#Part 9

[deemoth]

Dragona Joestar doodle?

slightly too rendered to b considered a real doodle but here she is!! spoilers below

I'm still not entirely solid on hcs regarding her but I made her look a bit more like me bc I do love her a lot,, pink-chan<3 I was DISTRAUGHT when I thought she was going to die earlier in the manga. Her and her bunny boyfriend, Usagi </3 if it does happen later you best believe Im going to drown myself in art requests again,,,, WHICH I'M STILL ACCEPTING BTW!! VERY preferably jjba related :3 looks at my moots with big pleading eyes for more reqs/suggestions

[thevoidstaredback]

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

Danny was waiting when Dick came home. "Welcome home, Dick."

He runned the back of his neck nervously, slipping the window closed behind him. "Hey, Danny."

There was a long moment of silence, Dick standing in front of the closed window and Danny sitting on the couch. Danny took a sip of the tea he was holding before setting the mug down on the coffee table with a click. "So," he leveled a small glare at the vigilante, "you gonna apologise to Tim?"

"Who?" Dick blinked.

"The kid you yelled at and then left standing in your apartment as you went out as Nightwing for exactly two hours, fifteen minutes, and twenty-two seconds longer than your new schedule allows."

He cringed back. "Listen, kid-"

"No, you're listening to me, so shut up and sit down." He did, dropping right to the floor. "I don't know what the hell happened between you and Batman, but you don't get to take it out on the people around you, especially not the kid that just trying to help."

"Dan-"

"What did I just say?" He sighed. "Look. I get it. You're grieving, both you and Batman are, but that doesn't excuse your behavior. It doesn't excuse Batman's behavior, either, so don't think that's what I'm saying."

Dick carefully pulled his domino mask off. "What do you want me to do?"

"Several things." Danny stood and walked into the bathroom, coming back a few seconds later with Dick's first aid kit. "First, though, you're gonna let me patch you up. Then, you're gonna use my phone and apologise to Tim. After that, you eat and go to bed; You have work in a few hours."

Knowing he wasn't going to be getting out of this, Dick started to take his suit off. He slipped his arms out of the sleeves and let Danny treat the bruises on his arms and hands. Not much damage that night. He'd only encountered a few petty crimes so it had been quiet.

Without another word shared between them, Danny left to put the first aid kit away before making a quick snack for Dick while he went to change. It'd only been about a week, but they'd fallen into an easy routine.

Dick was quick to change and eat, falling asleep nearly ten minutes after he laid down.

***

Danny made sure Dick was asleep before he left the apartment as Phantom. He'd learned, during his two weeks of not-stalking, that a some criminals hung back until Nightwing had turned in before they came out to play. Phantom was going out for an extra two hours each night to remedy this. Though, he made sure no one ever spotted him before or after he knocked people out. Invisibility was hand like that.

Sure, he didn't have all that much experience as a vigilante, but he'd been traveling for four weeks before stopping. The first lesson he learned was that he needed to learn fast. He was wasn't a genius like the rest of his family, but he picked up on things really fast. Fighting had been one of those things. Though, the lessons from his mom when he was a kid also helped a lot.

Staying invisible was easy, so was intangibility and flight. The three together made stealth easier than if he didn't have them. Though, he did make sure to practice his stealth without them, too. Being caught unawares or without his powers would be disastrous and he was going to do everything he could to mitigate the risk.

Blockbuster, Phantom had learned, was the reason Dick had stayed in Bludhaven. He was also the ringleader of the organised crime in the city. Apparently, he's the second of the Blockbuster name? The giant of a man had his hands everywhere; The Bludhaven Police, as well as the underbellies of New York, Metropolis, and Gotham. With eyes and ears everywhere, not a lot got passed him, which is likely why Nightwing was having trouble getting the crime rates down. So, Danny Phantom was going to help.

He'd heard the name Oracle from both Nightwing and Blockbuster's goons, so Phantom assumed whoever that was was on his side. Unluckily, though, they were now a target. He just needed to get a hold of them without letting them find him.

Phantom had heard the information from several goons since he'd started going out, but he didn't know if Nightwing knew or not. Though, he didn't know how to pass on the information. How could he tell Dick what he knows without letting slip that he'd been going out? Dick would call him a hypocrite and would fall back into his passively suicidal schedule. Danny's not a hypocrite! He just runs on a separate schedule. A schedule that Dick might not like, but one that works for Danny.

The intel Phantom was working with tonight was about some of Dick's coworkers. He knew the corruption in the Bludhaven and Gotham City Police Departments ran thick and deep, so he wasn't really surprised to find out that Detective Soames and Chief Redhorn ran with the less than pleasant people that made their homes and bases in Bludhaven.

Dick knew this, too, which is why he became an officer in the first place.

According to the goons Phantom had spied on, Detective Soames was involved in a drug ring that was doing deliveries tonight. It was timed to be after Nightwing had turned in for the night so that he wouldn't be able to bust it. It was a smart move on the ringleader's part, to have his goons out only after Nightwing was done for the night.

That was the next thing he was going to have to work on with Nightwing. He couldn't have a discernible pattern without someone with him to cover. Honestly, Batman should know better, too. Maybe he'll pass it on to Tim?

While on the road, Danny had learned that his powers were still developing. One of which was a kind of sixth sense. It worked somewhere between hearing and a spider's ability to feel vibrations in the air and webs. He didn't know is reach on it yet, but he was able to cover half of Bludhaven from where the ability currently sat, so he was going to work with that limit for now.

The warehouse he was staking out was where he'd heard goons talk about for nearly a week. They had been careless, assuming that there was no one out to catch them, but it worked in Phantom's favor. It was mostly empty, save for a few homeless squatters looking for some shelter, and was otherwise undisturbed.

Phantom didn't believe it for a second.

He was also going to laugh in Tim's face if the goons in Bludhaven were smarter than the goons in Gotham.

Right on time, just as the clock turned over into the Witching Hour, the homeless people sheltered in the warehouse stood up and met in the center of the building. Together, and armed, they waited for exactly five minutes. Then, the back doors to the building opened and Detective Soames walsted in.

"Gentlemen," the detective greeted with a sneer, "Lady. Do you have what I came here for?"

"Do we look like idiots?" the lady of the group scoffed, "Of course we have it."

"Well, I don't see it," Soames frowned, "Where is it?"

The dirty blond to the woman's right was the next to speak. "Hidden in the walls."

Soames' frown deepened into a scowl. "The hell is it in there for?"

The only other person of the group, a brown haired man, said, "There's rumors goin' 'round about a Spook. Comes out when Nightwing turns in."

Well, well, well. Looks like Phantom's gaining a reputation.

"You believe in ghost stories now?" Detective Soames sneered, "Get my delivery, now."

The three scuttled off the the wall just under where Phantom was hiding in the rafters. He timed ten minutes before they walked back upto Soames with two bricks of cocaine each.

"You're short."

"This is the agreed upon amount." the lady argued.

Soames' expression twisted into something cruel. "Did I forget to tell you? Tsk. Shame." In a quick and fluid movement, he whipped a pistol from his inner pocket and shot the woman and then the blond. He picked up the bricks, tucking them under his arm before taking the last two from the brunet. "I cannot build an empire without a few casualties, right?"

The man gulped, eyeing the gun. "Y-yes, sir."

Soames hummed. "The sands of Egypt were dyed red with blood. The roads of Rome are the same." He turned away from the man. "Twelve bricks in two weeks. You'll have a location shortly."

Phantom watched the detective leave with a frown. So that was the deal, huh? He didn't know too much about Bludhaven's criminals yet, but he was fairly certain that a man like Blockbuster won't like someone trying this shit under his nose.

He was quick to leave the warehouse after that, doing a quick loop of the city - focused mostly on Sin Central and The Spine - before flying back to Dick's apartment. He wrote down everything from the night, complete with drawings of everyone of note that he saw. He'd pass it to Nightwing as soon as he needed to. For now, though, it remained his cases alone.

Part 8 Part 10

[vickbb]

ass sketches :D

[kil0sparkler]

Repercussion, Repetition, Resolution By: Pitopishi Part 9/9 Bloopers!!!

First / Previous / End

I hope you guys enjoyed this comic, again this was made by Pitopishi! Thanks to @HK That GF FAN for finding this comic, couldn’t have done this without they!

Remember, reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy Gold BYE!!!

👁️

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 9

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: The great escape…

Song Inspo: “Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)” by Kate Bush

Word Count: 7.2K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Blood and violence, death, angst, trauma and PSTD, smut, hurt/comfort and feels.

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

Part 9: Free to Be You and Me

Free me, you compelled Eisenstein’s mind.

He obeyed you with a vacant look in his eyes. He unhooked your straitjacket and opened the door. After you grabbed up his cattle prod, you still didn’t release your psychic hold. You ordered him forward, and for the first time you walked freely out of your cell without restraint.

Take me to Soldier Boy.

Eisenstein walked forward. Any time you came across a guard, you tased them long enough to touch whatever scrap of skin you could, usually their face or their neck. You added them to your collective control.

Now you had literal bodyguards protecting you as you made your way through the compound. You hadn’t used your powers in so long. It felt good, like stretching an aching muscle.

