,” you argue and cross your arms. 

“I mean, I can. That’s what the badge is for.” He flashes a quick, exasperated grin – somehow both dazzling and rude. “Look, I really don’t have time to explain, and I can see that you’re doing a stellar job here. No one’s bleeding. Gold star. But if you don’t give me those keys, someone else might not be so lucky. So unless you want to explain to the evening news why a guy got away on your watch–”

“My watch?!”

“–I suggest you hand over the keys,” he finishes and is smug as hell about it, as if he knows he’s going to get away with this.

You hate that it’s working.

“You are unbelievable,” you hiss through your teeth.

“I get that a lot.”

“You are not taking this car!” 

The kids are watching you now, silently waiting. You hesitate, and that’s all he needs.

“Respectfully, ma’am – yes, I am.” He plucks the keys from your hand before you even feel them leave your fingers. 

“Hey!” 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, throwing himself into the driver’s seat. “You’re doing amazing.”

“Wait! My bag–” 

Too late. He’s already shutting the door and adjusting the seat. You lunge for the handle, but the lock clicks before your hand reaches it. He winks at you through the window.

He fucking winks. 

“Tell your husband he’s a lucky guy,” he shouts through the glass with a grin, the engine roaring to life. 

And then, he’s gone. Car, purse, phone, and all.

The SUV screeches out of the lot, tires biting the scorching pavement. You stand frozen, stunned, three kids clustered around your legs, one arm still reaching for the car that’s now halfway down the block and vanishing fast. 

The kids erupt into giggles. Mila claps. Miles yells, “That was so cool!” 

And you? You are going to fucking scream. 

Mila shrugs and says, “That guy’s weird.” 

You stare into the blinding sun above, questioning your life choice and wondering if you’re going to make it home before nap time and the kids turn feral. 

“Yeah,” you mutter. “He’s definitely weird.”

You crack open the front window of your living room, letting in what passes for night air in June in Altadena. It smells faintly of cut grass, someone’s grill, and the perpetual low hum of traffic. The TV glows in the background – some reality show you’re not really watching. 

You settle back down onto the couch and place your laptop across your thighs, half a job application typed out, half a bottle of beer drunk, half a bag of tortilla chips devoured beside you. 

The house is quiet – too quiet, if you’re honest. 

You’re still half-expecting a tiny voice calling your name, someone asking for another glass of water, or forgetting how to pronounce rhinoceros. But there’s nothing. Just you, your crappy Wi-Fi, and a cheap beer sweating into your palm. 

Your body aches, and not in the cute way either. It’s a bone-deep exhaustion, radiating from your lower back and shoulders and wrapping around your knees like lead. 

You eventually got the kids home today – thank God for LA’s ride-share drivers with patience and car seats. You spent two hours apologizing, another three hours panicking, and the rest of the day waiting for a knock on the door that never came. 

No car returned. No badge. Nothing. 

You groan and flop your head back against the couch, taking a slow sip of warm beer and closing your eyes for a full five seconds.

Then comes the knock. Of fucking course. 

You drag yourself upright, expecting a neighbor or a Jehovah’s Witness or someone trying to sell solar panels. But you are definitely not expecting a six-foot-one, leather-jacketed disaster with a crooked grin and a bottle of whiskey. 

Detective Meachum holds up your purse like a trophy. “Special delivery.” 

He flashes a smile that should be registered as a deadly weapon. T-shirt, leather jacket, jeans – like he just stepped off the set of a cop show where the detective never plays by the rules and always gets the girl.

Your mouth falls open. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

“Surprise?”

“You–… I–” You steel yourself for a moment. “You absolute fucking asshole!”  

“Okay,” he says calmly, head bobbing. “I deserved that. Possibly more. Definitely more. You can hit me if you want.”

“You derailed my entire day!” 

“I am aware now, yes. Hence–” He jostles the whiskey bottle in his hand. “Liquid penance. Sold a kidney for this one.” 

But you’re not falling for the smile again and already spiraling into a rant. “I had to drag three kids back to the park with no phone, no snacks, no diapers, no stroller, and no fucking backup! Mila threw up on my shoes!” 

