strangeinvader9

[strangeinvader9]

In The Shadow Of The Valley

Cowboy! Logan X GN! Reader blurb

The lone cowboy tells you about his dreams

A/N: This isn't the fic I was talking about earlier but a lil blurb i thought of to take a break from it. Based off one of my favorite songs in Fallout New Vegas LOL

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of getting married, slight angst but not really

The sunbeams peaked between the leaves and branches of the willow.

You sleepily open your eyes, looking at the quiet landscape around you. The beams of sunlight freckled over your face like soft kisses. Your eyes fell down to your lap, where you were greeted by a sleeping cowboy, hat tipped over his eyes. He was sprawled out, hands clasped over his chest, and used your thighs as a pillow.

You smiled at the pretty sight.

Carefully removing the hat from him, you admired the pretty cowboy. A lone man who comes and visits you for days spent much like this. He's never much for conversation. Lets you chatter on about books, and science, and complain about how Mrs. Fields lectures you about needing to get married. He'd just smile, occasionally share a witty remark as he bites into the sandwich you made him.

Today was no different, you both fell asleep underneath the old willow. Took a nice walk through the fields, hand in hand, and he picked you some flowers which laid by your side still, becoming slightly wilted.

You began to pet his hair gently, admiring the details of his face. Tired eyes, a cute nose, and a smile that makes you weak in the knees. You could see that smile slowly forming as you continue to pet him.

"I know you're awake." You teased. He cracked open an eye, then closed it again, adjusting himself on your lap.

"Only for a moment." He mutters.

"Mhm." You hummed, continuing to brush through his hair. You looked at the way his brows concentrate together and think back to your nap, where you were dreaming of him.

He lets out a deep content sigh, his body relaxing back into the grass and the comfort of you.

"Logan?"

"Yes darling?"

"What do you dream about?"

He was silent for a moment, before opening his eyes and staring up at the leaves of the willow. You could see him thinking, before closing his eyes again.

"You don't want to know the dreams of a cowboy." He finally replies.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." You retort. "Pretty please?"

A small scoff, and he sighs. "It's silly."

"I'm sure it's not."

A heartbeat passed. " A home."

Your heart stopped for a minute, as you paused from your stroking. He opened his eyes again to look at you- expecting you to make a joke or taunt him for his words. You didn't, a soft expression on your face- your eyes bright and curious.

"Really?" You asked.

"Not just any home." He closed his eyes again. "One that's deep in a valley. Surrounded by open plains and spruces. Place I could call my own, something different- but familiar."

You were a bit taken back by his answer. Not a man of many words, you could always see he held a certain sadness in his eyes. Sometimes it disappears when he's with you, but always returns- and you wish you could take that sadness away permanent. Not when a man like him has brought joy to your life- something to look forward too during the mundane.

You now wonder if that's why you both are attracted to each other. You crave the adventure he lives in, while he craves the comfort you have. Maybe somehow, you could be each others peace.

A soft wind blew, blowing the cascading branches that sheltered you and Logan from the world. The leaves whispered in the wind, and you wondered if they were talking about you and him.

"Would you...Want anyone to be with you?" You ask softly. He opened his eyes. He looked up at you, and in his silence sat up and turned to his side, lying across your lap and using his elbow to keep himself propped up.

He grabbed his hat, placing it atop your head. A smile grew on your face, as a small groan escaped him as he stretched.

"If you'll have me." He says. "Darling."

You leaned forward, hand on his cheek, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, that he eagerly returned. "Always." You whisper.

[strangeinvader9]

It’s been a crazy while but omg I’m so back and I’ve missed you and this page😭. Two ideas for you possibly?

Okay so 1: the ghost seer reader? LOVE, y’all ATE. Especially if she becomes a hunter like I can see her teaming up with the Winchester bros, maybe dating one, especially one like Dean and the Batfam HATES it and them, but they work so well together because they also were neglected and forced to grow up so quickly by their father.

2: one I’ve had for a while but haven’t had time, Mutant reader but if she went to the X-Men instead, especially if she was like “you know what yeah, I do like older men” and dates Wolverine?

Anyways all the love in the world to you!!! -🫀

James, my beloved- well... Logan, my beloved 😩 (Can't believe he's over 190 years old, I knew he was an old man, but I thought like 80 for some reason-)

So- it wasn't three more asks :)) I was just tired apparently.

Idk why, but my first thought of Mutant!Reader is her becoming a cloud of shadows that makes it easy to travel, pass through objects, and if done right, she can pass even through humans, maybe even fuck with the insides or manipulate just parts of her body to transform into what she needs, keys, blades-

I don't even know if I'll use all of that(didn't use any of it)- I just had to put it on "paper".

Also- kept it quite ambiguous on whether the Reader is a student or another member of the X-Men.

When Wolverine first joined the X-Men, he was still quite violent/angry- even a little scary, really- but the kids loved his grumpy ass. He was blunt, rough around the edges, wry humor that didn't always land- the kids called it dad or old man humor- but everyone saw how much he cared for the students and the X-Men. And they all saw how he had a favorite.

He hated you at first. That's harsh, and not the complete truth- he hated how you made him feel, how easy you greeted him and how fast you crawled your way into his ribs, nestling against his heart like you didn't need to know his past, like you saw him and saw exactly what he was and will be. Most of the time, he forgot how much he had been fighting to know his past when he was with you.

Every time Professor X would look at him, with that soft glance and knowing smirk like he's been in his shoes, Logan would tense and grumble about how the old man should keep out of his head. But Xavier didn't need to search his mind, it was written all over his body, all over the way his face relaxed and his eyes got droopy just from hearing your laugh.

Neither of you were subtle. You'd say it to anyone who'd listen- "I want him. You're invited to the wedding." No shame at all in your love for him, in the way you flirted with him, like the poor man's brain wasn't frying just because you called him by name. And him because, no matter what, he always found his way to your side, knuckles brushing yours, or behind you, fingers itching to hook around the loop of your pants, under your belt, pinch the back of your dress or shirt.

The only time he relaxed seemed to be in your presence, and the others used that to their advantage. He got mad, snappy, at one of them? "Oh, I heard (Name) loves flowers-" and Logan just short-circuits, brain cells seemingly rearranging as his tense shoulders drop. "...What kind?" They use that little information as much as they can- it's just like watching an old dog huff for attention.

You notice it too, soon enough, but you give him time to come to terms with it. Not like you don't enjoy his lingering eyes and the warmth of his presence at your side. Doesn't mean you can't have a bit of fun with that.

When he forgot some papers he needed for a lesson, he asked you to get them for him, and when you came back and handed them over, he grumbled about being too old for this stuff, and you saw your opportunity. "It's alright, hun'. It's why you have me." He doesn't freeze at your words, but your kiss to his cheek does make him stop his movement.

The kids watch the man stare into the void for about thirty minutes, lesson forgotten as he wakes from his daydream and just leaves. They knew he was going after you.

The first date was full of awkwardness in Logan's opinion. His hands were shaking, palms sweaty, he almost drank perfume just to make sure his mouth didn't stink- He wanted, needed, you to like him, to want him in your life and by your side. He calms quickly when you intertwine your fingers with his.

He's clingy. If before he was trying to hide his need to be near you, now he's just a cuddly cat, leaning against you, hand on your back or shoulder, pinky hooked against yours, and if you thought you'd be safe in your room, you were wrong.

The man has one arm around your neck, the other around your middle, legs crossing with yours, and his face buried against your skin or hair. He sleeps like a baby, and you do too. With the fan on.

----

I also strongly believe he'll learn to do braids, whether they're ethnic or not, he'll learn it all just to be closer to you for longer.

[strangeinvader9]

Logan’s smile is murder to the heart

How they react when you’re on your period (Headcanons)

Characters: Gambit, Deadpool, and Wolverine.

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, domestic bliss, mentions of pain, mentions of blood and getting stabbed (thanks, Wade!) — Reader is gender neutral but has a uterus!

Authors Note: Got kinda caught up with life and writing and forgot to post for a week, but I'm back now lol

Gambit:

Remy is the biggest, softest teddy bear ever when it comes to you

seeing you tired and uncomfortable feels like a punch in the gut for him, so he makes it his mission to right things

Anything you need or want, he'll get for you

Need better painkillers? He's already at the store.

Just want to take a nap together? He’s dragging you to the nearest soft surface and holding you for hours

He cooks you all of your favorite comfort foods and keeps pints of your favorite ice creams stocked in your freezer

He’s a big, strong guy, and because of his mutation he's always super warm to the touch

Not only does that make him fantastic to cuddle, but he becomes your personal heating pad (and he loves every second of it!)

Remy would go to the ends of the earth to fulfill even your slightest whim, meaning this man won’t sleep until he’s convinced you’re as happy, well fed, and comfortable as can be :)

Deadpool:

whoever said laughter was the best medicine is 100% right

his first line of defense is to distract you with humor

Wade is very used to blood and everything but the way you’re expected to just go about your day like everything is fine while you’re actively bleeding out is crazy to him

so crazy that he honestly finds you kinda scary (which in turn makes him find you even more sexy)

because of that he’d basically becomes your dedicated house husband for a week every month, frilly printed apron included

he’s doing laundry! (with too much soap)

he’s cooking dinner! (it’s burnt on one side, raw on the other, and somehow both over seasoned and extremely bland)

he’s giving you a massage at the end of each day! (theres no catch here. His hands are literal magic)

If your cramps get too bad, he even offers to let you stab him so he can better sympathize with you.

though if you accept, it’ll just leave you both on the couch to groan in pain

Logan:

Logan, bless him, genuinely wouldn't know what to do at first

He knows it's just nature, but that doesn't make seeing you in pain any easier to deal with

It's not long before he becomes committed to fixing it (or at least easing your discomfort)

He'd secretly spend hours researching what he should do in his current situation

only to show up at your door that evening with big gift basket full of your favorite treats and products

Logan is a stoic man, so learning that he memorized all of your favorite things nearly brings you to tears

(but your tears turn into laughter when you see how panicked he is at your reaction)

after you take some medicine, you grab the snacks he brought you and settle in for a cute movie night

this is the only time he’ll let you decide what to watch, and he only groans loudly (no claws this time) when you pick something cheesy or romantic :)

[strangeinvader9]

Oh my god my heart!

Daddy’s Here

warning: fluff, I guess..