Once you reached Ben’s cell, Eisenstein stopped in front of it. When you peered inside the small window on the door, it looked misty as hell.

Clear the gas, you ordered.

The doctor pressed a key of numbers on a pad beside the door, and the gas receded into the vents.

Open the door.

He did as you commanded, then he stepped aside for you. You ordered the guards to stand watch outside the open door before you hurried inside. Ben was lying on the floor, mostly on his side. He was still very naked, though your face warmed as you tried not to focus on that part.

It made you sad more than anything. They’d been keeping him in here like an animal, worse than you, and after what he did for you…you could no longer find it in yourself to hate him.

You took his face into your hands and tapped his cheek.

“Ben… Ben, wake up,” you prodded.

His brows twitched. He made a sound of waking, and you swept his hair out of his eyes. Before they even opened all the way, his hand shot out and grabbed you by the throat. It choked a gasp out of you as you scrambled to grab his wrist.

“Ben,” you said with difficulty. “It’s me…”

Though if you thought about it, after the last things you’d said to him, maybe he did really want to kill you. Maybe he regretted saving you after all.

As he blinked more awake, this time he actually took in your face. His hand relaxed when he recognized you. You panted in relief to see it dawn in his eyes. His thumb slightly brushed across your jaw, and your name fell from his lips, almost in wonder.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you said with a smile and tears in your eyes. “Come on.”

You helped him up the best you could. His frame was bigger and heavier, and he was still a bit unsteady on his feet. He slung an arm around your shoulders and let you guide him out of the room. He tensed at seeing the guards in their green uniforms and Eisenstein standing there, but you held a hand to his chest. His skin there was hot to the touch. You frowned.

Must be whatever the serum did to him.

Dismay pulsed inside you, but you’d think about that later.

“It’s okay, they’re with me,” you told him with a smile, before you looked at one of the guards.

“Give him your clothes,” you ordered.

The man was compelled to set down his gun, take off his hat and the rest of his uniform, even his underwear, socks, and boots. He gave them all to Ben, who raised a brow.

“I’m good without the briefs,” he said with a grimace, tossing the used underwear to the floor. You flickered at a smile.

“Guess you’re going commando,” you said.

Ben scoffed. He muttered, “Yeah, what else is fucking new.”

A sliver of sadness once again pierced you, but you stayed quiet. He released you so he could get dressed. Biting your lip, you glanced away to give him some privacy.

Another guard turned the corner and noticed you all in the hallway. He raised a pointed finger and shouted something in Russian, then he raised his gun. You ordered your guards to shoot the man, but the damage was done. A red alert was sounding overhead.

“Let’s go,” Ben said. After lacing up his boots, he guided you with a hand on your back.

Eisenstein and three guards formed a pack of protection around you and Ben as you moved through the compound. You slowed to a stop at what looked like a laundry room.

“I need something else to wear,” you said. “Once we get outside, I’m gonna stick out—”

Ben eyed your thin gray gown and socks. He grabbed your arm and led you inside.

“Find something in here,” he said, as if that wasn’t your idea.

Instead of wasting time picking an argument, you just nodded in agreement. You looked around and picked through the large clean bin of clothing. It held several mixed bundles of faded green men’s shirts and pants. Finally, you managed to find a dark red tracksuit. It was a men’s size, so it wasn’t going to fit you, but maybe you’d look a little less ridiculous. Ben tossed you the smallest pair of boots he could find, and they were still huge. They would have to do.

“How do we get out of here?” you asked as you got dressed. You turned around for a semblance of modesty, but it didn’t stop the man from glancing over, checking out your ass, bare legs and back.

“We fight,” he replied. There was a dark note in his voice that you understood, and you agreed with him.

“I know. I mean a little more specifically,” you said. When you were dressed, you turned around and met your companion’s grim look. Together, you two returned to the hall and focused on Eisenstein.

“What’s the best way to get out of here?” you asked him. Your hold on his mind forced him to answer honestly.

“The compound is three stories underground. You must take the elevators up to the top,” he responded, almost like a robot.

“Show us,” you ordered.

The doctor complied. He led the way, and the guards covered your back as you hurried through the maze of hallways. Finally, he led you to the main laboratory. Inside were the rest of the doctor’s team trying to filter out and evacuate, while the rest of the security guards formed a line against you. You saw where the scientists were headed, to a large elevator along the far wall. 

“There!” you pointed, grabbing Ben’s arm.

He held you to him quick when the shots fired your way. He protected you with his body as the bullets bounced harmlessly off his skin, though a few of them tore through his clothes. He turned around but kept you behind him. His hands curled into fists, and he rooted his stance. You weren’t sure what he was doing, but you hid yourself behind his broad back.

Ben charged up the power that had already been building in his chest. It had started from the moment they injected him with that goddamn serum.

Now, he knew what it was. It felt like lava inside his chest—a nuclear force that he unleashed throughout the lab. It destroyed everything in its path, from desks and beakers to walls and support beams, to the men screaming and trying in vain to get away.

When it was over, Ben heaved for breath but remained standing. You peered around him in shock.

“Oh my God…”

There wasn’t much left of the lab, just a ruins, and a meager group of survivors, limping, moaning, struggling. Your face evened out, akin to stone. You had no sympathy for any of them. You endured their studies and were forced to hear their thoughts. You knew that these men weren’t men at all.

You decided to finish the job.

“Cover your ears,” you told Ben. He shot you a questioning look, his brows furrowed. 

“Just trust me,” you said.

Then you opened your mouth, and you sang. Your eyes glowed with power, and the force of your siren song gripped every man still alive in the room. They soon began screaming anew, holding their heads as tears of blood streamed from their eyes. That included your guards, as well as Doctor Eisenstein.

Ben was forced to cover his ears, gritting his teeth. It didn’t affect him as badly, but even he yelled in strain.

You released your hold on the room and stopped singing. By then, all the normal humans were dead.

It was your turn to catch your breath. You’d used up a great deal of energy in a short span of time with your powers, and your body was still weak and undernourished. You took an unsteady step forward and nearly fell.

Ben caught you around your waist. He gathered you up against his chest, and you tried to grab onto his arms and keep your head raised.

His gaze flit over your face. “Can you walk?”

You closed your eyes to try and clear the dizziness and black spots from your vision.

“Uh, yeah. Just give me a minute,” you said.

Ben made a sound of impatience. He hefted you into his arms easily. You gasped and held onto him, and he made his way across the ruined lab.

The elevator doors were fried, but the compartment still worked. Without dropping you, he wedged his hand in between the fused metal doors and ripped them open. Then he stepped inside with you in his arms.

You felt the heat still emanating from his chest. You glanced up at him. There, he met your stare. There was so much you wanted to say, and yet, you had no idea how. You wondered if he felt the same way.

He faced forward again, and you did the same. You two rode the elevator all the way up in silence.

You asked him to set you down on your feet when the elevator finally reached the ground floor. It was merely a lobby area with some thick double doors at the end. You practically ran to it, regardless of your unsteady gait. You just wanted to breathe fresh air and see the outside world.

And it was beautiful. You teared up at seeing the gray sky and the expanse of snow-laden mountains in the distance, even though the air was freezing. A gust of wind shoved at you. You held yourself with a shiver and a gasp as you stared out at the expanse of snow ahead. You weren’t dressed for a cold snap in Siberia. 

Ben wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you back. You doubted he felt the cold much with his invulnerable skin. For once you were jealous.

“Come on, there’s a car over there,” he said, pointing to a small parking lot.

The only scientist who escaped the lab was trying to thrust his key into the door lock of his gray sedan. His hands were shaking badly, but he managed to get the key in. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

The scientist slowly looked up, and he saw Ben’s grim reflection in the window.

It was the last thing he saw.

You and Ben bickered over the navigation to the closest airport. You had the map in your hands, not that you could read it very well in Russian, but he claimed his instincts were leading him south. You once again wanted to throttle him.

You eventually figured out the way to the closest international airport, thanks to the small image of a plane on the map. You didn’t have luggage, which made things easier, but you still needed to compel several people into giving you a pair of tickets (in coach, as to not be suspicious—through security and Customs before you could board the next flight to New York. By the time you and Ben actually sat down in your shitty seats on the plane, you were exhausted in every way.

“You can have the window seat,” you offered. “I’m probably just going to sleep the whole way.”

Ben tacitly agreed and slid in first, but he watched you lower down into the middle seat with a tired sigh. You glanced over at him.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked.

“Fine,” he answered, his voice deep and stoic as always. He opened up the bag of snacks he’d snuck onto the plane and started chowing down on some beef jerky. He offered you some, and you took a couple of pieces.

It was hard to tell what he was thinking. You felt a bit of anxiety coming off of him with your abilities, though you supposed that could’ve been from the plane gearing up to take off, finally getting you guys the hell out of here.

Or maybe, like you, flashes of the past decade were still filtering through his mind, making this moment seem unreal.

We actually did it. We made it out.

Even so, you weren’t sure what he saw when he looked at you. The last time you two had truly spoken, you’d said a lot of hurtful things, even though many of them were hard truths he’d needed to hear.

“Yes! It is your fault. Because you’re too much of a mean, callous, arrogant, entitled, selfish, fucking asshole to see that everybody hates you!”