He winces theatrically. “That’s a rough one.”

“Oh, you think?” You raise your brow and fold your arms over your chest. “When I asked a dad at the playground if he could call me an Uber, he tried to hit on me and said his wife wasn’t home tonight.” 

“Oof,” he says and whistles lowly. “Men are trash.”

“Present company included,” you shoot back.

“Guilty.” He grins and tilts his head slightly. “Guess you had a shitty day after I dramatically exited stage left, huh?”

“You could say that,” you grumbled. 

“I mean, in fairness, I didn’t realize I was kicking off a domino effect of childcare-based misery,” he adds apologetically. “But yes, my bad.”

“You didn’t come back!” 

“Look, I had every intention of–… Okay, yeah, you’re right.” He sighs then upon your glare and leans a shoulder casually against your doorframe like it’s a bar in a dive he’s already been thrown out of once tonight. “In my defense, it was a legit chase, alright? High speed. Real stakes. Tires screeching.” 

“So, did you at least get your guy? Or did you just wreck my life for fun?” you ask dryly. 

“Ah,” he says and grins, pointing like you’ve queued him up. “Funny story. Buckle in.”

You roll your eyes and exhale a deep breath. 

“So, I’m flying out of the lot, and this absolute maniac I’m chasing takes a hard turn into a construction site – which, okay, bold move,” he begins, already gesturing animatedly. “Naturally, I follow. Bad idea. Perp jumps out of the car and bolts across three lanes of traffic and then bam – Tesla cuts me off. Scooter kid zips out of fucking nowhere. There’s a smoothie involved, too. Long story short, I hit a pole.” 

Your eyes widen. “You totaled the car?” 

“I–… yes. Technically,” he says and scratches the back of his neck. “There’s no polite way to say ‘the front half crumpled like a soda can.’”

You arch an eyebrow. “And you show up now?” 

“I had to go to the hospital for a wrist X-ray,” he explains. “And then I had to track you down. Wasn’t as easy, you know?”

A tiny smirk curls your lips. “Bet it wasn’t.” 

He huffs a chuckle. “Yeah, I went to the address on the registration. Huge, beautiful house. Fancy gate. Trimmed hedges. Thought, ‘wow, someone’s doing alright.’” 

“Surprised?” you tease.

“A little. No offense, but I didn’t expect the soccer mom in a hoodie full of apple juice stains and a messy bun to live in a mansion in the Hills,” he admits with a soft laugh, and you feel your cheeks catch heat. “Anyways, I ring the bell, expecting you to answer, probably with a toddler stuck to your legs. Definitely with more kids screaming in the background. But instead, some icy blonde with a face carved by botox and rage opens the door.”

You poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue to cover the grin on your lips as best as you can. “And how did that go over?”

“Oh, not well.” He snorts a chuckle. “Malibu Cruella de Vil launched into a full-blown tirade. Said she was gonna call her lawyer. Said you stole her car. Basically told me to arrest myself. Been with the LAPD for a little over a decade, and that was a first.”

“You got me fired,” you cut into his soft laughter. 

“Right.” He clears his throat and his voice of amusement, nodding. “I know. I’m sorry. But hey, at least it’s not your car.”

“What a relief,” you deadpan.

He purses his lips. “So, not your kids, huh?”

“Nope.”

“And I’m guessing the name on the registration isn’t your husband either, and you’re not actually married to a plastic surgeon named Craig,” he deduces. 

“Wow. Are you a detective by any chance?” you mock with a wry smile.

He laughs, throwing his head back a little. “Yeah, might’ve done some minimal detective work to figure out where you live and return your stuff. And, alright, maybe also checked if you didn’t have a six-foot-five husband waiting behind the door with a shotgun.”

“Mhm,” you hum and cock a brow. “You really want me to believe that? You sure you’re not just here to see if you have a shot with the nanny you got fired?”