Logan Howlett x little!reader

Logan had left some information out when. He told Professor X about himself…

He had a little girl. From an old fling. Her name was y/n. Only 3. And her smile made something ache just below his ribs.

So when he walked into the mansion, holding a tiny wide-eyed toddler, no one knew how to react. He had a hello kitty bag full of snacks that she could eat without choking or something. And he was degrees softer with her than he was anyone else.

She seemed to be quite shy. Burying her face in his shoulder and sucking on her thumb. And she just looked so adorable and innocent. The others didn’t know how to react physically , but mentally they were all dying inside from how cute she was. Logan could tell she was feeling extra shy today. So he tried to make her relax.

“shh, Daddy’s here. You’re okay, sweetheart.”

[strangeinvader9]

This was brilliant, they’re so mean

MORE WADE AND LOGAN PLSSSSS CAN WE GET THEM (POLY) DATING A SHORT READER HCS??? TYYYY

Short! S/O - Logan Howlett & Wade Wilson

Pairing: Logan Howlett x short! gn! reader x Wade Wilson

Genre: fluff

CW: poly relationship, teasing, short jokes, Logan picks us up, protective boys, size diff

| Ryan Reynolds & Hugh Jackman are both 6’2 so I am gonna go off of that (i know Logan is short in the comics but just let me dream pls :,) |

YES YES OF COURSE!!! there’s almost nothing I love more than writing a short/small reader cause I myself am not short :,) but it’s nice to pretend. god both of them are so tall I just wanna stand between them & feel safe ^^ thank you so much for the req!!

they’re such bullies i’m so sorry

expect a TON of short jokes (mostly Wade) 

and expect them to parry anything you say with “you’re short” (mostly Logan)

you will always be their arm rest, you have no say in it

standing in line? Logan’s leaning his arm on your shoulder. 

at a party? Wade’s propping himself up on the top of your head 

Logan LOVES how short you are too and manhandles you at any opportunity 

if you’re being a brat, he won’t hesitate to remind you that he is bigger than you

whether that’s him throwing you over his shoulder or just standing real close to you so you can see the height difference up close & personal 

as soon as Wade sees Logan in, he can’t help himself—he’ll slide up on your other side and smush you between the two of them 

they’re such teases they’ll talk about you like you’re not completely stuck between them

“nice weather we’re having, hey?”

“oh yeah, real nice bub”

they’ll keep chatting until you’re whining and pushing against them to just get out 

Wade LOVES putting things on shelves too high for you to reach just so he can watch you struggle 

and Logan the absolute menace will lean against the wall with his arms crossed and watch you hop to reach your phone charger 

they’ll sit there and watch you struggle until you turn on them with sad eyes and suddenly they’re racing to get it down for you 

these mfs are so protective they will not leave your side whenever you go to parties/the bar

one of them is glued to you 24/7 (even when they’re not physically with you, they’re watching you too) 

and anyone in the general area (07) knows not to fuck with you

on especially hard days, your size is just what they need 

coming home from fighting crazy strong villains & mutants to their cute short s/o? nothing better in the whole world

masterlist

if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way!! likes, comments & rbs are always appreciated ^^

[strangeinvader9]

Logan Howlett who remembers everything about you.

Who notices the way your eyes shift when you're overthinking, who can tell the difference between your real smile and the one you put on to be polite. Logan who doesn’t say much but listens—soaks in every offhand comment, every quiet confession you didn’t think he’d care about. Who remembers your favorite kind of tea, the book you were reading last winter, the way you like your eggs in the morning. Who noticed when your hoodie sleeves were too long that day and made a mental note to fix it before you even asked.

Logan who doesn’t forget the little things—what you wore on the day you first met, the way your voice trembles when you're excited, your favorite constellation in the sky. He won’t say it aloud, won’t make a show of it, but when you find your favorite snack tucked in the side pocket of your bag, or a song you love quietly playing in the background when you walk into his room, it’s him. Always him.

Logan who remembers because you matter. Because he wants to.

Logan who pretends not to care but has memorized every single thing about you like it’s carved into his bones.

Logan who holds you like you’re a memory he refuses to lose—because for once, he wants something to stay.

And god, he hopes you do.

[strangeinvader9]

First words and actions towards you after he rescues you from a kidnapping.

yes yes yes i eat this shit UPPPP fucksdngblj

Origins Logan -

He is a man on a mission when he realizes you've been kidnapped. He's pissed and he uses all his past skills being in the military and the whole team x thing to get you back. The first thing he does is make sure you're okay. He grabs your face and checks for any wounds. His first words or so would be something like "Did they hurt you?" because if he sees as much as a scratch on you he's going to make their lives hell.

Trilogy Logan -

Trilogy Logan is relentless in finding you. The whole team is behind you but in his mind he's a one man show and he will be the one to find you. He doesn't care who he has to go through, what he has to do. He's getting you back. When he does find you he scoops you up in his arms and carries you back to the jet. He can hear your heart racing and the way you're holding in your tears. You want to be strong for the team and for him but he can feel how close you are to breaking. So he just holds you tight and once you're alone on the jet he whispers

"I got you sweetheart, I got you."

DOFP Logan -

Logan is pissed the fuck off. How dare anyone try and ruin his peace and use you to get to him. Not on his watch. Super off topic but he's sooo hot in his suit but anyways. He's a lot more calculated with his actions and doesn't even need the team to come save you. Nothing's going to stop him from saving you. He doesn't hesitate to slash his way through your captors. Leaving one alive just so they can send a message not to fuck with him again. You aren't worried for a second, in fact you almost feel bad for your captors for messing with the Wolverine. When he finds you, you're relieved to see him but can't help the smart remark of "Took you long enough," and he just smirks and replies with

"Sorry, the traffic was terrible"

Old Man Logan -

He's an animal. He may be old and weaker but when someone threatens you, even thinks about hurting you, it's game over. He's a complete bloody mess by the time he finds you. He spared no mercy, their blood coating his claws but he doesn't care. He feels guilty too. Very guilty. I imagine this happens soon after you go off on your own because of an argument where he said he doesn't love you. It's just him getting in his own head and thinking he doesn't deserve you so he sabotages himself. When he finds you he's just on his knees begging for you to forgive him.

"Fuck, I didn't mean a damn word."

Worst Logan -

He's terrified inside and that fear channels into pure animalistic rage. There's also a lot of guilt just like with old man Logan but his guilt comes from thinking he's not good enough for you and in his head this just proves it. I mean you got kidnapped because of him. Him and Wade waste no time in teaming up and Logan is growling and snarling his way to you. Though all that rage melts away when he finally gets to you. He's got you wrapped up in his arms it's a complete 180.

"Are you okay? Fuck I'm so sorry."

[strangeinvader9]

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 <𝟑

[tfp] various x human!reader optimus / ratchet / bumblebee / smokescreen megatron / soundwave / starscream / knockout

word count: 2200

Optimus most often kisses the back of your hand

He learned this way of showing affection while delving into Earth’s culture. Perhaps he read about it in one of the books you recommended to him. Maybe he saw a scene where a gentleman kissed his chosen one exactly in that spot. What matters most to him is the meaning of such a kiss and the emotions tied to it.

Optimus could pour all his love into a single gesture. Demonstrate to the whole world that he has the most wonderful partner and is endlessly grateful for your presence in his life. Make such a kiss merely a greeting, but Optimus desires you to see the multifaceted nature of his feelings toward you

When he bows down and takes your hand in his servo, he wants to show the respect he holds for you. By brushing his thumb over the back of your hand, he demonstrates gentleness and support. Finally, by enveloping your knuckles with his lips, he pours all his adoration into the gesture. He reveals his admiration for you in the least intrusive way, so as not to overwhelm you with the true strength of his love. He shows respect, proving his gallantry

He wouldn’t hesitate to kneel on one knee during a hand kiss to further emphasize his feelings. To meet you at eye level, look optics to eyes, or make you look down on him. He would renounce the title of Prime in your honor. For you, he is simply Optimus, striving to unveil the boundless, infinite love he has for you <3

Ratchet most often kisses the top of your head

He is a busy mech, often working overtime on research and ensuring no Autobot faces health issues. He doesn’t have time to be romantic. He rarely takes you on rides, and persuading him to go for a walk around the hangar borders on a miracle. Even in his private habsuite, he only appears sporadically, sacrificing recharge for a few more hours of work. And constant exhaustion means using mass shifting is out of the question for fear of fainting and possibly harming you

Still, Ratchet wants to be a good partner—or at least try to be. To thank you for choosing such an old mech, despite being a young human, without having to say it outright. To convey what he struggles to say aloud. To appreciate your constant presence and the support you give him, even when you do nothing extraordinary

That’s why he loves kissing the top of your head. You don’t need to do anything special—just sit there reading a book—and suddenly you feel passion and gratitude in the touch of his lips on your hair. But before you can ask, Ratchet is already back at work, leaving behind only his silent love

He’s always gentle, blending the precision of a medic with the softness of affection in his kisses. Sometimes he lingers there a little longer, taking in the scent of your shampoo, experiencing the unique texture of your hair—both firm and fluffy. If he’s feeling particularly sentimental, he wraps his servo around your back. It’s his way of showing he’s there for you, even when his work often keeps him away. To remind you of his feelings, that they still hold him firmly by the spark <3

Smokescreen loves kissing you on the lips

He’s a young mech, full of energy and hungry for experiences. That vitality is something he wants to share in his kisses, along with his passion for life—and most importantly, his weakness for you.