“The only thing I really wanted from you was what you could do for my career.”

You remembered the sound of his voice, not even angry anymore. Just resigned.

“It was all an act, huh?”

“Yeah, it was,” you said. “I fucking hope I never have to see your face again.”

The memory of it made your chest sting. It also filled you with questions you were almost afraid to ask.

Did he resent you? Hate you? Was this Bonnie and Clyde escape plan just for convenience’s sake, or…did he actually care about you, deep down?

As you thought about what happened yesterday in his cell, the way he’d saved you from Eisenstein’s experiment—the serum that created the damn nuclear bomb in his chest—you had to wonder…

If he didn’t care about you, why else had he saved you? 

The question continued to revolve in your mind, like discordant notes on a stanza’s refrain, until your exhaustion claimed you.

Flashes of memory scored through your subconscious. They filled your dreams with echoes of pain and the sound of your own voice giving out.

You woke with a start, heaving for breath as panic rose high in your chest and throat. Your heartbeat was pulsing in your ears, and you felt clammy and wrong.

Ben whispered your name sharply. His grip on your arm broke you out of the haze, but it startled you as well. You blinked fast, as if you could clear the nightmare from continuing behind your eyes. He glanced over his shoulder at one of the flight attendants passing by. Ben soon returned his attention to you though.

“Calm down. You’re going to blow our cover,” he said.

You nodded shakily, but you couldn’t help it. Tears welled up in your eyes and made your lips tremble.

“What if they come after us?” you whispered. You were even trembling in your distress. “What if they find us—”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Ben said sternly. “We Kentucky fried all those Commie cocksuckers.”

“I can’t. I can’t go back,” you said, shaking on every word. Your fear, your panic was rising, making your hand clutch at the front of his shirt.

Ben’s frown deepened. He turned toward you and took your face in his big hands, earning a gasp from you. Your watery eyes met his firm ones.

“You’re not going back,” he said. “That shit’s over, you understand me?”

Tears continued to slip down your cheeks, but you gave a jerky nod. He didn’t seem satisfied.

After a moment of hesitation, he pulled you in for a hard kiss. Your breath hitched…but your eyes fell closed. You didn’t care that his scraggly beard rasped against your chin. All you could do was focus on the familiarity of his lips moving against yours.

He pulled away slowly, with him seeming to try and gauge your reaction. Your eyes slid open and met his. Your fingers tangled further in his shirt, and you tugged yourself closer, your lips nearing his in askance.

He answered you, kissing you again.

Landing in LaGuardia Airport was even more of a shitshow than it used to be. A mess of people and traffic and tourists and resident commuters, it didn’t matter that it was at one in the morning. Cars honking and people jabbering and the clanking of suitcases rolling across the ground as airport staff droned instructions on the overhead speakers; it was all discombobulating for you, after having spent so long alone and in the dark, with minimal interactions or stimulation.

You had a feeling you weren’t the only one a bit overwhelmed. You noticed Ben’s tense expression and tight shoulders. His head turned at every sharp sound…and even sounds that weren’t there.

You stayed close to him as you two found your way outside the airport. You watched out for him silently, while he kept a hand on your lower back. Neither of you seemed to want to lose each other in the throng. He managed to hail a cab, beating out a businessman who was busy talking on some kind of cordless phone.

You and Ben shared a bewildered look on that one.

Once you were in the cab, sitting beside Ben, you let out a breath of relief. It was still cold in April, and your overlarge tracksuit wasn’t cutting it.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked. You glanced at your companion and gave him a raised finger, imploring him to follow your lead. You had an idea.

“Take us to the nearest department store,” you said.

“At this time? All the stores are closed,” the cabbie replied.

“Just do what she fucking said, all right, pal?” Ben said, none too gently. He was already on edge from the long flight and antsy to get somewhere comfortable.

“Okay, man. Jeez,” the cabbie muttered. He drove off, peeling away from the curb and merging into traffic.

You couldn’t fault Ben; you felt the same way. You laid a comforting hand on his thigh. He glanced at you and calmed, somewhat. He raised his arm and draped it over the back of your seat. You tentatively took it as an invitation, so you scooched over a little to rest against his side.

Letting out a long breath through his nose, he looked out the window at the passing scenery of the city. The nightlife all flashed by in familiar colors and sounds of cars honking and music playing in the distance. Meanwhile, his fingers brushed along your shoulder absently. As the car’s warmth seeped into your bones, you tried your best to stay awake.

You and Ben broke into Sears via the backdoor alleyway, next to one vile smelling dumpster. There you veered off into separate ways in the department store.

You chose to grab a cart before you went into the women’s section. You started with the bras and panties and pulled things off the display tables and hangers, regardless of their price. Dear God, I’ve missed real underwear. You even grabbed a few silky, lacy things in the lingerie section, with a secret smile over your shoulder.

You grabbed a razor while you were at it, along with some other toiletries, shampoo and conditioner, a generous pile of makeup, and some other hair and body products.

You later perused with a half-critical eye at the rest of the women’s clothing. Apparently, jeans were a lot baggier in the ‘90s, and you were finding too many crop tops and overalls.

What the hell is this decade? you thought, but you managed to find a few outfits you liked that were still versatile enough to mix and match. You didn’t know when you’d be able to do this again.

Within the hour, you met back up with Ben, who was carrying all of his clothing finds piled up in his arms. You smiled in amusement. Typical man.

He dumped it all into your cart—a few pairs of pants and shirts and jackets and shoes, and even a men’s electrical shaving kit.

“Good call, lumberjack,” you said, eyeing his beard. Ben shook his head and ran a palm over the sheer length of it.

“Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” he grumbled.

“Ooh, wait,” you said, pointing at a row of suitcases. “That’ll make this easier.”

He agreed. Soon, you had each picked out your suitcases and packed them with your finds. Then you literally rolled out the way you came.

You paused at the door when you heard a clicking sound, followed by the handle turning. A security guard was just as surprised to catch you and Ben as you were to see him. But before he could even raise his gun, you stepped up and touched his face.

Sleep, and forget.

Within seconds, the man’s eyes rolled up into his head, and he slumped to the floor in a heap.

Ben had the next idea of where to go, after hailing another cab. You went along with it, but you thought he could’ve picked something a little more…inconspicuous.

Your eyes were bright, however, when you stared up at the beautiful building of the Plaza Hotel. You had never stayed here before, but it was also the home of the Oak Room. Ben had taken you there for dinner a handful of times, including on your first date.

“Why here?” you asked, glancing up at Ben. He shot you a knowing smile.

“Was feeling a little sentimental, I guess.”

His hand came to rest on your lower back again, and you ventured with him inside to the hotel lobby. It was pristine, as always, with its polished tile floors and vaulted ceilings. It wasn’t check-in hour, so the place was mostly empty, save for a single front desk clerk on the night shift.

That was in your favor though. You two might’ve raided Sears for new clothes, but you definitely didn’t look like the Plaza’s typical guests. With a quasi-flirtatious hand over the young man’s wrist, you were able to compel the clerk to book you and Ben into an entire suite with a king-sized bed, indefinitely, and all complimentary of the Plaza Hotel.

“Enjoy your stay,” he said robotically as he gave you the room keys. You gave him a smile with the glow of your eyes.

“Thank you. I’m sure we will.”

You were run down. You felt it in what seemed like all of the joints, muscles, and sinew in your body when you and Ben got into your suite. The place was lavish and beautifully decorated in soft yellows, crèmes, and beiges, with dark wood furniture, vases full of pink roses, and fine art on the walls, but all you cared about was dumping your suitcase on the floor and dropping face-first onto the bed.

“Oh my God, a real fucking bed,” you said into the clean, soft cotton. It actually brought tears to your eyes.

You managed to turn yourself onto your back as Ben rolled his suitcase to a stop beside yours. He watched you in amusement.

“You did good, sweetheart,” he said, briefly grasping your arm as he passed by. It warmed a smile and a blush onto your face.

“What do you feel like eating?” he asked. “I’m gonna order some food.”

You shook your head and gave a dismissive wave of your hand.

“Anything. I’ll eat literally anything.”

He went to the phone on one of the nightstands and dialed Room Service. He ordered enough food to feed three of him (and one of him could be a whole dinner party). Satisfied with the promise of fast service, he hung up and started unpacking his suitcase for a change of clothes.

You sat up with a groan. “You can take the first shower. I need a minute to get situated.”

More like, gather your strength. Using your powers so much across the course of your journey back to the States had taken it out of you, beyond what you’d expected. You needed at least a few of days of solid R&R. Make it a year.

Ben eyed you as he began to unbutton his shirt.

“Or, you can join me,” he said.

You turned to face him more fully at that. Your mouth parted to reply, but you hesitated. His offer took you by surprise, even though it probably shouldn’t have.

He saw your uncertainty. What surprised you even more was that he didn’t press it. He just nodded slightly, and went into the bathroom to finish undressing. Within a few minutes, you heard the showerhead turn on.

What do you want here? you asked yourself.

It should’ve been a simple question. Somehow, it wasn’t.

But you made a decision. This time, you weren’t thinking three steps ahead. You weren’t thinking about consequences, or what people would expect of you. You just thought about what you wanted, here and now.