He clasps a hand to his chest, innocent and mock-affronted. “What, me? No.” He shakes his head unconvincingly, then smirks – slow and lazy. “I came here out of pure, unselfish guilt. But seriously, I figured I owed you a whiskey, at least. And your phone.” He hands it over, adding, “I put my number in, by the way. You know, break glass in case of Mark.”

You lift an eyebrow. “Mark?”

“Uh, yeah,” he chuckles and sends you a softer smile now, slightly flustered. “Me. I’m Mark. Hi.”

“Right. I’m–”

“Yeah, no, I know. I looked it up before I came here, remember?” Mark says, amused, probably noticing how your face is a shade redder now. But then his expression turns a little more sincere. “And hey, I’m sure you’ll find a new gig quickly. I mean, honestly, she was stupid to fire you. You looked like you were killing it with these kids. Hell, I, for sure, thought they were yours by the level of professionalism.”

“Still think they got my eyes?”

“Touché.” He snorts, grinning without shame. “But at least you don’t have to go back to that fancy hellhole and see that bitch again. Her loss, not yours, right?”

You let out a sigh, half-frustration and half-tiredness. “It’s not about her,” you share. “I’ve been with that family for three years. I caught the twins in my arms when they took their first steps. And the baby hadn’t even been born yet when I started there. His first word was my name.”

Mark nods like he suddenly understands then. “Right…” He clicks his tongue. “It was more than a job,” he realizes. 

“Yeah,” you breathe and offer him a small shrug. “It always is.”

“Well, look, I really am sorry for getting you fired. That sucks,” he says. And for the first time, it really sounds like he means it. “Anything I can do? You want me to talk to Malibu bitch? Tell her it’s all my fault?”

“No, it’s fine,” you assure him and exhale a breath. “It’s not gonna help. Trust me. Not entirely your fault alone. After I finally got the kids home, she yelled at me and was upset we missed toddler yoga.”

“Toddler yoga?” His brow quirks.

“Yes, it’s as stupid as it sounds,” you mutter your response. “Anyways, one thing led to another, and after the morning I had, I guess I just lost it. I called her a wine mom who only spends time with her kids when it’s for an Instagram post. And maybe, possibly, I told her she’s turning her kids into tiny sociopaths by ignoring them and feeding them almond paste instead of affection... in front of her SoulCycle friends.”

“Damn. I’m impressed.” Mark lets out a bark of laughter. “Sounds like a great mom. Poor kids.”

“Yeah, and now they don’t even have me anymore,” you say quietly. “She didn’t even let me say goodbye to them. They’ll think I just vanished, probably wondering why I never came back.”

You feel it then – the way your throat closes, the way your eyes start to sting, and the way your heart constricts a little tighter behind your ribs. You’re about to cry, and the chaotic detective on your doorstep can probably tell as well since he shifts on his feet.

A beat passes where Mark quiets for once. 

“Well,” he says then, subtly clearing his throat. “If you feel like yelling some more about your ex-boss, or calling me names, or finishing that beer with something stronger–” He lifts the whiskey like it’s holy water. “I make a great audience. Terrible decisions, sure, but excellent company.” 

You hesitate. You know what this is, and you also know what happens as soon as you invite that man inside. It’s like the Big Bad Wolf knocked on your door tonight with a bottle of cheap booze and the promise of an orgasm. 

“C’mon,” he coaxes and smiles sweetly. “Let me in, yell at me some more, and I pour you a glass while you call me every name in the book. You can even call me a plague upon nannies everywhere. I’m great at getting screamed at. Just ask my captain.”

You lift a brow and eye him from head to toe, studying him. “What’s in it for you?”

“I get to drink expensive whiskey and hear more of your greatest hits while I pretend not to stare at your legs,” he says and grins wickedly. 

Fucking hell.

Your grip tightens on the door, and your brain tries to scramble for reasons why you should absolutely let a reckless stranger into your home. But it’s honestly been a while since you had a guy over. 

Your job is stressful, and most nights, you’re too exhausted to put on makeup and a tight, glittering dress to go out. And even if you do find your way into a club, you never stay too late or drink too much, knowing your alarm goes off early in the morning. 