He seizes every possible opportunity. Greeting you, saying goodbye, or simply showing affection. He always aims for your lips, even in front of others, as he has no problem with PDA. Besides, he wants others to know you’re taken. That you belong to him, just as he belongs to you. And there’s no better way to express that than through a kiss

He loves catching you off guard. First, he runs his servo through your hair, then leans in to kiss one corner of your mouth, only to immediately claim your lips because he has no patience for the other corner

It’s worth noting that he’s terrible at kissing due to a lack of experience. He focuses more on showing than perfecting, losing his senses around you, always craving more and more. His intake moves impulsively across your lips, chasing the motion of your mouth, often outpacing you in his insatiable appetite for affection. Eventually, it leaves you with swollen lips, breathless, and a very satisfied Smokey, already eager for the next make-out session <3

Bumblebee places kisses on your cheeks

Or at least he would, if his lips were accessible. As a young mech fascinated by human culture and well-versed in its nuances, he knows how significant kisses are in human relationships. It pains him deeply that he can’t give you such an important experience, no matter how often you reassure him it’s not his fault and that you don’t hold it against him. Bee still feels disheartened about it. That’s why he’s come up with his own way of showing physical affection

He nuzzles your cheeks with his battle mask, always remembering to do both sides. It’s a sweet gesture he’s utterly addicted to, so much so that he’ll “kiss” you this way at every opportunity. Greeting you, he caresses your cheeks, chirping cheerfully and listening to the melody of your radiant laughter, immensely pleased that he’s its source

If he’s mass shifted, he always pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your back, practically supporting your entire weight against his chassis. In this position, he has perfect access to your face, which he overzealously takes advantage of. He snuggles into the softness of your cheek, tracing uneven circles and pushing his mask forward as if truly planting a kiss. If only he could, he’d spend an eternity pampering your face, pouring all his nonverbal love into the gesture <3

Megatron particularly loves kisses on the palm of your hand

At first, he simply wanted to surprise you with his tenderness. To prove that he even possesses it, doubting your trust that he could be anything more than a domineering, unfeeling tyrant. That’s why, when he first took your hand and placed a kiss in its center, he got exactly the reaction he anticipated: surprise, but also bashfulness, that the mighty Megatron could treat you with such calculated delicacy

Over time, such kisses became almost an everyday occurrence for you both. He leaves kisses to draw your attention when you’re lost in thought, focused on something other than him. To elicit the reaction he desires, to see the smile on your face and that captivating shyness, so rare in your usual demeanor

He grabs your wrist to guide your forearm into supination, bringing your hand to his lips with a roguish grin because he knows he’ll surprise you again. His kisses in that spot are subtle, unhurried, but they remind you always to think of him. He always looks straight into your eyes, as if showing respect—or perhaps issuing a challenge? Or maybe, deep within his spark, he’s a gentleman

It’s undeniable that he has class. He’s calculated and self-assured, traits that carry over to his kisses. He always knows exactly where to "strike" to tickle you or send shivers down your spine. He knows the effect he has on you—how you squirm when he lets his shark-like teeth lightly graze your skin, mocking your self-control. In a way, he plays with you, teasing only to stop and move to another spot, this time the base of your thumb. Again, he proves his tenderness, cherishing and adoring, only to move to yet another place, striving to show you that his feelings for you burn as fiercely as the values he believes in <3

Soundwave loves to kiss your forehead

Another mech without a mouth who’s devised his own way of compensating for having a display screen instead of a face and a human significant other. With access to all the information on the internet, he knows well that humans love kissing and that it’s important to them. That’s why he’s determined not to deprive you of this pleasure, to not deny you something you deserve due to his anatomical limitation

So, Soundwave touches his forehead to yours. It’s a delicate gesture but carries the weight of his complex and multilayered feelings for you. It shows that he cares, that he’s there for you—even when he spends countless hours standing by a console. He doesn’t need breaks, capable of working endlessly, but for you, breaks have become a daily ritual in his life, just to prove that he’s with you, not just in thought

He pulls you close until you’re level with his faceplate, tilting his helm to connect your foreheads in an unusual yet tender kiss. He loves when you close your eyes during this gesture, giving him tangible proof that this form of affection satisfies you and that you’re content with his efforts, no matter how minimal they might seem. You validate him, giving him a sense of trust that you don’t regret entering a relationship with him

Sometimes, he tilts his helm in a similar gesture while working, as if kissing you from afar. Manifesting you suddenly before him, so he could spend hours in such a position, foreheads melded together in a silent confession of love. He often misses you, and that longing later translates into prolonged sessions of such kisses, as he strokes your forehead with his, trying to pour all his feelings into the gesture <3

Starscream most often kisses your neck

Not necessarily to spark desire and lure you to the berth. Starscream isn’t a sappy mech. He’s not romantic, but his kisses bear the weight of his complicated and uneasy feelings for you. Sometimes they’re soft and sweet; other times, they’re fierce and fiery, trying to engulf you in flames of yearning. He has no qualms about kissing your hand to achieve a similar effect, but kisses on the neck hold great significance for him

He can lose himself in them—in the sensation of skin beneath his lips, the warmth radiating from it. The bones pressing against the flesh, the moles, scars, and marks. Above all, he loses himself in the feeling of reducing the world to your form alone. In the hollow of your neck, he hides from the demons that haunt him. He doesn’t feel Megatron’s breath on his nape, nor the impossible duties, broken promises, and missteps. There’s only you and the safety you offer, even if you can’t truly protect him

He can spend hours like this—or as long as his duties aboard the Nemesis allow—exploring your neck with his lips. Sometimes, he nips at your skin when he wants to extract a compliment from you, but most of the time, he tries to be gentle, as much as his ego permits. Hidden and surrounded by you, grateful for your presence, though he’ll never say it aloud

With his limbs wrapped around you, he pulls you to his chassis. There’s no escape from this trap; Starscream ensures you sit perfectly before him, where he has ideal access to your exposed neck still bearing traces of your previous rendezvous. He immediately buries his helm in your softness, kissing a trail from your collarbone to your ear. Subtle at times, yet swift, as if trying to devour you—eager to seize the rare opportunity for genuine and natural contentment obtained without schemes or deception. Just you and him, mutually showering each other with affection <3

It’s no surprise that Knockout adores French kisses

However, to "mature" to them, the Decepticons’ sex symbol has to overcome a long road of shedding his phobia of human bodily fluids. Only then does he discover how incredibly satisfying it is to explore your intakes with his glossa. How much passion he can convey through this gesture, showing desire not just through interfacing

He usually catches you off guard. Maybe you weren’t paying him enough attention, or maybe he just suddenly felt the urge to kiss you. He places his servos on either side of you, trapping you with no way out, and starts to charm you before launching into fireworks

He quickly learned what to do to make a kiss anything but average. It took a few tries—in the beginning, your kisses felt more like bumping faces—but Knockout has a knack for kissing. He can adapt to your rhythm or set his own. With unrelenting fervor and intensity, he explores the depths of your mouth. He never cares if anyone’s watching or not

Knockout can be quite possessive, a trait that shows in his kisses. He’s not bothered by PDA; any fear of your relationship being exposed to the public has long been forgotten when he can show everyone who you belong to. This often impacts his patients, who must patiently wait until Knockout reaches a satisfactory level of affection to pull away. Otherwise, you’re inseparable.

He won’t let go until he’s sure he’s poured all his feelings into the kiss—the ugly and the tender, the physical and the ones rooted in his spark

He always leaves you breathless with his intensity and passion, ending with a fleeting peck on your lips. <3

[strangeinvader9]

Lovin' You

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: It’s that time of the month and Dean is there to save the day.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: FLUFF! Dean is a hero! Menstruating, mentions of blood (nothing graphic) Dean is an actual sweetheart! I want one 😭

AN: Just a little wishful thinking for those doom and gloom moments us ladies get once a month 🫠 i hope this can be a pick me up for those times 💕 Gif not mine (found on google)

Dolly was the inspo behind this one 😉

Main Masterlist

You groaned as another sharp pain twinges in your lower abdomen, curling further into yourself as if that would somehow lessen the relentless ache. The hot water bottle pressed against your lower belly was practically scalding your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Anything was better than the pain currently wreaking havoc inside you.

Menstruating sucked.

Nestled in a fortress of blankets and pillows, you had tried to make yourself as comfortable as possible, but comfort was a foreign concept right now. Even the TV, which Dean had so thoughtfully set up in the room to distract you, barely held your attention.

Your phone buzzed in your weak grasp, drawing your attention. The screen lighting up with a picture you’d taken of Dean crossing his eyes goofily the last time you pointed a camera at him. The sight alone brought a tiny smile to your face as you answered, lifting the phone to your ear while suppressing another pained whimper.

It honestly felt like someone had taken up a chisel inside your uterus and was attempting to recreate the damn Sistine Chapel.

“Okay, I got light flow, heavy flow, extra wing support, night support—” Dean’s voice came through the speaker, listing off the brands as well. His voice was too serious for the matter, like if he was reeling off a list of supplies for a damn spell, and you had to bite your lip to keep from giggling despite the pain.

You’d run out of everything—tampons, pads, even your emergency stash. Between constant hunts and general chaos, your usual monthly toiletry restock had completely slipped your mind. But this particular cycle was hitting you like a freight train, leaving you barely able to move.

So, Dean—without hesitation, without complaint—had gotten dressed, laced up his boots, and headed to the store. No questions asked.

Sure, most guys knew about periods. Some were even cool about it. But not all of them wanted to hear the details without making a face or pretending they were about to pass out.

Dean Winchester, however, was a rare breed.

He never cringed or acted grossed out. If you needed something, he got it. If you were in pain, he listened. And, as if that wasn’t enough to make your heart swell, in the especially bad months—when you woke in the middle of the night to find you’d bled through your pyjamas and onto the sheets—Dean never got mad. He never looked at you with anything other than concern.

Instead, he’d scoop you up in his arms, carry you to the bathroom, and help you clean up while murmuring reassurances in that deep, gravelly voice of his. Then, without hesitation, he’d strip the bed, toss the sheets in the wash, and settle you back in a freshly changed bed like it was nothing.

Whether it was the years of hunting and being desensitised to blood or just the way he loved you—completely, without hesitation—it only made you fall harder for him.

“—or what about these? Super Soakers?” Dean drawled, snapping you back to the present. You could practically see him squinting at the box, brows furrowed like he was trying to crack some ancient hunter lore.

“I mean… I’m pretty sure they do the opposite of what you need, but hey, they claim to absorb up ten times more than the last version.” He let out a low whistle. “Damn. If these things were around when I was a kid, Sammy could’ve used ’em as flotation devices.” He sounded genuinely impressed, and that time, you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Just my usual, please.”

“Alright, alright, no Super Soakers,” he muttered, still sounding way too fascinated. More rustling followed, then—“Aha! Got ’em.” The sheer triumph in his voice was like he’d just bagged the biggest salt-and-burn of his life.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Congrats, champ. You wanna do a victory lap?”

“Tempting, sweetheart,” he quipped. “But I think the ladies in the aisle might start throwing coupons at me in appreciation.”