Slowly, you got up from the bed. You took a breath to steady yourself, and you went into the bathroom. The mirror was already fogged up with steam. Behind the shower curtain, you could hear Ben scrubbing and humming some tune to himself, making you smile.

You shed the ratty old jumpsuit from your body with slightly shaking hands. From anticipation or nerves, you didn’t know which. After stepping out of the heap of fabric, you called his name softly. You knew he heard it, because the humming stopped.

Ben pulled back the shower curtain to find you standing there, gazing up at him while biting the inside of your lip. His eyes drew down your form, over each and every bare curve. You wondered if he remembered it all with the same clarity as you did, the way his body used to fit against yours.

He reached out his hand, and you took it, letting him guide you into the shower. He slid his free hand around the back of your neck and drew you into a passionate kiss, hotter than the spray from the showerhead beating down on you both. His arm came down around your waist and he turned you around to press you against the wall.

You gasped at the cold impact of the tile, but you welcomed the heat of him. You met his each and every demanding kiss in kind, sinking your fingers through his wet, longer hair and dragging your nails against his scalp. Meanwhile, his hands were everywhere, sliding possessively up your sides, up smooth skin to squeeze your breasts, rolling your hard and sensitive nipples under his thumbs.

You arched into him with a pleased moan. It had been so damn long since you were touched. Perhaps it was a poetic form of irony that he was the last man to have ever fucked you.

Ten long years. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about his hands, his mouth, the memories and the feeling of his cock inside you, stretching you, filling you. The thought had you slipping a hand down between his body and yours, roaming down his chest and abs, just to caress the full risen length of him in your palm.

He groaned into your mouth, instinctively pressing himself into your hand and caging you harder against the wall. His lips veered away to kiss and suck his way down your neck. You panted for breath against him.

“Ben, please,” you pleaded. Your hand pumped him faster, twisting along his shaft and goading him to full mast.

He panted with a nod, nosing along your throat. “All right, baby doll. I gotcha.”

He made his way down your body to lap at your breasts, taking a nipple between his teeth and teasing you there with the scruff of his beard. You moaned, had to release your hold on him when he took your hand and pinned it by your head on the warm tile. His other hand skimmed down your wet body to cup your mound.

You whimpered, instinctively pressing yourself into his hand. You felt his familiar smirk between your breasts, just before his thumb drew down between the slick folds of your pussy. It swept back up to brush your clit, and you jolted against his hand, releasing another moan. You were so damn sensitive already.

Ben seemed to enjoy it. He took his time working you up, strumming along and inside your slit with his fingers, making you clench on nothing in anticipation. Just when you opened your mouth to snap at him to fucking touch you already, he obliged you, slipping two long fingers deep into your channel.

You gasped and shuddered at the invasion, but it was a welcome one. He built up a rhythm, rocking his fingers inside of you while his thumb pressed and circled at your clit. It didn’t take long before your inner walls were clenching around his fingers as you shuddered your release. Your warmth coated his hand down to the knuckles.

Ben kissed you deeply, cutting off your moaning of his name. From there, he grabbed your thigh and helped you hike your foot up on the soap dish on the wall, so he could make room for himself between your legs.

He used the remnants of your slick to coat himself, before he sheathed his cock deep inside you with one push. Both of you groaned at the feeling, a sweet relief and a tight fucking fit. It was like your body remembered the shape of him.

“You still take my cock just right. Fit me like a fucking glove,” he said, sliding out of you with ease. He eased back in with a snap of his hips, inching you up higher on the wall. You clung to his arms tighter, with your nails biting fruitlessly into his flesh.

“God, yes,” you uttered.

But just when he started picking up a rougher, delicious set of thrusts, Ben faltered as his body locked up on him with the force of his orgasm. He came quickly, too quickly, for him. His brows furrowed as he caught his breath. You picked up on his surprise, and then his frustration—at himself.

“Fuck!” he growled, fisting a hand against the wall.

You were a little stunned yourself, but quickly you had to try not to laugh. Biting your lip, you reached up to stroke his cheek.

“It’s okay,” you panted. “It’s okay, baby. It’s just been a long time.”

After a few seconds of continued seething, Ben met your gaze. Seeing that you weren’t judging him, he reluctantly settled down.

“Still think I’m an asshole?” he asked.

The question caught you off guard, but you softened into a smile.

“That remains to be seen,” you replied.

He almost huffed. He slid a wet strand of hair behind your ear.

“You still afraid of me then?” he said.

Your amusement faded. You tilted your head at him, raising your brows. He was still inside you, and he asked this question?

But if he was asking you that, then he really did want to know. You grasped his chin and made sure he looked you in the eyes.

“Are you going to hurt me?” you asked, in a tone that quietly demanded. “Am I safe with you?” 

His eyes held a weight you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re safe with me,” he said.

You felt his sincerity. It rang true in his words, and you saw it for yourself. You believed him.

So you nodded. You let your hand fall to his chest. “Okay.”

He nodded as well. Finally, he untangled himself from you and turned off the showerhead, the water now run cold. He stepped out of the shower first, but he turned to give you a hand. You accepted his help as you came out and grabbed a couple of towels for both of you. After you had yours wrapped around your body, you reached for his arm to earn his attention.

He had been honest with you. You felt it was time for you to give him the same.

“Ben,” you said, with a sigh. “Back then, I lied to you.”

He snorted. “Which time?”

You gave a wry look, but you were serious. You shifted closer to him. You both stood there, dripping wet, with mere inches in between while Ben looked down at you, and you up at him.  

“This. You and me…it wasn’t all an act,” you said, as tears began to well up in your eyes. “I just didn’t want to admit it, even to myself.”

Ben hummed in contemplation. He raised a hand to draw a line down your cheek with his thumb.

“Hmm. Well. Maybe you weren’t the only one,” he said eventually.

Your lips tugged at a smile. He leaned down and met you with another kiss, and this time it was a slow, simmering heat.

Ben took his time in the bathroom afterward to shave his face with the clippers and razor he bought. When he padded back into the dining area, by now fully clothed in a shirt and some sweatpants, he found you already eating without him. You were tearing into some chicken parmesan ravenously while watching a show on TV. 

“What’s on?” he asked, sitting down across from you at the two-seater table. He grabbed one of the plates with his steak and potatoes and began tearing into his own meal. He intended to hit the chicken wings next, or maybe the burger sliders and fries.

“Seinfeld?” You sounded unsure. “It just started. Supposed to be a comedy, I think.”

You and Ben watched the episode until the credits rolled, but he shook his head, licking his fingers after finishing his fifth chicken wing. You were drawn to the sight—grossed out, and yet, a little turned on.

“Nothing happened in that whole goddamn episode,” he said.

You were inclined to agree. So what if they couldn't get a damn table at a Chinese restaurant?

“Okay,” you checked the pamphlet TV Guide. “Let’s try…Friends. It’s on next.”

“The One with the East German Laundry Detergent,” was the name of the episode, according to the TV Guide. You actually enjoyed yourself throughout the whole thing. Even Ben laughed at some of Chandler’s lines. You hadn’t heard that rich, boisterous laugh of his in so long, it made you laugh just by proximity.

By the end of the episode, he was finally done picking at the leftover food. You had finished a long time ago, but you liked seeing him sitting more relaxed in his chair, less on edge.

“Now that one was funny,” you said, when the end theme started to play. Ben balled up his napkin and tossed it on the table.

“At least Rachel’s hot, but don’t tell me she gets with that dopey-eyed pussy.”

“Aw, you mean Ross? I think he’s cute.”

Ben shot you a glance, his brows knitting together. You couldn’t help smiling as you sipped at your glass of wine. He got the feeling you were teasing him. (And you were.)

“Come here,” he said, hooking his foot around a leg of your chair. You yelped as he dragged you close enough to take you by the arm and tip you over, into his lap. You allowed it with a laugh and wrapped your arms around his neck. His hand slid up your thigh in your little pajama shorts, while you caressed his cheek and explored the new beard he was sporting. It was nice and trim, along with the smoother sweep of his hair.

“I like this, by the way,” you said. Your nails scratched through his beard playfully. You kissed his cheek. “Very handsome.”

Ah, there it is, the reappearance of that smug smile of his. You decided to take it down a peg.

“I didn’t mind the lumberjack though,” you teased. “I knew no one would recognize us with that shag carpet on your face.”

Ben’s face fell into annoyance. He stood, picking you up along with him. After he brought you over to the bed, he fairly dropped you down onto it, making sure to smack your ass for good measure. You squealed with laughter.

“You wanna fucking sass me? Fine,” he said, raising a brow. “I’ll just have to punish you.” 

“Nooo, don’t do that. I’ll probably like it,” you said, with both amusement and desire glinting in your eyes while you slid your arms around his broad shoulders. You slipped your legs around his waist as well, guiding his hips down against your already pulsing core. 

Ben broke slightly, his amusement peeking through.  

“I don’t remember you having such a smart mouth,” he said. You trailed your fingers across his cheek. 

“I think you’ll learn to like it,” you said, shortly before you lured him into a kiss.  

He fucked you well into the early morning, where you two finally got some sleep. Around mid-afternoon, you woke and ate and showered and continued to relearn each other’s bodies. You spent the entire day and night in that hotel room, recuperating and healing in your own ways. 