You give a resigned sigh and step back, opening the door wider. “One drink.”

Mark tries to bite back a shit-eating smirk but doesn’t entirely succeed as he passes you and strolls inside. 

He got you fired. The least he can do is be a decent distraction for one night. 

The whiskey’s nearly gone. 

The bottle’s between you on the coffee table, glowing warm amber under the lamp. Your legs are folded under you on the couch, your head fuzzy and pleasantly light, body thrumming with a slow, steady burn that’s only partly the whiskey and mostly the company. 

Mark’s sitting sideways now, arm slung over the backrest just behind your shoulders, knee bent and almost touching yours. You haven’t told him to leave yet. 

He hasn’t brought it up either.

Instead, the conversation has turned lazy and slow – those late-night murmurs in low light that drift deeper without realizing. You certainly haven’t expected to trauma-bond about jobs, asshole bosses, and sleepless nights with the guy who abandoned you in a parking lot with three children and got you fired.

“So,” he says, voice quiet and rough like smoke. “What’s next for you, gremlin wrangler? Job-wise.”

“God,” you snort at the nickname. Then you give a shrug of your shoulders. “I don’t know. I already put up my post on the website. Probably find a family quickly. Good nannies are a hot commodity in LA, and this house doesn’t pay for itself.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice house. More cozy than the ice queen’s castle in the Hills,” Mark notes and takes another glance around your living room. “What’s the name of the Disney one again?”

You arch a brow. “You mean Elsa from Frozen?” 

“Yeah, that’s the one. Let’s call her that.” He grins wide and a little drunk – maybe on more than just the whiskey. “Of course you know your Disney.”

“Part of the job description,” you quip. 

“How much are you paying rent for this place anyways?”

“Oh, I’m not renting. It’s mine,” you say proudly. The house is small, old, but yours. 

Mark’s brow raises. “You inherited or something?”

“No, dumbass,” you snort a laugh. “I bought it. Couple months ago, actually. Still thinking of what exactly I’m gonna do with this place, you know? I mean, granted, I’m still paying off a huge mortgage, but it’s all mine.”

“Jesus,” he scoffed, brow furrowing. “How much do nannies earn?”

“In LA? Pretty well,” you reply. “If you’re a good nanny, which I am. Elsa actually paid me an annual salary of 200k, including all expenses paid when they wanted me to come on vacation with them. I went to the Maldives three times and twice to Europe. Didn’t pay a cent.”

“Seriously?” Mark sinks a little back into the couch and takes a sip of his drink. “Man, guess I’m doing something wrong. You get that much for dealing with diapers and tantrums? I barely earn half of that, and I’m getting shot at almost every day.”

“Hey, Miles once had a phase where he head-butted me every time he gave me a hug. For fun,” you say, laughing. “And I’m getting shot at with pee, poop, and puke on a daily basis. It’s not all sunshine and Bluey.”

“Honestly, same. I get the pee, poop, puke a lot, too. And the head-butts.” Mark laughs. “I mean, not as much anymore. But surely happened a lot more when I was still working patrol. You know, I think this is the first time I’m questioning my life choices.”

“First time? Really?” you tease with a little grin. 

He matches it. “Maybe happened once or twice before that.”

You then let out a long sigh. “Well, if it helps, I’m questioning my life choices right now, too. I was supposed to go to Europe with them again in September. Just me and the French Riviera.”

“And three kids under five,” Mark adds, copying your wistful tone in jest. 

“Hey, they do sleep sometimes,” you retort, giggling. “And then it’s just me and whatever hot Italian or French guy with an unbuttoned shirt buys me the first drink at the bar.”

“Wow, didn’t know you were that easy,” he taunts you a little, that tiny wolfish smirk spreading under the beard again. “I bought you a whole bottle. What does that get me?”

“You bought me a bottle because you got me fired,” you counter playfully. 

“Fair,” he says, but the smirk doesn’t disappear. “I wouldn’t worry about finding another job. Any family would be lucky to have you. I mean, you care, you know? That’s rare to find in an employee.”