You shook your head at his ridiculousness, but you adored him for it.

You were still in the exact same curled-up position when Dean returned, two stuffed grocery bags in hand and a bag of your favourite chips clenched between his teeth. He kicked the door shut behind him and dropped the bags onto the foot of the bed.

Slowly, wincing, you sat up. “Did you buy the whole damn store?” you asked amused, rifling through the bags.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the pain, but the sheer volume of products he’d brought back almost made you cry. He hadn’t just grabbed your usual brand—he’d picked up damn near every similar product on the shelf, as if he was preparing for the apocalypse of all periods.

And the second bag? Overflowing with your favourite snacks, along with his, because of course he wasn’t suffering with you without the proper provisions.

Dean shrugged, flashing you a wink as he kicked off his boots and shed his jacket. “Maybe. But now you ain’t gotta worry about running out for a while. And this—” he lifted the snack bag with a proud smirk “—is so we don’t have to leave the bed.”

Your eyes welled up, and you tried to blink the tears away before he could notice.

But he always noticed.

“Hey, hey, no.” His face softened immediately as he rounded the bed, settling next to you, hands warm as they cupped your shoulders. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles against your skin, his touch grounding you. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Did I get the wrong ones? I swear that’s what you said, but maybe you were cutting out, and I—”

You silenced him with a soft kiss, cradling his scruffy cheeks between your hands. He let out a small, surprised sound before melting into it, his arms instinctively winding around you, pulling you in. When you pulled back, his green eyes searched yours for an answer.

“I love you, Dean.”

His entire body relaxed. His shoulders dropped, and that rare, completely unguarded expression softened his face. He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world—and you were.

One hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear with infinite tenderness. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

He kissed you again, slow and sweet, before easing back against the pillows and pulling you into his arms. His warmth immediately engulfed you, his scent—leather, soap, a hint of motor oil—comforting you more than anything ever could.

His hand slid over your abdomen, his palm pressing softly against the ache there, radiating the kind of warmth that soothed more than any hot water bottle ever could. He was your rock, your safety, your home.

“You good?” he murmured after a beat of comfortable silence.

You nodded, burrowing into his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

“Good,” he sighed, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Now c’mon, let’s eat enough junk food to make both of us sick, and then pass out watching that show you like about Friends or something.”

You let out a watery chuckle, “You mean Friends?” You corrected him. It was your ultimate comfort show, one Dean’d had to endure many times. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he’d gotten hooked on it himself.

“That’s the one.” He hummed, stroking your side with the tips of his fingers. You closed your eyes and melted against him. Even through the pain, wrapped up in Dean’s arms, you’d never felt luckier.

AN: So this was a short one, but what I'd give to have my own Dean in these God awful times 😭😍. It’s giving Priestly vibes in Ten Inch Hero (if you’ve seen the movie) but i went with Dean on this one. Hope you enjoyed 😘

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[strangeinvader9]

Wholeheartedly agree here. Also, Ben quite literally being a bull instead of just bullheaded? LOL!!

⋆˚࿔ °･⌇ SOLDIER BOY HEADCANNONS .ᐟ

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY has reoccurring nightmares. He has deep-rooted trauma from both the physical and emotional wars of his past—his abusive childhood, the bloody battles fought, and the years he spent as the russians’ experiment. He’s brash and forward in most aspects of his life, but not when it comes to confronting his trauma head-on. Thus, it tends to accumulate and lay siege on him during the time when he’s most vulnerable—in his sleep. He often wakes up in a fit amidst the dead night, and the first thing he does isn’t grounding himself with a few, steadying breaths or a doing scan of his surroundings—it’s to instinctively reach across the bed to make sure you’re still there beside him. To make sure he’s not alone. He’s so plagued with the need to be loved and valued, that he’s latched onto the one person who’s shown him nothing but. So, funnily enough, losing you might be the worst nightmare of all time.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY wears a simple, silver promise ring on his left index finger. After a year of dating, you gifted it to him as a commemoration of your relationship milestone. His first instinct was to bitch about it, but it came from a place of unfamiliarity—Ben’s not used to gifts. He’s barely adjusted to the stability of the lifestyle he’s founded within you. But he takes it, anyway—briskly slipping it into his pocket while he practically herds you into the bedroom for a gift of his own. He kept it stashed aside in a memoir box—yes, he owns one and he hoards all his gems of the past in it for nostalgia’s sake because he’s just an old-timey boy who never fully adjusted to modern life. And after gnawing his ear off about never wearing it, he looped a chain through it and wore it like a dog tag—afraid that it’d get lost to some combat commotion if he wore it on his hand. And then one day, you’d absentmindedly brought up the idea of marriage, and later that night, Ben finds himself considering the lifestyle by finally slipping that ring onto his finger. As time passes, he finds himself absentmindedly playing with it whenever he’s idling around or unwinding from the day. And it’s something he specially reaches for when he feels overwhelmed or anxious. It quiets his brain, like the mere touch of it is the calming tether that keeps him grounded in the midst of his mental storms—reminds him of the solid rock that is you.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY often experiences the “Proust Phenomenon”—where certain smells trigger vivid memories of the past. Due to his Supe nature, Ben’s olfactory senses are enhanced—like a k9 with extensive years of training. It was a handy skill when it came to operations and the element of surprise surrounding rigged locations, where he could detect the biting scent of chemical agents and certain metals that smelled like sure death. But, ironically, it’s also a perforation in his balls-of-steel armour. And now, in the modern days—stemming from the PTSD of his past—there are certain smells that remind Ben of his time in the Russian compound. Of the torture he endured. Metal traces, gunpowder, general anaesthetic—which shares the same undertone of the novichok gas used to put him to sleep. Fun fact—when you had to get your wisdom teeth removed, Ben dropped you off and picked you up but refused to step foot inside the building. He can’t tolerate the smells—chemicals, gas, death. It overwhelms him, and it’s unwelcome on his mind. And later that night, he wouldn’t go within ten feet of you—bothered by the scent of the anaesthetic still clinging to you. Eerily familiar. It was an eye-opening moment for you and the true magnitude of his trauma. So, overtime, you both worked on a way to counter-condition the trait—using smells he could associate with better memories. Something like the scent of your perfume. Everyday, before he leaves the house, he makes sure to spurt a drop of your perfume onto the neckline of his shirt—so that it evades his nose at all times. So that there’s no room for his senses to entertain a smell other than yours. It keeps him grounded and wards off the other scents threatening to invade his fickle peace of mind. And best of all, it smothers him with every thought, feeling and memory associated with you. Another way for him to be consumed by all that you are, even when you’re miles apart.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY craves your proximity. It’s not something he’s aware he does, but it happens, regardless. When you first started dating, it wasn’t anything too serious—mutual benefits with minimal strings attached. But unbeknownst to him, he’d come to crave your company like relentless clockwork. And he was a colossal prick when he didn’t get it—especially on the late nights where he’s taunted by his thoughts. A phone call that found you in the midst of a club amongst men—any man that wasn’t him—was a line of static corrupted with heated words. And a few minutes later, he’d show up like a relentless tractor, ploughing through the crowd with the sole objective to pluck you from the masses and lead you back to the car with a firm grip on your wrist. His possessiveness is something you helped work him through, and he’s surely dialled it down to a stinging glare and a tongue bitten raw whenever another guy spares you attention that extends beyond a polite conversation. He is refined, though—more subtle in his possessiveness. Like when you’re in the kitchen making dinner, he simply grabs a beer and sips on it while standing a little ways away from you, leaned against the counter while he watches TV from across the apartment. If you drift to the island to start plating the meals, he strays to the other end of it—all while his eyes remained glued on the TV. He doesn’t know he’s doing it—it’s like an instinct to be tethered to you at all times, following, guarding, yearning.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY always opens doors for you. Car doors, restaurant doors, apartment door. Any door. Initially, out of habit, he’d always enter the space before you and do a quick sweep of the area—like he’s on the scout for potential danger, or like you’re the president that he’s tasked with keeping safe—before beckoning you inside. It was a prevalent routine in the initial months of his domestic life, but you’d sat him down one night to talk about it—how he doesn’t need to be on such high alert anymore. And admittedly, how it hurt a tad bit that he didn’t let you in first. Almost as though those words had flipped a switch about how unaccustomed you are to his Soldier habits—he made sure from that night onward, that he always lets you in first. He’d wanted to argue that he was doing it from a place of good intent, wanting to keep you safe from any potential hidden threats, but he’d bit down on his tongue. Because it didn’t matter. There was not a damn thing worth doing if it didn’t favour your happiness. Now, he always makes sure that he opens the door to a room and steps aside to usher you in with a jerk of his chin. But once you’re inside, he still executes a subtle scout—a brief survey tossed over your oblivious shoulder and a hasty sweep of the outside before he trails in after you. You’re his gem, after all, and he can’t risk having you stolen from him.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY drives with one hand on the wheel, and the other on you. Whenever you’re his passenger princess—which is always because he still believes in misogynistic chivalry, his hand always manages to stray from the gear and onto the hump of your thigh. Always. He holds you there, strokes an absentminded thumb over the skin, or rubs soothing lines that sometimes dip far too close to your core. And not once will he look at you while he does it—as if it adds to suspense of his clingy encroachment—but you might catch the corner of his lip spreading with a knowing smirk. He also has one hand on your headrest whenever he’s reversing, and then it’ll trail down to tuck your hair behind your ear, or run two fingers down your jaw before settling in its rightful place amongst your thigh.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY likes TLC. I feel like this started with one of those times he was sat on the sofa watching TV, and you snuck up behind him to run your hands through his fluffy hair—because come on. At first, he might’ve flinched away from the unfamiliar intimacy—habitually moving to seize you at the wrist and yank you away with a low muttering of “the fuck you doin’?” But you shake him off with a giddy laugh, telling him to lay off the armour of stress for two seconds before returning your hands to his hair. He still tenses under the touch, but the longer your hands spend entwined with the hairs flowing from his scalp, he starts to melt under the touch—like you’re loosening the strings woven through the very DNA that renders his every muscle tightly-knit. Scalp massages turn into neck and shoulder massages, and that turns into rubbing out his back—and it even extends all the way to arm and head tickles. Sometimes, while you’re laying in bed, he’ll settle himself down beside you with a kiss to your jaw before he’s leaned his head against the side of yours—and he won’t say anything, but there’s a newfound stillness to him that screams expectancy. And when your hand wanders up his back and around his neck to settle in his hair, you feel him start to relax—unwind. And once, he let slip a soft and strained groan of pleasure, like he was desperately trying to swallow the truth of how much he enjoys ed it. But it never escaped your notice, and it wasn’t the last time he did it.