Late that night, you rested in the crook of his arm while he smoked a blunt. You’d compelled one of the bell men to find some reefer. You knew it would help Ben sleep better, and it served to calm you down when anxiety threatened to choke you again. 

It was never as bad as it was on the plane ride over, but sometimes it hit you at odd moments. 

Are they coming after us? Does Vought already know we’re here? Will they try to ship us back?

You knew you had been careful, but anything was possible. 

You extended an expectant hand. Ben took one more puff before he handed the blunt over. You puffed a couple of times and passed it back with a cough. 

“I still don’t really like this shit,” you said in distaste. 

Ben chuckled. “You still don’t know how to smoke it, either.”

You sighed in amusement, stroking a hand over his thigh absently. You two hadn’t bothered getting dressed in hours. Cheers played on the TV—something you both could agree on.

“I need to check in with my family,” you said after a while. You missed your brother especially. God, your nephew had to be close to fifteen years old by now. The thought made your eyes water, but with a deep breath, you managed to taper it down.

You turned to the man beside you. “Do you…do you have family anywhere?”

Ben let out another long puff of smoke. 

“Anyone who mattered is long dead,” he said. He looked down at you, meeting your gaze. “You’re all I’ve got.”

You smiled a little sadly, but you grasped his hand and threaded your fingers through his. 

“But I’ve got a score to settle,” he said. The hardening tone of his voice concerned you.

“With who?” you asked. 

Ben reached over to the nightstand and put out his blunt on an ashtray. He shook his head. 

“Everyone,” he said lowly, “in that goddamn Tower.”

You frowned. You released his hand so you could turn over and face him. 

“Ben, I know how you feel, but think about this for a second.”

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about since we got out of motherfucking Siberia,” he said tersely. “Those cocksuckers are gonna pay for what they did.”

You took a steadying breath. “Okay, taking on the team is one thing. But Arthur, Stan Edgar, all of Vought? It’s dangerous.”

“And? Don’t try to tell me what I can’t fucking do,” he barked. 

You glared at him, sitting up and taking the blankets with you to cover yourself.  

“Don’t you fucking snap at me!” Your voice cracked just as firmly as his. “I’m trying to tell you to be careful. Because if not, we could wind up exactly where we were before, or worse. And I told you, I can’t…I can’t go back.”

You began to break down at the end there. Your lips trembled as your anxiety bubbled over, making tears spring to your eyes. They stung hot and escaped the corners of your eyes. 

“Ben, I can’t—” you hiccupped. 

His brows were furrowed, his jaw clenched, but now, it was less so in anger. He took your face into his hands like he had on the plane, so you’d focus on him. 

“Hey, hey,” he said, earning your attention. “That’s never gonna happen. I’m not gonna let it happen. But I am going to put all those spineless bastards into the fucking ground where they belong.”

He wiped at your tears with his thumbs. After a brief pause, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips. Then another, a reassuring kiss on your forehead.

He pulled back to earn your gaze.

“Then we take it all back,” he said. “You and me.”

It took you a moment to come back to yourself. You were still apprehensive about this plan, but you knew you didn't want him to do it alone. Nor did you want to end up alone, without him. You sniffed and nodded. 

You and me.    

 AN: 😮‍💨 Did you get hit in the feels? If yes, get ready for more of that. But after their long journey back to the U.S., their relationship is shifting now, hopefully in a more positive way (despite the tough road Ben is setting them on).

Also, there might just be a BMD easter egg in there somewhere. Did you catch it? 😉

Next Time:

More heart-to-hearts, more of "the Plan," and we get a bit more into Ben's side of things...

What time is it? It was hard to remember to keep track of that now, even with the digital clock on the nightstand. It was only midnight, but to his body, it felt like morning.

You were dead asleep. Occasionally you let out soft hums, and other semi-arousing sounds. His lips tugged upward. Still moans in her sleep.

He drew down the comforter and sheets slowly from your back. He was greeted by smooth skin, except where some marks had been made permanent. His fingers traced carefully over a rough, scarred patch of skin above your hip, as if you had been tased there repeatedly.

His jaw clenched. He could still remember the sounds he used to hear—your screams through the walls of the compound. He remembered when you eventually stopped begging for it all to stop.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 10

Join Patreon 🌟 || Series Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List:

If you would like to follow along as I post each chapter, please follow my side blog @zepskieswrites with notifications on so you don’t miss out. 💚

@spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @adoringanakin @rizlowwritessortof @chernayawidow

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@waynes-multiverse @my-stories-vault @syrma-sensei @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 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles

[forgers-therapist]

tinyyyyy people (part 9)

The Forgers (before Bond “borf”)

[diesaur]

Forgot i made this back when first chapter came out

[maiaczy]

In honor of chapter 3 coming out soon, more Jojolands memes

[allthosepeopleilovetofangirlover]

Steve Rogers Era Part 9❤️😍

Steve with his closest comrade and friend, Natasha Romanoff🫶

[paovuante-vuanteador]

[spring-dust-blog]

"This is the story of a boy, in the subtropical islands, who goes on to become extremely rich."

[ilovejosukehigashikata]

Talking about Dragona's Pronouns

I've seen a lot of people talking about the confusing situation with Dragona's gender after reading Chapter 1. The translators are confused too! We don't have very much information yet. The pronouns used for Dragona in Chapter 1 of The JOJOLands are an educated guess that may change in future chapters. I personally have just been using a mix of pronouns to refer to them, but in official contexts I think it's best to avoid gendered pronouns for now.

The full explanation is under the cut. Spoilers for TJL #1!

Roge and I, the translators of We Need More Yankiis, decided to use he/him pronouns for Dragona in the chapter for several reasons:

The only person who addresses Dragona with gendered language is their brother, and there is inconclusive evidence as to what they identify as. We have no official word on what Dragona's gender is, only narration from Jodio's perspective. According to him, they "love girly fashion" and get breast injections. Dragona is also revealed to have a penis, but they use very feminine speaking patterns in Japanese, including the very feminine personal pronoun アタシ (atashi). This is typically used by women, but it can also be used by very effeminate men.

Jodio uses the term 'nii-san' (兄さん), translated as bro, to refer to Dragona. This is typically masculine. In Japanese, it's not always a statement on gender to call somebody by a term that doesn't match the gender they identify with - it can just be reflecting how they like to present themselves. For example, Japanese fans commonly call Ermes 'aniki' (兄貴) because she's a masculine woman. Still, it's much more likely that this is him thinking of Dragona as a man instead of just being a more unique use of the term.

Dragona makes no indication of being uncomfortable being called a masculine term. While I personally doubt this is the only pronoun Dragona would be okay being called by, they have a friendly relationship with her brother, letting him call them nii-san to their face.

The only other clear trans rep we've ever really had in the series is the prisoner seen in Stone Ocean. Jolyne is just amazed at how well a person can transition, but the doctor (who is already indicated as being a bit unpleasant) misgenders him and says he was given hormone injections.

I can't really make any statements as to what Araki may have in mind with Dragona, but I think this sums up what the situation is as of Chapter 1 well enough.

One last note: please don't worry about Dragona's name being an intentional riff on drag. Drag is spelled 'doraggu' (ドラッグ) in Japanese, but Dragona's name is spelled as 'Doragona' (ドラゴナ). I think he just wanted a cool name that was referencing dragons, which are spelled as 'doragon' (ドラゴン).

[thevoidstaredback]

Phase Two of the plan was set to take place during the next Wayne Gala. Meaning they had exactly four weeks to plan out every meticulous detail. It was going to be great.

Week One

Planning for a gala is never easy. Planning for a Wayne Gala is even harder. Invitations, as per social standard, must go out at least four weeks prior to the event, so the guest list was first priority. Tim was put in charge of this. He elected the help of Luke Fox.

"Dude, you are never going to believe what Bruce did."

Luke sighed. "I leave for one month- What'd B do?"

Tim grinned up at him. "We're pranking the Justice League."

A beat. "What?"

"We're pranking the Justice League."

"Okay... Why?" He asked. "Better question: How? Don't they already know who you all are?"

Tim shook his head, pulling up the security feed from Phase One to send to his pseudo uncle. "They have no idea who we are behind our masks. Better yet, they have no idea how many of us actually operate within the city."

"There's no way."

"Right? I was so sure that they'd know by now, y'know? Because Superman has memorized our heartbeats, and we've met him both in and out of costume; Wonder Woman's Wonder Woman, and she has the Lasso of Truth- though, I'm pretty sure there's a way around that if she ever did try and get our names that way."

"And you called me here because..?" Luke prompted.

"Right!" Tim opened a different tab on his tablet. "I need you to help me make a guest list for the next Wayne Gala."

"Isn't that like, months out?"

"Not anymore! We're throwing on in exactly four weeks, so this guest list needs to be made now so that invitations can go out yesterday."

Luke raised an eyebrow.

Tim met his gaze. "I said what I said. Will you help me or not?"

With another sigh, Luke relented. "Alright. You can fill me in on everything later- And I do mean everything. I want every detail. Also, why didn't you pull me into this before?"

"We weren't sure if you'd be in town for this, and you were gone during Phase One. Also, we didn't actually intend on Selina and Kate being in on this, either. Well, maybe Kate."