“How do you know? You just met me today,” you challenge him with a little smile. 

Mark leans in a little like he’s sharing a secret. “First thing I noticed about you. I mean, I came running up to you probably looking like a maniac, and you immediately moved in front of the kids and looked at me like you were ready to shoot me in the middle of the street in broad daylight.”

“Funny. That was exactly what I was thinking,” you joke, and he laughs again – full, soft, and warm. 

“Well, anyways, I figured, ‘Yeah, of course she is. Now that’s a great mom.’ And then I find out those aren’t even your kids,” he says, and there’s something in the green of his eyes you can’t quite decode. “So, yeah, I’d say you give a shit, and your next family should give you a goddamn throne.” 

“Smooth,” you giggle softly, your gaze drifting to your fingers in your lap. 

He suddenly groans then and squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s in pain and leans slightly forward on his thighs. 

“You okay? Too much whiskey?” you check and tilt your head with a soft smile. 

He chuckles lightly, blinking his eyes back open, and empties his tumbler. “Uh, maybe. Just a headache. Already gone.” He smiles somewhat convincingly, your gazes locking.

A heartbeat passes, and your breath catches. He clocks it. 

His hand moves slowly – first toward your glass, taking it from you without breaking eye contact, then setting it down on the coffee table with a gentle clink. When he turns back, his face is closer and you can almost count each freckle on the tip of his nose. His fingers graze your wrist, tracing upward. He gently pulls a little, and you shift closer till your leg is brushing his. 

It’s silent for a moment. Green eyes drop to your mouth, then flick back up – asking without asking. You don’t pull back or answer, just hold his gaze.

And then, his lips press against yours.

It’s scorching hot from the start. He kisses you like he’s been dying to all night and you’re his goddamn last meal. His lips are plump, firm, and searching, and when you gasp, he takes the opportunity to deepen it, tongue sliding against yours as his hand moves to the back of your neck. 

The tension explodes all at once. He tastes like good whiskey and leather and sweat, and you kiss him like you’re starving for it. You climb into his lap, straddling his muscular thighs, fingers eagerly tugging at the hem of his shirt. He growls against your mouth, hands dragging down your back, gripping your ass hard as you grind against him.

“Bedroom?” he mutters without ever really parting from your skin. 

“Left down the hall,” you pant, breathless. “First door.” 

He hauls you up like you weigh nothing, hands on your thighs, mouth never leaving yours. The trip down the hallway is frantic – bumping into walls, your bubbly laughter tangled in his deep groans, your fingers tugging at his belt as he kicks open the door.

Clothes fly in all directions. You don’t know who takes off what first or in which order. You just know you want to feel as much warm skin underneath your fingertips as you can tonight. 

He bites your shoulder and kisses your neck. You bite his jaw and kiss his collarbone. When there’s just underwear left, you push him down on the bed and fall to your knees in front of him. 

He looks down at you like he’s already ruined – broad chest rising fast, pupils blown wide, boxers tenting with how ready he is. His hands fist in the sheets like he’s trying not to grab you, dark green eyes looking at you as if they want to see what you’ll do next. 

You curl your fingers into the waistband, and he lifts his hips in a silent offering. You drag the fabric down, slow and unhurried, watching the way his cock springs free –thick, flushed, and leaking. Beautiful and heavy, twitching against his stomach like it’s aching for you. 

You take him in your hand first, wrapping your fingers around the base, stroking him just once – slow, deliberate. His hips buck and his eyes snap back to yours. He runs a hand through his hair, head tilting back. 

Then you lean forward and lick a long stripe up the underside, tasting the salt of his skin, the heady musk of him. He groans, deep and raw, as you seal your lips around the tip. 

He’s hot, heavy, and velvety on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, easing lower inch by inch, and one of his hands finds your hair, fingers tangling between strands. Not forcing – just there, grounding himself as you take him deeper.