𖦹 SOLDIER BOY loves doggy-style for a quickie, and cowgirl for a stickie. When this man is hard and craving a quick release, he does love the idea bending you over beneath him and sending you to heaven. He’s a refined type of rough, never pushing limits he knows would hurt or leave a bruise you’re not keen on sporting. However, if you ask for it, he’s happy to oblige. And he LOVES holding you at your waist—loves it. Absolutely clings to it like a lifeline—kneading, gripping, pulling you into his every thrust. And he loves drinking in the view of your back—arching and flexing with silent pleas for his touch. But on the slower, softer nights of the week, he’s quite fond of cowgirl—back against the head-board with you on top of him, riding him at a pace that suits your current mood and needs. His hold on you is firm, but open for adjustment—guidance. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t admit that the mere view of your face—contorted with pleasure and effort alike—gets him worked up in addition to your every movement. God, you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever had the pleasure of calling his, and he watches you like he’s trying to memorise every detail about you. And if he doesn’t also love watching the way you swallow his length whole—and the way he glistens with the mingle of your combined pleasure. This man loves a cream pie—said what I said. And dirty talk.

a/n ─ first ever headcannons 👊 happy birthday to pookie schnooks! can you tell i worked hard on these? pls it’s almost 1 am now and i’ve been busy since 9 pm. and it’s all 100% canon in my head idc what y’all say.

thank you for reading! all likes & comments & deeply appreciated, but reblogs go a much longer way—so please support your writers with it! <3

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @angelicjackles @deansbbyx @titsout4jackles @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @honeyryewhiskey @daylighted @deansbeer @deansbbyx @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @jasvtsc @st4rmarley @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @chi-raz @youdontknowe @misatxox @lixiesbrowniess @ilovedeanwinchester4 @beelzebzb @lunaleah @kr804573 @idontwannabehere7 @lanasgirlfr @cas-only-angel @lucky-beheaded @nperoconelcositoarriba @mahi-wayy @alidiggory92 @idk-123-0 @tuxedoe @cassiecourtemanche @rositaslabyrinth @abox-of-rocks @viluren @h8aaz @cowboysandcigarettes @bejeweledinterludes @emeraldcrs @jensenacklesballsack

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[strangeinvader9]

Scared of loving you…

pairing: dean winchester x reader

prompt: "I don't want to love her. I don't like what that means for me."

"What do you think it means?"

"It means I have something to lose again, and I'm not strong enough for that anymore."

warnings: none, just pure tooth rotting fluff, lots of fluff, a little bit of angst if you squint

notes: Set in season 10, so during the moc!dean era, but we don’t get to see a lot of moc!dean just some of the effects, I don’t know what else to say hahah

I saw a picture of the tumblr post about this prompt on Pinterest and loved it. So I immediately had to write about. Long story short: credits for the prompt go to @promptsforthestrugglingauthor

This is my first ever fanfic posted, so bear with me please. Also English isn’t my first language, sorry for any mistakes. Feedback is GREATLY appreciated!! Now enjoy!

The bunker was quiet. Too quiet.

Dean sat at the war room table, a whiskey glass in hand, half-empty but untouched for the last twenty minutes. The Mark of Cain burned under his skin, a constant reminder of what he was becoming. What he already was.

And then there was you.

The hunter they’d met on a case in South Dakota months ago. The one who was too smart, too stubborn, too damn good for a world like this. The one who had somehow, against all odds, wormed her way into his life, into his thoughts. Into his heart.

He hated it. Hated what it meant.

Sam sat across from him, watching, waiting. Dean could feel his brother’s eyes on him, the way he always did when he knew something was wrong.

“She’s not a problem, you know,” Sam finally said, breaking the silence.

Dean let out a rough exhale, shaking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Sam frowned. “Dean—”

“I don’t want to love her.” His voice was quiet but firm, like he was trying to convince himself more than Sam. His fingers curled tightly around the glass, jaw clenching. “I don’t like what that means for me.”

Sam leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “What do you mean?”

Dean swallowed hard, staring at the dark amber liquid in his glass. His voice was quieter when he answered. “It means I have something to lose again, and I’m not strong enough for that anymore.”

Sam sighed, his expression softening. “Dean…”

Dean shook his head. “You don’t get it, man. You didn’t see what I did. What the Mark was and still is doing to me” His throat tightened, but he forced the words out anyway. “I liked it, Sammy. I liked the kill, the power. What happens if I go back to that? If she—” He broke off, running a hand over his face.

Sam sat back, considering. “You think pushing her away is gonna stop you from losing her?”

Dean let out a bitter laugh. “If she’s not in my life, she can’t be a casualty of it.”

“That’s crap and you know it.” Sam shook his head. “She already cares about you. You already care about her. That’s not gonna change just because you pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Dean exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers against his temple like he could push the feelings out of his head. It wasn’t that easy. It never was.

And deep down, he knew Sam was right.

You were already a part of his life. A part of him. And no matter how much he tried to fight it, you weren’t going anywhere.

And maybe… maybe he didn’t want you to.

-

Dean didn’t sleep that night.

Instead, he sat in his room, staring at the ceiling, the Mark of Cain pulsing beneath his skin like it had a heartbeat of its own.

You.

He didn’t want to think about you, but you were there anyway. In the way you called him out on his bullshit, in the way you hands were steady on a shotgun but gentle when you patched up his wounds. In the way you saw right through him, past the walls and the deflections and the darkness curling inside him.

And that was the problem.

He couldn’t afford to have someone like you. Someone good. Someone who would look at him with wide, worried eyes if you ever saw just how deep the rot went.

He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling through his nose.

This was the right thing. Keeping you at arm’s length. Because the alternative?

The alternative was worse.

A knock at his door made his muscles tense. For a second, he thought about ignoring it. But then your voice came through, quiet, steady.

“Dean?”

His stomach clenched.

Shit.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, forcing himself to his feet. He hesitated—just don’t answer it, just let her go—but his hand was already wrapping around the doorknob, like muscle memory.

He cracked the door open just enough to see you.

You stood there, arms crossed, eyebrows pulled together in that way that meant you knew something was wrong. You were in an old sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants, but you still looked—hell, he didn’t even want to think the word.

“What’s up?” he asked, voice rough from lack of sleep.

Your lips pressed together. “You tell me.”

Dean let out a slow breath, leaning against the doorframe. “Nothin’ to tell.”

You tilted your head, searching his face. He hated how well you could read him. “Sam said you were in your head tonight.”

Dean scoffed. “Sam needs to quit running his mouth.”

Your expression didn’t change. “Dean.”

Damn it.

He should shut the door. Should make some excuse, send you away. But instead, he found himself stepping back, opening the door a little wider.

You hesitated, but then you moved past him, into his room.

You didn’t sit. Just stood there, arms still crossed, watching him.

Dean closed the door, leaning back against it, arms mirroring yours.

After a beat, you sighed. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” you said, voice softer now. “But I can see it, Dean. Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

His chest ached.

You didn’t get it. You couldn’t get it.

“That’s the thing, sweetheart,” he said, forcing a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I do.”

Your eyes didn’t leave his. You weren’t buying the act. “Why?”

He hesitated. Then—because maybe part of him wanted you to understand, because maybe part of him was just tired—he exhaled.

“Because if I let myself have this—” He gestured vaguely between you. “—if I let myself have you, then it’s just another way for me to loose. To loose you. And I’ve lost too much already.”

Your expression didn’t waver. “You think pushing me away is gonna keep me safe?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You took a step forward. He should move. He didn’t.

“Dean, you don’t get to decide that.” Your voice was firm now, unwavering. “I know what this life is. I know what it takes from us. But I also know what it gives.”

His jaw clenched. “And what’s that?”

You reached out—hesitated for half a second—then placed a hand over his, warm and steady.

“Each other.”

Dean’s breath hitched.

Something in him cracked, deep and quiet, like ice breaking under pressure.

You were right here. Right in front of him. Wanting to be here. And maybe—just maybe—he wanted that, too.

Dean’s throat felt tight, like he couldn’t swallow past the lump forming there. Your hand was warm against his, grounding in a way he didn’t know he needed.

He should pull away. Should make some smartass comment, throw up the walls that had kept him breathing this long.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a slow, shuddering breath and turned his hand just enough to curl his fingers around yours. It was barely a movement, barely a decision, but you noticed. He saw it in the flicker of something soft in your eyes, the way you squeezed his fingers in silent understanding.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice rough, raw.

You didn’t flinch. “Do what?”

Dean swallowed. “Want someone like this. Let someone in like this.” He glanced down at your joined hands, like the sight alone could burn him. “Not anymore.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then you said, “Then let’s figure it out together.”

His chest ached.

He wanted to believe that was possible. Wanted to believe there was a version of this where he could have you without losing you, without you becoming another name carved into his bones.

But the mark was still there. The darkness was still inside him, whispering in the back of his mind, reminding him that he wasn’t safe. That he was a loaded gun with no safety.

“I’m not a good bet,” he murmured.

Your expression didn’t waver. “Good thing I’m not a gambler.”

Dean huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head. “You should be running in the other direction.”

“Maybe.” You tilted your head. “But I’m not.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you—the steady determination in your eyes, the way you were standing firm even as you gave him space to run if he wanted to.

And for the first time in a long time, Dean wasn’t sure he did want to run.

The weight of everything pressed down on him—the mark, the past, the fear clawing at the edges of his ribs—but you were still there. Still standing. Still holding his hand.

Dean let out a slow breath.

Maybe he could figure this out. Maybe he didn’t have to be alone in the dark.

Maybe—just maybe—he could let himself have this.

Even if it scared the hell out of him.

And maybe that was what undid him.

His fingers tightened around yours, hesitant but certain, like he was anchoring himself to the moment. To you.

Your breath hitched just slightly, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you shifted closer—not enough to be overwhelming, just enough that he could feel your warmth, your presence. It should have been suffocating, but it wasn’t. It was steady. It was real.