"You got Selina and Kate in on this before me?" He looked absolutely heartbroken. "Wow. I thought I was your favorite."

Tim shook his head. "I'm pulling you in now, aren't I? Now, c'mon, we've got work to do.

The hardest part about setting up a Guest List is knowing the relationships between everyone. Everyone will be amicable with each other no matter who was invited, especially at an event hosted by the Wayne Family, but distaste for present company will be made known.

For this particular gala, there will be a mix of upper and middle class attendees to cover the odd additions that are the members of the Justice League.

"What's our priority, Tim?"

"Guest list, seating arrangements, and interference."

"'Interference'?"

"Who's going to stand between people if families of hostile relations run into each other."

Luke shook his head. "Rich people."

"Luke," Tim said, "I hate to break it to you, but you're 'rich people'."

A gasp. "I am? Tim! How could you do this to me?"

"I'm sorry, man," he shook his head sadly, laying his hand gently on Luke's arm, "But it's not my fault. It was your parents."

"My parents?"

"A betrayal of the worst kind."

"How could they!" he sobbed.

Tim rubbed his back, "I know. There, there."

"Tim? Luke?" Kate asked, walking into the office Tim had commandeered. "What they hell are you two doing in here?"

The two look up, sharing a laugh. "Nothing, Kate."

She raised here eyebrow skeptically, "Uh-huh, sure. Do you have a guest list set yet? We need to get invites made up and sent out."

"Almost," Tim answered.

Luke shrugged. "I still don't understand why we can't just host an open event. It'll make it so much easier."

"And risk our identities being released to the public?" Kate said, "Not to mention the amount of rouges that'll get in."

"They'll try to get in anyway."

"Extra security," Tim mumbled, switching to the document that was shared between the family for planning, "Got it."

"No-" Luke turned back to him, "That is not what I said."

Kate laughed. "Get back to work, you two. I'll be back in a bit to print off the invitations."

"We can get away with sending the invited late because we're The Waynes," Tim muttered to himself, "but any later than a day and we're on cracked ice."

"Isn't the saying 'thin ice'?"

"Only if you don't wear a mask o cowl to fight crime at night."

"Touché."

Part 8 Part 10

[geeky-nightphilosopher]

🦇Batfamily🦇

Jason: *Talking about clearance books* They are very condensed classics. They have pictures. Which I thought you'd like.

Steph: 😐😑😐

Jason: *without missing a beat* You know, so you can follow along.

Steph: 😮

Jason: You know, because you can't read.

[kotenshi]

The Joestar Family ☆

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 9

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

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

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

🔥Series Masterlist

AN: As promised, comin' at ya a day early! ❤️‍🔥 I hope you enjoy...

Word Count: 5,100 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, fluff, and angst.

Part 9: “Do Not Disturb”

“No one’s gotta know,” he replied. His voice was deeper, laced with grit. “Just try to stay quiet.”

Biting your lip, you slowly began to rock your hips. You had to let out a shaky breath as your clothed core found delicious friction against his muscled thigh, through his pants.

Dean broke through your nerves by claiming your lips. He sucked your bottom lip between both of his, grazing with his teeth. Your fingers sunk into his hair and gripped tight.

He groaned a little, and he slipped past the seam of your lips to slide his tongue against yours, curling and mimicking motions you’ve felt his tongue make inside you.

You moaned a bit too loud at that.

“Shhhh,” he said, low and quiet.

The back of his curled fingers grazed your neck, then down to squeeze and tease one of your breasts through the soft wool of your dress, over the satin bra underneath.

You had to utter a more restrained sound of pleasure at his touch; it was gentle, but firm and purposeful in every way. You couldn’t help but roll your hips harder, finding more friction against your clit and seeking more of the heat now throbbing inside you.

But just as you were about to encourage him to take the dress off, there was a knock on the cubicle door. 

You froze, gripping his shoulders tight as your eyes went wide.

Dean broke his lips from yours fast. You were already starting to blush down to your neck. He glanced at you with a cocky smile before he subtly cleared his throat.

“Yeah?” he answered.

Everyone knew his policy: if his door was open, then it was fair game for anyone to pop in on him. But if his office door was closed, he was either busy with paperwork, or taking a nap. AKA: Do Not Disturb.

“Hey, Lieutenant. Just letting you know that lunch is almost ready,” Jack said through the door.

Dean nodded at that in relief. Nothing serious.

“Okay, sounds good. Thanks,” he said. He started to brush his fingers up and down your spine, eliciting a small shudder from you.

You still gave him an incredulous look. How could he keep touching you when one of his teammates was on the other side of the door?

“Oh, and I went to the store yesterday and got the right coffee this time. Gevalia, right?” Jack asked.

“Yep, good job. I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Dean replied. He chanced slipping a hand up the inside of your thigh. His thumb leisurely stroked your clit through your underwear, enhancing the flood of wetness he could already feel through the fabric.

It took everything within you to keep your lips pressed together with no sounds escaping, though a slightly ragged breath released through your nose. Your nails bit warningly into his shoulders. His lips twitched at a smirk.

“Sure thing,” Jack said. “And we’re running drills later, right?”

Dean held himself against an impatient sigh.

“You got it, Candidate. Be ready, I’m kicking your ass today.”

Jack chuckled gamely. “I look forward to it, sir.”

Dean didn’t really like being called “sir.” It made him feel like his dad or something. He wouldn’t say anything about it now though. He preferred to hear Jack’s steps retreating.

When he sensed the coast was clear, he turned his attention back to you. You met him with a reluctant smile. But he stilled your hips when you moved to get off him.

“Where’re you goin’?” he teased.

You let out a quiet laugh. “I think we’ve pressed our luck enough for today.”

Dean leaned in to kiss your cheek. His lips then veered off toward your ear.

“But see, I’m pretty damn sure that pussy’s still on fire,” he said.

The depths in his voice made you shiver. Your spine undoubtedly prickled with arousal again.

He smiled. “You understand, I can’t let you go just yet.”

Was it getting hard to breathe, or was that just you? You swallowed and let your fingers thread through his hair.

“What…um…where then?” you whispered. “Anyone could walk in here…”

He smirked against your neck and teased you with a nipping kiss there, making you inhale sharply. He doubted anyone was dumb enough to walk into his office without knocking, but these walls weren’t by any means soundproof. And he could see that you had your reservations. 

“Okay, come on,” he said.

He released your neck and finally let go of your hips. He helped you stand on shaky legs, and you smoothed your pretty dress back down. You gave him a helpless look that said, Dear God, what now?

He smiled and took your hand.

“There’s one last stop on the tour,” he said. 

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head as he led you outside the firehouse and through a side door—into what felt like a large coat closet.

Essentially, that’s what it was. It held all the firefighters’ gear, from helmets, gloves, and overalls to matching navy jackets, lined with neon strips on the sleeves and mid-sections, as well as emblazoned with their last names on the back.

“I see why this was last on the tour,” you remarked dryly. Dean’s hand dropped to your hip as he flipped on the light and shut the door behind him. You felt the heat of his body against your back and tried to resist leaning into him.

“You’re getting the VIP treatment,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice.

But instead of turning you in his arms and pressing you against the wall, like you half-expected, Dean showed you where his gear was hanging up, further into the closet. You first tugged out the sleeve of his jacket. You ran your hand over the capital letters stitched on the back: WINCHESTER. It looked clean, but well worn.

You pulled out a large, but kind of scary looking mask next. It was black and yellow and had a large filter in the front. You knew this was what allowed him to breathe while walking through smoke-filled buildings, but you couldn’t imagine having to wear it for very long.

“This just looks uncomfortable,” you said.

Dean’s lips quirked. “Eh, you get used to it.”

You were curious though. You tried slipping the mask on and struggled, even when Dean tried to help you. Eventually he got the SCBA mask fitted correctly over your face. You were sure you looked ridiculous, and even though you weren’t claustrophobic, this certainly made you feel uncomfortable and closed in.

“It’s like living in a fishbowl,” you complained, already struggling to get it off. “How the hell do you see anything, let alone storm burning buildings in this thing?”

Again, Dean helped you with a chuckle. He was careful not to catch your hair as he slid it off your face and over your head.

“With a lotta training,” he said. “I practiced here at the house, at home, wherever I could. First just 10, 15 minutes at a time. Then half an hour, an hour or more. However long I could take it. I’d watch TV, cook, listen to music. Anything to make it feel more natural, like a pair of pool goggles.”

Your brows raised. “Color me impressed. I think I’d pass out.”

You adjusted where he put the mask, making sure it fit properly on the shelf next to his black helmet. Your hand passed over his jacket once more before you turned to him and let your hand run down his chest.

“Thanks for showing me around,” you said with a smile. “This place has got to be like a second home to you.”

Dean smiled back as he tugged you closer by your hips. “I’m here more than I’m at home.”

Your expression faded a bit as you considered that, and his hanging jacket.

“Have you ever gotten hurt?” you asked. You didn’t think you’d ever asked that yet.

His eyes dimmed, just a little, but his good humor remained. He was about to deflect. You just knew it.

“A couple scrapes here and there. Nothing major,” he said.

You didn’t know how much of that you could believe. You had a feeling he was like your grandfather, and not just when it came to his taste in music. Dean was a certified “downplayer.”