But fuck, the sounds he makes? They’re low, unfiltered, almost feral. He keeps muttering your name under his breath like a prayer, and it sends tingles throughout your skin. You pull back just to swirl your tongue around the head before sinking again, letting your spit slick him up as your hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach.

He’s definitely more than the average you’ve usually taken home. And you didn’t even have to take this one home – he’s been practically delivered to your doorstep. Either by God or the devil, you’re not sure yet. 

“F-fuck, that mouth,” he hisses under his breath and twitches on your tongue, hips starting to rock in sync with you. 

And then suddenly, he pulls you off with a wet pop and a hand under your chin, tilting your face up. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, and hungry, jaw locked tight. He pulls you up by your arms into his lap, a secure arm wrapping around your middle as he brushes your hair out of your face with his other. 

“You keep doing that, I’m gonna come,” he says, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. 

“Thought that was the point,” you tease. 

“My turn.” He smirks.

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s flipping you gently underneath him and dragging you further up the mattress. He kisses you contrastingly hard – tongue deep, his taste mixing with yours – before sliding down between your thighs and leaving featherlight kisses on your skin in his wake. 

He spreads your legs with both hands, gaze locked reverently on your center like it’s the only thing that matters. 

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs with a sleek smile as he runs his fingers through your slick heat.

And then his mouth is on you. 

Hot, slow licks that make your hips jerk, your back arch, and your fucking toes curl. He groans like it’s his favorite thing in the goddamn world, tongue moving in lazy circles before he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. Your breath hitches and a strangled moan escapes. 

Holy shit. 

You’re almost sure you could’ve come from that alone, and it’s never this easy. But your own surprise doesn’t last long before you feel one, two fingers join in, and they seem to be even more clever and skilled than his tongue – thick digits curling until they hit that spongey spot that makes you cry out and no one ever reaches. 

Your thighs shake around his head and your hands fly to his silky hair, gripping tight as he devours you. His name falls from your lips among a few curses, and you break with a moan so loud and filthy you’re not sure the neighbors can’t hear it, too.

Your legs lock around his shoulders, your hips grind almost helplessly into his mouth, and he doesn’t stop until you whimper – until you push gently against his head before falling back into the sheets with the most blissful sigh ever uttered on this planet.

He kisses his way back up your body and chuckles against your neck. “Still mad at me for getting you fired?”

“Feeling better about it now,” you grin breathlessly. 

Fuck, you could peacefully fall asleep right now and never wake up and be perfectly fine with that. 

Then his mouth claims yours, and you taste yourself on his tongue. “Condom?” he asks, voice just a smoky rasp. 

Still panting, you silently reach over into your nightstand, tossing it to him with trembling fingers. Despite the satisfying ache in your bones, you still manage to prop yourself onto your elbows as he rips open the foil and rolls it down his throbbing length. 

His eyes find yours in the dark. “You good?”

You nod – dizzy, content, and keen – and kiss him in response, your hands gently pushing his shoulders back into the mattress. He watches you with mesmerized eyes as you bracket his hips. His massive hands spread wide on your thighs and slide higher and higher – gentle and coaxing. 

His cock stands thick and hard between you. Your knees press into the mattress as your fingers slide between you, guiding him to your entrance. The head slips against your folds, hot and slick and pulsing. You pause just for a second, breath catching in your lungs as you brace your hands on his smooth chest and sink down.

And shit, the stretch makes your whole body shudder. He’s so goddamn big, and you feel every single inch as you ease him in – burning, filling, aching. Your walls flutter around him, already overwhelmed. The ache slides into pleasure so quick your head spins.

“Fuck,” he grits out beneath you, eyes squeezing shut. “You feel–… Shit, you feel unreal.” 

You gasp as you bottom out, hips flush against his. You stay there for a heartbeat, throbbing around him as the thick weight of him stretches you to your limit. His warm hands come up to cradle your waist, callous thumbs brushing your ribs like he’s trying to ground himself. 

You find your rhythm gradually, rolling your hips in slow, deep circles. The angle makes you see more stars than there are in the sky – he hits every nerve ending like he was built to wreck you. His hands glide from your waist to the globes of your ass, helping you move, guiding you down harder.