Dean swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “You really think this is a good idea?” His voice was rough, edged with something unspoken.

Your lips twitched, a small, knowing smile. “Nope.”

Dean blinked. “Wow. Great pep talk, sweetheart.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “It’s terrifying,” you admitted. “But I think the best things usually are.”

His chest ached, something heavy settling behind his ribs.

You were right.

Again.

And damn it, part of him hated that.

The other part? The part that was exhausted from running, from pushing everyone away, from pretending he didn’t want something more?

That part wanted to believe you.

Dean exhaled sharply, his free hand scrubbing over his face before dropping to his side. “This is gonna be a disaster,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Probably.”

He huffed. “You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

You just shrugged. “Then stop being right all the time.”

Dean’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile there and gone in an instant. And maybe it was reckless, maybe it was stupid, but he let his hand drift up, fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it.

You stilled, eyes flicking to his, waiting.

Dean swallowed. He didn’t know what he was doing, what he was supposed to do. But when you didn’t move away, when you stayed right there, close enough to touch, he let himself breathe you in.

“Just… tell me when to stop,” he murmured.

Your gaze softened. “Dean.”

His throat tightened.

Then, so quiet he almost didn’t hear it, you whispered, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Something in him cracked wide open.

Dean didn’t think. Didn’t second-guess. He just moved.

His fingers slid up your arm, along the curve of your shoulder, until they found your jaw. His thumb brushed over your cheek, a slow, tentative touch.

You leaned into him, just barely, like you were giving him permission.

Dean’s breath stuttered.

And then—hesitant, unsure, but real—he kissed you.

It wasn’t desperate or demanding. It was careful, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough.

You made a soft, surprised noise against his lips, and that sound alone nearly undid him.

You tasted like warmth, like something he didn’t deserve but wanted anyway.

And when you kissed him back—slow, lingering, certain—Dean realized something terrifying.

Maybe, for the first time in a long time…

He had something worth fighting for again.

You sighed into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his Henley like you were afraid he might pull away. But Dean had no intention of doing that. Not now. Not when he’d finally let himself have this, when you were kissing him back like you’d been waiting just as long.

He deepened the kiss just slightly, tilting his head to slot against you more easily. It was still gentle, still careful, but there was something more now—something that felt like giving in.

Your hands slid up his chest, slow and deliberate, before settling at the base of his neck. Your fingers brushed against the short hairs there, sending a shiver down his spine.

Dean exhaled against your lips, his own hands skimming along your waist before settling on the small of your back. You fit against him so perfectly, like you’d always been meant to be there.

When you pulled back just a fraction, Dean nearly followed, but you didn’t go far. Your noses brushed, breaths mingling in the space between you.

You smiled, soft and a little dazed. “You okay?”

Dean huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, you just kissed me. Pretty sure I’m supposed to be asking you that.”

Your fingers toyed with the hairs at the back of his neck, your touch warm and steady. “I think I’m good.”

Dean’s heart thudded, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “Yeah?”

You hummed in agreement, your forehead resting against his.

Dean closed his eyes for a second, just breathing you in, letting himself be in this moment. No running, no pushing away. Just this.

Then, because he couldn’t not, he nudged your nose with his, his lips brushing over yours in the barest ghost of a kiss. It wasn’t desperate, wasn’t rushed. Just soft.

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into him again, pressing another lingering kiss to his lips—slower this time, sweeter. Like you had all the time in the world.

Dean groaned quietly, his hands slipping under the hem of your sweatshirt to rest against the warm skin of your back. He felt you shiver, felt the way your fingers curled a little tighter against him.

You kissed again, and again, each one more lingering than the last.

Dean wasn’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, lips brushing, noses nudging, fingers tracing. Time didn’t seem to matter.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to rest your head against his shoulder. Dean exhaled, his arms looping around you fully, holding you against him.

You sighed, fingers trailing absently along his spine. “So… what now?”

Dean huffed. “Hell if I know.”

You laughed, the sound soft and good, and Dean felt something loosen in his chest.

He pressed a kiss to your hair, lingering there for a moment before murmuring, “But I think I wanna figure it out.”

You squeezed him gently. “Me too.”

Dean closed his eyes, letting himself have this—have you.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just surviving.

He was living.

-

Dean wasn’t used to this.

The warmth of someone pressed against him. The quiet weight of another person just being there without expectation, without pressure.

But you were here, curled up against his side, and for once, he wasn’t thinking about how to push you away.

You had stayed.

After you kissed and talked in low murmurs, after he admitted—really admitted—that he wanted to figure this out, you had just stayed.

Now, you were draped half over him, one of your legs hooked over his, your head resting on his chest. Dean had one arm wrapped around you, fingers tracing slow circles against the small of your back. The other lay limp at his side, relaxed for the first time in what felt like years.

You let out a sleepy hum, fingers trailing lightly over his chest. “Y’know… I never thought this would happen.”

Dean smirked, shifting slightly beneath you. “What, you in my bed? Sweetheart, I had a feeling you’d cave eventually.”

You scoffed, lifting your head just enough to shoot him a look. “Cocky bastard.”

Dean chuckled, letting his fingers drift up your spine, teasing. “You love it.”

You huffed but didn’t pull away. “I tolerate it.”

Dean grinned. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You didn’t argue. Just sighed and nestled closer, your fingers moving absently over his arm, tracing shapes against his skin.

He closed his eyes for a second, soaking it in—the warmth of you, the way you fit so perfectly against him, the quiet ease between you.

For the first time in a long time, the mark wasn’t screaming at him.

Your fingers drifted lower, skimming over the fabric of his sleeve, right where the mark of cain lay beneath his skin.

Dean tensed instinctively, expecting the usual flare of heat, the uncomfortable itch that never seemed to fade.

But then—

You traced the edge of the mark through his sleeve, slow and deliberate.

And the burn eased.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

You froze, tilting your head to look at him. “You okay?”

He swallowed, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I just—” He hesitated, then exhaled. “Do that again.”

You blinked but obeyed, your fingers moving over the mark again, following its shape through the fabric.

The relief was instant. Like you were cooling an old wound, soothing something raw and restless inside him.

Dean let out a shaky breath, his grip on you tightening just slightly.

You frowned. “Dean…”

He forced himself to look at you.

You searched his face, your own unreadable. “Does it hurt?”

Dean shook his head. “No. It—it actually helps.”

Your expression softened. “Yeah?”

Dean nodded, licking his lips. “Yeah.”

You were quiet for a second, then—gently, carefully—you tugged at his sleeve. “Can I…?”

Dean hesitated. He never let anyone touch it. Not really. Not like this.

But you weren’t just anyone. He trusted you.

So, he swallowed and gave a small nod.

You pushed his sleeve up just enough to expose the dark lines of the mark. Dean braced himself for the usual pulse of power, the itch, the heat.

But when your fingers traced over it, bare skin against bare skin—

The itch vanished.

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, eyes slipping shut.

Your touch was light, barely there, tracing each line and curve like you were learning it, memorizing it. But it wasn’t clinical, wasn’t hesitant. It was soothing.

Dean exhaled, the tension bleeding out of him.

You smiled, voice barely above a whisper. “Feels good?”

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, cracking one eye open. “Never thought I’d hear that about this damn thing.”

Your lips twitched. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Dean smirked, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah. You really are.”

You kept tracing the mark in slow, lazy patterns, your fingers gentle, methodical. Dean just let you, basking in the strange, unfamiliar relief of it.

At some point, your fingers slowed, your breathing evening out.

Dean glanced down and realized you were half-asleep, your head still resting against his chest, your hand curled loosely over his arm.

His throat tightened.

Carefully, he reached down and tangled his fingers with yours, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You hummed sleepily, squeezing his hand in return.

Dean smiled.

For the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t feel like a ticking time bomb.

For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.

And it was all because of you.

[strangeinvader9]

Could I get Adam, Lute and Lucifer and how they 'court' the reader? Like how birds with court each other, little gifts, wing 'dances', nesting, etc...

Also, could I be your 🐌 anon? <3<3<3

Birds of a Feather

Adam, Lute and Lucifer courting you

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Adam ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Peacocking has nothing on The First Man

• His personality is amped up to the highest level when he sees you walk in a room

• (Overcompensation for how fucking nervous you make him)

• Adam gets cocky when he knows he has your attention

• Tossing grapes high in the air and catching them in his mouth, bragging louder than usual about something or the other

• Heaven forbid you laugh at any of his antics, (His smirk is dangerous, “Oh you like that?”) he’ll start singling you out in front of everyone, calling your name before he acts up

• Performances include inviting you to watch his band play and miraculously getting more energy

• Casually tosses guitar picks in your direction— and when he finds out you kept one!? He’s over the moon

• He won’t go out of his way to get you food but he’ll order you something if he goes somewhere

• Adam hates nesting. He doesn’t like being stressed in general and nesting is really fucking stressful!

• The very fact seeing you pricks the urge in him to nest drives him insane

• (AKA, he likes you a lot more than he thought he did!)

• Seeing you in his space does something he doesn’t particularly hate though

• “It’s whatever if you don’t like it.” Adam shrugs

• “No, I think it looks nice! Very you. Tell me about these pictures?”

• He’s fucking done for

˚✧₊⁎ Lute ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Like they have a mind of their own, her wings stretch out and audibly fluff up when she makes eye contact with you

• Mortifying is an understatement

• She picks out trinkets to give to you at first, something small that could be waved off as insignificant

• Later, when Lute realizes her affections are returned, she brings useful offerings or something you offhandedly mentioned needing

• She wishes she could tell you about the exterminations solely to brag

• See how fierce she is, how skilled she is, how good of a protector she could be for you

• Lute will ask you to arm wrestle as a compromise. She gets to hold you hand and show off her strength!

• Nesting was fine, it was the judgment part that drove her up a wall

• Watching your eyes roam over her apartment, deciding whether or not it was good enough for you? Gah!

• “What, uh—“ Lute clears her throat, she’ll hate herself for even asking later, “What do you think?”

• You smile knowingly, something else that makes her absolutely mad, “It’s perfect.”

• Lute beams with pride like she’s won a great victory

˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Never before has he felt the need to actually flaunt.. anything?