“Right,” you said. You also wracked your brain, trying to remember if you’d seen any noticeable scars, or even burns on his body.

Dean shook his head and dipped down to kiss you. It took you a bit by surprise, but you inhaled sharply as your eyes closed at the feeling of him.

“You’re thinkin' too much,” he said against your lips. And he claimed you again, deeper and deeper, until you were gripping his arms for dear life and he was walking you back to press you against the nearest wall. His hand clenched in your hair, then dragged down the column of your neck, raising goosebumps wherever he touched.

His lips soon replaced his hand. They burned a trail of wet, teeth-grazing kisses down your neck, along the scoop neckline of your dress, dipping his tongue between your breasts. You held him to you with panting breaths. But you also let your free hand wander.

You untucked his shirt from his pants and began roaming the planes of his back underneath the fabric, then the firm wall of his chest and sternum, all the way down to his belt.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them up against the wall by your head. His molten green eyes stared down into yours, as his knee pressed between your legs. You shuddered and arched into him. Your fingers curled around his hands unconsciously.

“Dean…”

“Gotta thank my girl for giving me such a nice surprise at work,” he said. You felt his lips grinning against yours, even as he grinded his hips into you with blinding friction. You tried to restrain your gasp at the feel of his hard length pressing against your core. Even though you wanted nothing more than more of this, you still had to voice your concerns.

“Dean,” you whispered with more urgency. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about that.”

You stared up at him incredulously. How could you not?

But he distracted you by sliding his hands sensuously down your arms. Down your sides and hips, just to drag the knitted hem of your dress up from your thighs. Then he slid down, all the way to his knees.

Your eyes widened as his smirk grew deeper. He looked up at you slyly from the ground, and it reminded you of giving him a very similar look when you’d gone down to your knees for him for the first time.

His fingers brushed your skin as he slipped your panties down to your ankles, over your knee-high boots. You fought a shudder at the feeling.

“You’ve got a thing for sexy shoes, huh?” he remarked.

A smile crossed your lips. Shaking your head, you helped him by kicking off your underwear.

“I think you’re the one with the fixation,” you teased back. “I just like what I like.”

Dean chuckled. “Couldn’t agree more.”

He hooked a hand behind your knee and brought one leg over his shoulder. His hand traveled up your leg, and his head turned to press a line of wet kisses up the inside of your thigh.

You sighed, letting your fingers run through his hair as your eyes closed. But your eyes popped open on a gasp as you felt him suck hard near your center, biting and then soothing the spot with his tongue.

You shot him a furrowed look, despite the incredulous smile tugging at your lips.

He just grinned. “Had to be sure you were paying attention.”

You huffed a laugh and gave a sharp tug on his hair. It made him grunt and try to swallow a groan, deep in his throat.

“How’s that?” you quipped back.

“Touché, baby,” he said. But the problem with that was, you felt his lips against your skin, just before his tongue licked a hot stripe across the seam of your pussy. You inhaled sharply and reached for something else to hold onto, otherwise you might rip his hair out.

Your hands found purchase on the adjoining wall and the supporting rail holding all the coats. And a practiced tongue swiped between your folds, carrying wetness to your clit. His face delved in deeper to swirl with his tongue over that bundle of nerves, while two fingers slipped inside your wet heat and into your core.

You shuddered and bucked against him, but Dean held your hip firmly. His body weighed against you, pressing you into the wall to keep you in place. Then his hand and tongue became unrelenting. His fingers stretched you open, exploring your inner walls and finding what made you writhe and choke on your moans.

“Oh my God, Dean…”

He was tempted to smile and tease you some more, but he knew he had to be quick about this; they’d spent a long time in here already.

Still, he was nothing if not thorough.

He sucked and bit down gently on your clit, right before his fingers found and curled into that spongey part deep inside you that damn near made you weep when you came.

And your eyes really did burn as they fluttered closed. Your whole body trembled with the force of your release as you gasped and panted for breath. His name fell from your lips, almost reverently. Soon enough, you were able to wrench your hand from the metal rail to sink back into his hair.

His tongue continued to lap and swipe, more languidly as he felt your tremors subsiding. When he eventually pulled away, he was heaving for breath himself. He barely had a chance to wipe at his mouth and nose before your leg slid forcibly off his shoulder.  

He looked up in time to find you sinking down to his level, using his shoulders as leverage. You took his face into your hands and kissed him as thoroughly as he’d worked you over, making you a warm, shaking puddle in his wake. Dean held you to him and kissed you back between panting breaths.

Your hands pressed and made room between you, only to fiddle with his belt and palm at the almost painful hardness of his cock through his pants. He groaned into your mouth.

Fuck it, he thought. He had half a mind to take you right here in the turnout room.

But of course, that was when a knock sounded at the door. It was quiet, but there was no mistaking that warning. Which meant that someone was probably looking for Dean (and was also doing him the solid of tipping him off).

Dean broke from you, and you looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes.

Is that what I think it means?

Yep. Time to go.

With a nod, he helped you up to your feet and found your underwear. You slipped them back on, despite the grimace you made. You were now a bit uncomfortably wet, but you supposed you could deal with that until you got home.

You slipped down your dress and attempted to fix your hair, as well as Dean’s. You bit your lip and tried not to laugh at how you’d wrecked his light brown strands in all directions.

Dean smirked, but he had no time to tease you now either. He held a finger to his lips and closed his eyes for a moment, willing his hard-on to subside. It took him a few moments (deep breaths and unsavory thoughts), but eventually he was able to calm down enough to turn around and crack the door open.

Once he saw that the coast was clear, he slipped out of the closet first. He beckoned you next with his hand. It fell to the small of your back when you stepped out.

He spotted Benny coming out from around the Squad truck. He was wiping grease off his hands, like he’d just been working on the truck. He shot you and Dean a nod.

“Chief’s looking for you,” Benny said.

Dean nodded. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Benny gave him a salute, with deep amusement in his eyes. You blushed and tried not to think about what that look probably meant. You just hoped he hadn’t heard anything.

Dean smiled and walked with you back inside the firehouse. You wished you could just make your escape to your car, but you’d forgotten your purse in the kitchen.

Most of the team seemed to be almost done with lunch. You said hi to Meg again, who gave you a suspicious smile. Your blush started to burn down to your ears.

Gordon was also sitting on the couch. You hadn’t seen him since that somewhat unsavory moment at the Roadhouse, when he’d “shot his shot” with you. He greeted you with an incline of his head.

“Gettin’ the grand tour, huh?” he asked. His smile was pleasant, but there was a gleam of dry knowingin his eyes.

You froze slightly, as your mouth parted and embarrassment threatened to swallow you. You subtly glanced around, trying to see if anyone else was listening, and knowing for that matter.

Dean noticed your discomfort. Again, he rested a hand on the small of your back and shot Gordon a firm look with raised brows. It said, Shut the fuck up, man.

“The Chief’s looking for you,” Gordon said, nodding up at Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean replied flatly.

“Winchester.” A commanding voice carried down the hall.

Your head raised toward it, as did Dean’s. He was more relaxed than you to see the firehouse Chief coming down the hall. You fell into step with Dean as his hand on your back gently urged you forward.

“Chief,” he nodded. He introduced you as his girlfriend, and though you noted the other man’s subtle brow raise, Bobby Singer’s gruff expression lightened (just slightly). He shook your hand, firm and steady. You smiled and greeted him with a respectful nod.

“Hello, sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” you said. You almost felt like you were meeting Dean’s father, the way the Chief seized you up a bit.

“Good to meet’cha,” he said. He gestured with a hand over to the now half-devoured cakes in the kitchen. “I was told you brought those in for us.”

Your face briefly ducked with a smile. “Uh, yes. That was me.”

“Well, thank you. I’m sure the whole house appreciates it,” Bobby said, pointedly raising his voice at everyone else in the common room. Meg, Chuck, and others voiced their appreciation and thanks.

“It’s my pleasure,” you said with a short laugh.

Dean smiled as he watched you. But a look from Bobby shifted his attention.

“We need to go over some things,” said the Chief.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said.

Bobby turned back to you. “Thanks for feedin’ the guys.”

“Thank you for letting me visit,” you said. Your sincerity showed in your eyes. “You have a great house here. Otherwise I think I’d still be stuck in that elevator.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” Bobby’s lips lifted in a rare smile. It fell when he glanced over at Dean.

“Meet me in my office.”

“You got it,” Dean replied. He took a moment, however, to touch your arm and press a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll call you tonight.”

That he said lowly in your ear. You bit your lip against a deeper smile, but you nodded, squeezing his hand one more time before you went to get your purse. Dean watched you leave (and he enjoyed the natural sway in your hips, as well as the tousled, slightly frizzy bounce of your hair).

With a long breath, he steeled himself to follow the well-worn path to the Chief’s office.

Bobby was sitting behind his desk, signing some paperwork. Dean’s phone quietly buzzed in his pocket. He discreetly fished it out halfway and found a text from you.

I’ll take care of you when you get off shift, Lieutenant. ❤️‍🔥

Dean smirked, but quickly schooled his expression (and pocketed his phone) when Bobby looked up at him.

“Seems like a nice girl you found there,” Bobby said. 