And fuck, it feels good. You ride him like you need it – like this isn’t just sex, but it’s a goddamn exorcism. Sweat slicks your skin, your tits bounce with every movement, and his gaze is fixed on you like you’re the most beautiful damn thing he’s ever fucking seen. 

He thrusts up to meet you, the slap of skin-on-skin filling the room, wet and so goddamn shameless. The friction sends sparks spiraling through your belly, and you lean forward, bracing your palms on the headboard to take him even deeper. 

His mouth finds your neck, your shoulder, your nipples – biting, kissing, groaning your name. You grind down harder, chasing the fire pooling low in your stomach, and watch him fall apart underneath you – mouth slack, eyes wild, fingers gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise. Sweat beads on his chest, and his filthy praises tumble out like he can’t stop them. 

“Shit, look at you–… taking me so good… so fucking tight–” 

Your orgasm hits like a wave against rocks – your whole body trembles, muscles clenching around him, his name tearing from your throat over and over. You barely get your breath back before he grabs your waist, flips you onto your back, and drives into you again – deeper, harder. Animal.

He fucks you like he’s losing his mind and wants to lose it in you. He pounds into you with everything he has left – raw, ragged thrusts, fucking you like he’s trying to leave a piece of himself behind. 

Your legs wrap around his hips instinctively, your nails scrape down his back. He’s flushed, feral, lost in it – but when he looks down at you, it’s something else entirely. This isn’t just about getting off.

It’s about you.

He kisses you as he comes – deep and breathless and wild. 

His body goes taut. You feel him pulse, hear the guttural stutter in his breath as he buries himself to the hilt. He doesn’t move right away. Just pants against your neck, one hand cradling your face, the other pressed tight to your waist like he doesn’t want to let go. 

The air is thick with sweat and whiskey and sex, but underneath it blooms something warmer. It’s like everything else about him – reckless, consuming, and addictive. 

It’s not love. It’s not fate. It’s just heat and skin and something strange humming beneath it all that you can’t name – something that might fade with the morning light.

For now, though, you let it linger and let him stay.

▶️ What If I Told You I'm Back? – SOON

Do we like so far? How did you enjoy that little reader plot twist? I honestly had a little too much fun with this lol. Somehow Mark feels more up my alley than any other Jackles character, and I can't wait to see what else we get from him in the show 👀

I'll post parts of this series randomly whenever the muse strikes, life lets me write, and however the show develops, but we're definitely safe for the next 2-3 parts 🤓💙

⭐️ Tag List PSA: I updated the tag list to include Mark, so if you're not on my Everything Jensen tags, and want to be added to Everything Mark Meachum or this series specifically, fill out the form 🚀. If you received a tag for this story, you're already on the Everything list and will be tagged either way.

Coming Up:

It was a one-time thing. Good sex with a handsome stranger. A moment. A distraction. A hot, borderline reckless one-night stand with a guy who kissed like he meant it and fucked like he needed it.

Yes, it was good. Better than good. But it was also over. That’s how these things go.

You get out of the car, and the porch creaks under your feet as you climb the last step to your house, keys already in hand, eyes focused on the lock. You’re half on autopilot, your brain fried from interviews, LA traffic, and summer heat, when a deep voice cuts through the suburban quiet.

“Hey.”

You flinch so hard you let out a very undignified yelp, keys clattering to the floor. Your head snaps toward the sound, and there he is:

Mark.

He’s sitting on the bench to the left of your front door, half in shadow, one arm resting loosely on his thigh like he’s been waiting there for a while. The other hand, however, rubs the back of his neck like he already regrets being here.

“Jesus,” you breathe, one hand flying to your chest, heart pounding fast underneath your palm. “You scared the shit out of me.”

He stands instantly, clearly aware of how bad this looks – tall and awkward and handsome in the last light of day, offering a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You glance at the door, then back at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the area,” he says, which you both know is a lie. He clears his throat a little. “And honestly? Being a bit of a dick.”

Tag List Pt. 1:

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