• With you it hits him like a fucking train and it’s even harder to supress it

• He’s Lucifer! That’s supposed to be self explanatory, that’s supposed to be enough

• Suddenly he’s checking every mirror on his way to you, making sure he looks better than he feels

• He tries to find other ways to steal your attention or show that he would be a worthy partner

• …But showing off his wings couldn’t hurt, right? He has six after all. If you needed to get to the other side of town he’d be more than happy to fly you over!

• Nothings too good for you! If Lucifer thinks you’ll want or like something, he’s buying it!

• Did you notice he can make things too? He’ll make you something— or fix something for you!

• Quick, break that so he can show you he can fix it!

• Lucifer pulls all the stops trying to prove himself, nesting is no exception… he’s just not great at it

• He starts! However a little after beginning he realizes just how big his mansion is and gets overwhelmed so he closes all the doors and focuses his energy on the only room that matters; his

• “I mainly stay in here,” Lucifer explains while squishing a duck in his fist, watching you explore his room, “I cleaned it up for you! N-Not for you, not for that— I mean not that I’m opposed! I just meant so that you could, uh, see?”

• “I see why you like it, I’d never wanna leave.”

• You’re gonna kill him saying shit like that

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ 🐌 CAN I GIVE YOU A KITH BECAUSE THIS WAS SO FUN!!!!!

[strangeinvader9]

How do you think Adam and Lucifer would be as romantic rivals??

threes a crowd if you’re a coward

[i], [ii]

• First things first, it’s deadass funniest beef in history

• Adam lost to Lucifer twice, which is bad enough on its own, and now they’ve both laid eyes on the same person!? Fuck that, he’s not losing this time

• In theory, Lucifer doesn’t see Adam as a threat. It’s not until he sees you chatting with Heaven’s First Man that the sickening, all too familiar feeling of envy begins to rise in him. He hasn’t lost before and he doesn’t plan on starting now!

• You cannot keep up with the amount of gifts they give you. It’s obvious they’re both trying to outshine the other, giving flashier and shinier items that you have no use for. Did you realize you stomped on their hearts when you put your foot down?

• Secretly, you keep one of the more meaningful gifts from each of them

• Adam made you a mixtape that he of course starred in. “Lute helped,” He admitted almost bashfully. The final song is different from the rest; softer and more genuine. He named it after you

• Lucifer gave you a duck— “But this is no ordinary duck, my dear!” He wagged a finger in the air, nervously darting his eyes across your face like he was expecting ridicule. Instead of quaking when squeezed, the duck he gave you shouted positive phrases in Lucifer’s voice. Things like “Today will be great!” or “You’ve totally got this!”

• You don’t tell them that you listen to both at least once a day. It would only give them fuel for this little pissing match

• You should have known banning excessive gifts wouldn’t stop these two. They’re fucking stubborn

• If Lucifer asks to cook you breakfast, Adam asks to take you to dinner. If Adam wants you to come to his rock concert, Lucifer wants to give you a private show with his violin. If Lucifer wants to take you for a flight, well, Adam can fly higher!

• They drive you crazy. You drove them crazy first

• After an emotional night with both Adam and Lucifer— it was supposed to only be the latter but Lucifer crashed Adam’s date yesterday, so he proclaimed to be returning the favor— you were too tired (and weirdly happy?) to make a proper exit

• You planted a kiss on Lucifer’s cheek, then Adam’s, then announced that you were retiring to your bed. Closing the door behind you, you realized what you’d done. They were stunned to silence for exactly 60 seconds

“I got a kiss first.”

“I got a kiss last, that means I’m winning.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase coming in dead last?”

“First is the worst, you fucking—“

“GET OFF MY PORCH!” You shouted from inside, still beet red from embarrassment

• Lucifer and Adam wished you a good night and promised to see you tomorrow

• Damnit. You smiled hearing that. You couldn’t wait

[strangeinvader9]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ smudge,

summary. you get your lipstick all over dean

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 295

“Hold still.”

Dean huffs but doesn’t move as you press up on your toes, cupping his jaw to inspect the damage.

You’d only meant to give him a quick kiss—a soft peck before heading out on your respective errands. But Dean being Dean, he had to grab your waist, tilt your chin up, and kiss you like he had all the time in the world.

Which is why he now has a very noticeable smudge of your lipstick at the corner of his mouth.

You try to fight back a giggle. “You’re a mess.”

Dean grins, the dimple in his cheek deepening. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

“You kissed me,” you correct, swiping your thumb over the mark. It doesn’t budge. "Wow, this stuff stays put."

Dean’s eyebrows raise, eyes glinting with amusement. “Guess that means I get to wear it all day.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing a tissue from your bag and wetting it with a little spit before reaching up again.

Dean jerks his head back, mock-offended. “Oh, hell no. You’re not about to mom-wipe me.”

“Oh my God, just let me fix it!” You try again, but he dodges, laughing as you chase him around the motel room.

He finally relents when you tackle him against the bed, your knees bracketing his hips. His hands settle on your waist, eyes warm as he watches you carefully wipe away the smudge.

“There,” you murmur, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “All good.”

Dean hums, his hands tightening slightly. “Too bad. Kinda liked wearing your mark.”

Your heart does something stupid in your chest.

Instead of answering, you lean down and kiss him again, slow and sweet, ignoring the fact that you’re probably just making another mess.

Dean doesn’t seem to mind.

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[strangeinvader9]

｡𖦹°‧ hold still,

summary. dean patches you up after a hunt.

pairing. dean winchester x reader ; angsty

wordcount. 582

Dean doesn’t breathe right until you’re sitting in front of him, battle-worn and bruised, but alive.

His knuckles are still raw from the fight. His heart is still hammering against his ribs. But none of that matters, not compared to the sight of you, hands shaky in your lap, blood soaking through your shirt.

It’s too much.

The sharp tang of iron in the air. The deep gash on your ribs, still sluggishly leaking crimson. The way you keep wincing, trying to hide it.

You’re in pain.

And it’s because he wasn’t fast enough.

Dean swallows hard, forces himself to focus. There’ll be time to be pissed later—at the vamps, at himself, at you for throwing yourself in the line of fire like you don’t care what happens.

Right now, you need him.

And that’s the only thing that matters.

“Shirt off,” he says, voice tight.

You blink at him. “Dean—”

“Don’t start,” he grits out, already reaching for the first aid kit. “Just—just let me do this, okay?”

You hesitate, just for a second, before exhaling and peeling off your jacket, then your torn shirt, leaving you in just your bra.

Dean doesn’t react.

Doesn’t let himself.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen you like this before, but right now, all he sees is the wound—angry, jagged, too damn close to anything vital.

He clenches his jaw. Too close.

“This is gonna sting,” he mutters, tipping the bottle of alcohol onto a clean rag.

“Great,” you deadpan. “Can’t wait.”

Dean huffs, shaking his head, but the corner of his mouth twitches. He should’ve known you’d still have jokes, even while half-bleeding out.

Then he presses the rag to your side, and you jerk.

“Shit—”

“Hold still,” he murmurs, softer this time.

You let out a shaky breath, nodding.

Dean doesn’t miss the way your fingers twist into the sheets as he keeps working—gently wiping away blood, dabbing at the wound, making sure there’s no debris before he starts taping you up.

It’s quiet. The motel hums around you, the neon sign outside flickering red against the window, casting shifting shadows over the walls.

Dean finishes wrapping the bandage, smoothing it over your skin carefully. Too carefully.

Like he’s afraid you’ll fall apart if he touches you wrong.

And he is. Because you’re not just another hunting partner. You’re not just some person he picked up along the way. You’re his. And the thought of losing you—

Dean clenches his jaw, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

“You done?” you murmur, voice softer now.

Dean exhales, nods. “Yeah.”

You glance down at yourself, then back at him. “Not too bad, right?”

He doesn’t answer. Just looks at you. And it’s something in his face, or the way he’s still holding onto the roll of gauze, like he needs something to ground him because your expression shifts—softens.

“Dean,” you say, quiet, knowing.

He looks away. “You scared the hell outta me.”

“I know.”

And maybe that’s the worst part. That you know. That you always know.

You reach out, fingers grazing his arm, hesitant. “I’m okay.”

Dean exhales slowly. Then, after a beat, he covers your hand with his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, gentle, grounding.

“You better be,” he mutters, voice rough. “’Cause I don’t—” He swallows, shakes his head. “I don’t wanna do this without you.”

Your fingers tighten around his. “You won’t have to.”

Dean holds onto your hand a little longer. Just to make sure you’re real.

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[strangeinvader9]

I love how everyone is all “I’m sorry baby, please forgive me, it won’t happen again”, trying to win you over and then you have Ben, who kisses you til you give in

Headcanon: Flirting (And Jealousy)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader, Russell Shaw x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @lacilou. And surprise! For the first time, I'm trying out adding Russell Shaw to the lineup because I thought he'd be an interesting addition for this prompt. 💜

Prompt: How would Dean, Ben & Beau react to either other men flirting with us or them obliviously/cluelessly letting other women flirt with them? And how we would react to them -- like how they'd make it up to us, their excuses, etc.

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw would react to someone flirting with you. (And others flirting with them.)

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, oblivious flirting, unwanted advances, jealousy, some toxic masculinity (you know Ben 🙄), but ultimately lots of fluff, and some spice too.~

Dean Winchester

Dean isn't one to get jealous...at first.

He knows you're hot as hell. He pretty much expects guys to try and shoot their shot.

Plus, he's secure enough in his relationship with you to know you wouldn't consciously entertain someone who's flirting with you.

He also knows you're strong enough to take care of yourself, even with a persistent asshole.

However.

The second a man gets into your face or tries to put his hands on you, Dean's stepping in -- either to twist the man's arm nearly out of its socket, or deliver a swift punch between the eyes, or his personal favorite, grabbing the back of the guy's neck and slamming his face onto the counter.

Dean finds the sound of bone breaking against varnished wood, followed closely by the heavy tripping thud of a body to the floor, deeply satisfying.

You heave a sigh. Not because you're all that annoyed at Dean, but because you tried to warn the guy.

Now, Dean knows he used to be...well, a "ladies man," putting it mildly. He's improvised more panty-dropping one-liners than a Magic Mike stripper. His success rate is 9-and-10 (because there's always room for improvement).

He directs all that flirtatious, playful, sexual energy on you. He's fallen for you, committed to you, and once he makes a decision with his heart, Dean Winchester doesn't have an unfaithful bone in his body.