Not that nice, Dean thought salaciously. He looked forward to whatever plans you had for him after his shift tomorrow. He wasn’t the only one with a talented tongue…

“Yeah. You try the cake yet?” Dean asked. He leaned a hand on the spare chair in front of the Chief’s desk. “Orange poppy seed. Who knew, huh?”

“Though next time, when we have a visitor, the tour should refrain from including the turnout room,” Bobby said, his tone both dry and censuring.

Dean’s brows knitted with “confusion.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

Bobby’s frown sharpened. “Do you think I was born yesterday, Dean?”

“Now how could I think that, Chief?” Dean said, deceptively earnest. There was enough gray in the older man’s beard to speak for itself. 

Bobby’s face fell into the most long-suffering deadpan.

“Don’t get cute with me, son. I’m not in the mood.”

He’s never in the mood, Dean thought. But his lips twitched with a small grin. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“Damn right. And wipe that goddamn smirk off your face! I should write you up for this,” Bobby snapped. 

“For what, Chief?”

“You know damn well, for what. You’re just lucky there ain’t no cameras by the turnout room, or I’d be suspendin’ you. Right here and now.”

Bobby peered at Dean closely, but the younger man gave nothing away. Dean now stood with his hands folded behind his back, like the damn professional he should’ve been. 

After a moment, the Chief heaved a sigh of ever-mounting exasperation. Like a parent who knew you were guilty, but had no defining evidence.

“This is a firehouse, not the Motel 6,” he barked. “You understand me? You’re my Lieutenant, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to set a fucking example.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get. For damn sure you’ve got work to do.”

Dean’s face was nothing if not respectful, but Bobby spotted the edge of Dean’s smile when he turned to leave. 

This was what Bobby got for going soft on John Winchester’s boy. He shook his head and went back to his mountain of paperwork.  

“Idjit,” he muttered, turning the page. 

Dean headed back into the common room after he left Bobby’s office. His good mood soured when he saw Gordon pass through the hall. Dean followed him all the way to the locker rooms. He hadn’t shown you this part of the firehouse, only because the guys tended to change clothes right there, instead of heading to the bathroom. 

“Hey,” he called out.

Gordon stopped short and looked over his shoulder.

“You got a minute?” Dean asked.

The other man wordlessly agreed, waiting for Dean to catch up with him. They went into the men’s bathroom for privacy. Dean shut the door, then made sure no one else was in the stalls before he met Gordon’s expectant gaze and crossed arms. He was casually leaning against the wall.

Dean’s hands went to his belt.

“We got a problem, Gordon?” he asked.

Gordon’s brows rose. “You got one with me, Lieutenant?”

Dean’s lips thinned. He crossed his arms as well, and met Gordon’s gaze directly.

“Keep making my girlfriend uncomfortable, and we will,” Dean said. His tone was firm in warning. 

Gordon took that in with a mild nod and a humorless scoff.

“You know, if anyone but you pulled that shit today, they’d be suspended on the spot,” he pointed out. “But because you’re the Chief’s pseudo-son, you get a pass. And a promotion at that.”

Dean’s frown deepened. He should’ve known it would all come back to that.

Gordon had completed his training and passed his test to be promoted to lieutenant as well, the exact same month as Dean. Gordon was older, with a few more years of experience. But Dean had it on good authority (from Bobby himself), that his own scores had edged out the competition.

“That had nothing to do it,” Dean said.

Gordon shook his head with a rueful smile. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Winchester.”

Dean sighed in frustration and let his hands fall to his sides.

“Look, if that’s really how you feel, then why not issue a formal complaint with the Chief?”

“And what difference would that make? You’re their boy scout,” Gordon said wryly. “Me? …Maybe I just don’t fit the mold.”

Dean could see that side of it too. Gordon was a damn good firefighter. Dean trusted the man with his life…but there was an edge to him, one that sometimes put people off from getting to know the guy. Dean had known him long enough to see through it, to the good man underneath.

But being a leader was more than just the job. If he’d been in Bobby’s shoes, and it had been down between Gordon and Benny…Dean knew who he would’ve promoted.

“Gordon, you know your worth here. Ain’t nobody thinks you’re not one of our best,” said Dean. “But I am your Lieutenant. If you can’t handle that, then we’ve still got a problem.”

“Look, Dean. I like you. I do,” Gordon said, shrugging his shoulders. “Most days, I do respect you. But you’re also a cocky son of a bitch.”

Gordon then left the bathroom, and left Dean contemplating as a result.

Even after his long 24-hour shift, Dean replayed moment after moment from yesterday. From seeing you, inviting you into his office, reminiscing on memories, both happy and painful to relive, and everything that came afterwards.

He’d had to put his conversation with Gordon aside to focus on the job, but now, what kept coming back to him was seeing you trace the framed picture of his mother. That was one of the few pictures John had been able to save from the fire.

So when Dean left the firehouse in the morning, instead of joining some of the guys for breakfast, he drove over to the 84th Precinct, where his dad was already hard at work at his desk. By the look of his scruffy beard and loosened tie, maybe he hadn’t gone home last night.  

Dean knocked on the desk, earning his father’s surprised glance.

“Burning the midnight and the daylight oil I see,” Dean remarked.

John’s mouth tugged at a smile. “Hey, son. To what do I owe the visit?”

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Dean remarked. They used to do dinner at his and Sam’s apartment every couple of weeks, or at least grab a beer at the Roadhouse more often. For the past few months though, John had been even more buried in his work than usual. Dean could guess why.

“Any progress on the case?” he asked.

John huffed. “Which one?”

He gestured at a stack of folders on his desk. All of them signified an ongoing case. But both Winchesters knew what Dean was getting at.

He raised his brows and dipped his chin, trying to catch his father’s gaze. “Dad.”

With a sigh, John looked over at his son fully.

“Nothing I can tell you right now, Dean,” he said. It was a dismissal.     

The younger man’s face fell into a frown, his brows knitting together. He dragged a spare rolling chair over and sat, making it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere just yet.

“So you drop a bomb on me about Mom’s killer, and then it’s radio silence for weeks?” Dean said. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

John finally stopped typing on his computer. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired. Just then, Dean could see the lines of age in his dad’s face more than he had before. It worried him.

“I want to help,” Dean said earnestly.

At that, John firmed up, with a shake of his head.

“This guy’s an arsonist,” Dean tried.

“We’re working with Arson,” John said. “The rest is my jurisdiction, and you’re on a need-to-know basis.” 

Dean blew out an aggravated breath and sorted a hand through his hair.

“Dad—”

“Don’t you get it?” John snapped. But when a few heads turned in the office, he forced himself to lower his tone. He met Dean’s eyes. “This man is…well, he ain’t a man, Dean. He’s a monster. I’ve told you enough for you to keep your eyes open, but you’re not stickin’ your nose in this. You understand me?”

Dean’s brows furrowed further, but he finally read the underlying worry in his father’s eyes. Just not for himself.

“For all intents and purposes, Azazel was a mafia leader in the middle of Kansas,” John continued. “He’s got over four decades in the business, and even with Narcotics’ help, finding him and pinning him down’s been a goddamn needle in a haystack, let alone connecting him to these murders. Even with the brand marks on the victims, we don’t even have evidence that someone ain’t just copying his signature, so to speak.”

Dean rested an elbow on the desk and brushed a hand over his mouth as he processed what his father was telling him.

“And those brandings. That’s the only thing tying the victims together?” Dean asked. He watched John closely, how the man’s frown deepened a bit. His eyes never shifted, just met Dean’s head-on.

“We’re still looking into it,” said John.

After a beat, Dean took that with a nod. He was still unsettled, but he got up and clapped his father on the shoulder.

“Call once in a while, huh? Maybe drop in for something to eat,” he said. “My girl’s a good cook.”

John rubbed a hand over his face, but he perked up with a bit of interest.

“Girl? You’re actually seeing someone…in the regular sense?”

Dean rose a brow. “All right, you don’t gotta sound that surprised.”

A smile tugged at John’s lips as he sat back in his office chair.

“Right, right. Cas mentioned something about that,” he said. “…How long you been dating?” 

“A couple months now,” Dean said. Honestly, no one was more surprised than him at that fact.

John hesitated, but he nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Good for you, son. Hope I get to meet her soon.”

“You will, if you ever leave this damn desk,” Dean replied, nodding back with a smile. “See ya.”

But his smile dipped as soon as he turned to leave the precinct.

His gut was telling him one thing: his father was still holding something back. Something important.

AN: And there we have it! A little firehouse shenanigans, a bit of Bobby, a fair bit of tension, and a pinch of angst. What did you think?

Next time, we're going to start getting into the meat of the mystery. Along with a bit of drama...

Next Time:

“Dean,” you managed, though your throat became clogged with emotion. Your tears blurred your vision and finally slid down your cheeks.

You tried to push at your seatbelt; it felt like it was cutting your circulation across your chest. But that proved to be a mistake, as the tight fabric just pressed into the bruising you already felt forming against your skin. You couldn’t contain a small whimper.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His tone was more alert now, changed with the distress he likely heard in your voice.

You took in a shuddering breath as more tears rolled down your face.

“I need help.”

Keep Reading: PART 10

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420