However.

He can't altogether stop women from flirting with him. Like at one of the many diners you, Sam, and Dean stop to eat at after a hunt.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" the waitress says. She brushes her hand up his arm and squeezes his shoulder, giving Dean a too-bright smile that leaves nothing to the imagination (at least to you).

He smiles back at her. "Thanks, sweetheart."

It's like a reflex. He thinks he's being polite. He doesn't even follow the path of her hip-swaying walk with his eyes -- like he certainly would've before he met you.

You still stare at Dean incredulously. When the woman walks away, he smiles at you as if nothing happened. Sam wisely keeps to himself and sips his beer, hiding a smirk.

Dean notices the way your lips are pursed, bitchface activated. "What?" he asks.

You cross your arms. "Really?"

He frowns. "What's the matter?"

"Really. You need me to tell you not to let that woman eye-fucking you to put her hands all over you?" You shake your head. More dryly you add, "Right in front of me, too. I gotta give it to her, she's got brass balls."

Dean is bewildered, but then he replays the moment in his head and realizes that you're right. He kinda fucked up.

He sees the way you're getting all testy, and he has to chuckle.

"Okay. I'm sorry, sweetheart. My bad."

He reaches for your hand and manages to uncross your arms. You're stubborn in your irritation, but Dean is the king of persuasion, giving you teasing, flirty bedroom eyes and waggling brows as he pulls you towards him.

If you're still reluctant to soften, he adds, "Come on, don't be a sourpuss. Come 'ere."

Eventually he breaks you, making you laugh and hit his arm with no real force behind it.

Even Sam shakes his head, seeing how his brother manages to pacify you by sliding his arm around your shoulders across the booth. Dean leans in and kisses along your neck. He inhales your scent and hums in pleasure.

Sam clears his throat. He has to awkwardly look away.

"Gonna forgive me?" Dean asks, his lips moving against your skin. "Though I gotta admit, I kinda like it when you're jealous. All growly and fiesty. Got myself a little tiger."

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug at a smile. Your face warms in a blush, especially as his hand wanders under your jacket and teasingly up your side.

You slip your fingers into his hair, making sure to give a sharp little tug on it for good measure. He just laughs.

Oh, you'll forgive him, but maybe you'll make him do a little more penance when you all get back home.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a jealous man from the onset when a man flirts with you.

His lips purse, his jaw clicks, and he keeps a firm eye on the situation. He doesn't like it.

But to his credit, he tries not to act on it right away, letting you handle it the way you want to.

However, like Dean, the moment someone gets into your personal space or tries to touch you, he's pulling out some Sheriff moves.

If the man grabs at you, Beau's got his arm twisted behind his back so fast, he can almost feel ligaments popping. Beau gives a calm, but firm warning before sending the guy on his way. (He'd like to do more, but the department frowns on excessive violence.)

Maybe part of you gets annoyed at the show of jealousy, but a larger part of you can't help but be turned on when he protects you. You know it's not because he thinks you need protecting, but because he wants to.

"Can't help it, darlin'," he's said. "It's just how I was raised."

But you're the one that bristles when Danielle, a PTA mom at Emily's school, flirts with him. She laughs at his corny jokes with her white teeth and her perfectly layered and coiffed blonde hair.

She even gives him an extra cookie from her offering at the school's bake sale. (She knows what most of this town knows -- that the way to the Sheriff's heart is all too often through his stomach.)

Beau just nods along, smiling polite with that charming grin of his, totally oblivious while he eats. The last straw for you is when she wipes a bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Your mouth falls open in shock. "Are you shitting me?"

You accidentally say it out loud, earning not only your boyfriend's surprised look, but Danielle's guilty one as well. (And some of the kids.)

Blushing in embarrassment, you pivot on your heel and start packing up your supplies for the bake sale.

That's when Beau realizes that he fucked up.

He politely excuses himself from Danielle and goes to help you (wiping the crumbs off his face and licking chocolate off his thumb). He can tell you're feeling more than a little icy towards him, but he tries to make up for it by doing all the heavy lifting, bringing back things to the car, and helping you with the bags before he calls Emily over.

It's a long car ride home, awkward and tense. Emily can tell something's off between you and her dad, but when she asks about it, you claim nothing's wrong.

Beau knows better.

He waits until the three of you get home to the apartment you share with him, and after putting the bake sale stuff away, he follows you into the bedroom.

"Sweetheart--"

"What the hell was that, Beau?" You come in hot with it, and Beau is quick to try and ease your tension with an apology.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Couldn't you see that she was eyeing you like a honey-glazed ham?"

Beau's lips twitch at a grin, but you're not amused. You cross your arms and give him a warning look. That's when he wises up.

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry." He chances taking a few slow steps towards you, raising his brows and keeping his hands up in surrender.

You eye him narrowly, but you let him get close enough to slip his arms around you. He gathers you against his chest and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek.

"I mean it. Won't happen again," he promises. His hands mold to the curve of your waist and squeeze gently. His lips move, burning a sweet path along your jawline, your chin, over the apple of your cheeks, and finally your lips. You breathe into it, and you can't help but cling to the front of his buttoned-down shirt.

"Do me a favor," you say quietly between kisses. "Don't eat Danielle's cookies."

Beau smiles against your lips. "Don't you worry, darlin'. From now on, I'll tell her that I've got some good cookie at home."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, Ben doesn't fuck around.

...Well, in the sense that he can't tolerate another man even looking at you flirtatiously, or otherwise with any kind of intent.

Depending on the severity, at best, it'll have Ben shooting the man a stony look of warning.

At worst, it ruins the day -- namely with the sound of bone snapping and a man's sobbing howl of pain.

You try to get him to tone it down ("For God's sake, Ben. It's fine. Just relax."), but this is one thing he well and truly doesn't budge on.

Ben is possessive. Because you're his. His to touch, and his to protect.

In his mind, it's fucking simple.

Whenever you get irritated with this brutish, knuckle-dragging, caveman mentality, you try to remember why he does it.

It's indicative of how much he actually cares about you.

Because if he didn't, he wouldn't really give a shit if other men were flirting with you. (He'd just find another woman to try and charm back to his apartment.)

So you've learned how to try and finesse these situations so that Ben doesn't notice.

You've also stopped letting down men easy, proverbially cutting off their dick and balls with your words.

Because it's quite literally to save their dumbass life.

But when other women flirt with Ben, he takes it all with indulgent smiles, throwing in a wink and a sweetheart every now and then.

He doesn't blame them for flirting with him, checking him out. He's Soldier Boy, after all, and in his mind, it's not his fault they can't help themselves around him.

However, a smile and a wink is all that he allows himself.

If he truly cares about you (and though he doesn't often express it in words, he does), then the unfamiliar twinge of guilt stops him whenever he almost accepts a woman's alluring invitation--spoken or unspoken.

His mouth might spew arrogance and gilded lies, but his actions too often betray what he really feels.

And what he really feels can't be any more clear than when he goes after you, instead of indulging the woman who basically undressed him with her eyes, whispered sultry, sexy offerings in his ear, and invited him to go home with her.

Seeing you take off out the double doors of the club, Ben rolls his eyes. He brushes the woman off without a backwards glance, and follows you out into the night air. He grabs your hand before you can get far in your heels.

"What the hell's the matter now?" he asks dryly.

You turn on him with an incredulous look.

"That woman was practically sucking your neck, Ben!"

"All right, don't fucking overreact. You're getting hysterical," he says, before guiding you back into his arms.

"I'm not fucking hysterical, you ass!" You push against his chest, but he doesn't budge, nor does he let you go. This isn't a good area, and he doesn't want you out in these streets at this time of night without him at your side.

"Ben," you say sharply. You look up at him in irritation, but he just smirks and strokes your side with his thumb.

Yes, (in his mind) you're being a little difficult, but he thinks your jealousy is amusing, adorable, and kind of hot all at the same time.

Ben doesn't bother with saying anything more to convince you. He just slips a hand behind your neck and kisses you soundly.

He invades your mouth with his tongue and devours you, reminding you that you're the one he wants.

He waylays you with his strong hands framing your body against his, and with his sinful mouth, until you finally melt into his embrace.

He's chosen you countless time before, and he knows he'll keep choosing you, for as long as this lasts.

Russell Shaw

Russell always clocks the "situation" right away when a man starts to flirt with you.

He's not one to make a scene of it at first, depending on the time and place.

But he is quick to sidle up to your side, pointedly slip a hand along your waist, and greet you with a deceptive smile.

"Hey, sweetheart. Let's grab that table over there. 'S more comfortable than the bar."

He glances up at the man, sharpness hidden well behind his green eyes. Whether the guy picks up on it or not, Russell is making a mugshot in his mind -- and he never forgets a face.

You eye him knowingly, but you let him guide you away. He's kind of cute when he's jealous, and it doesn't take much to spark that well of protectiveness that lies in wait just under his skin.

Russell isn't easily fazed by most things, but one sure way to provoke his temper (and those rougher, darker shades of him that he tries his best not to show you) is for a man to push his luck with you.

It really wouldn't take much effort at all for the former soldier to have a man clutching his bloody, shattered nose, let alone to dump his broken body in front of the closest hospital. But somehow, Russell manages to curb those darker urges. (Again, don't tempt him.)

But when another woman flirts with him, you're the one who starts to have steam coming out of your ears.

Russell doesn't miss much. He recognizes the sultry inflection in the woman's words. He catches the subtle, sensuous gleam in her eyes when she rakes him up and down with them.

He also notes the moment you look over and realize what's happening.

Regardless if you're looking or not, he tries his best to stay distant, but polite, even as a warning twinge of "aww shit" runs up his spine.

He tries to play things off with an amiable smile and being purposefully oblivious.

Until the woman gets bold, slipping her hand over Russell's and up his arm a bit, before she withdraws, tilting her head with a sweet-as-pie smile.

Cue Russ's awkward laugh/clearing of the throat. Before he has time to fully pull away and just come out with the, Sorry, I actually have a girlfriend -- you return to his side and pointedly grab his hand.

"Come on, honey, we'll be late," you say, giving him a tense smile.

The aww shit feeling is back, but Russell just nods and falls into step with you.

When you two have enough privacy to hash it out, you let him have it.

"What the hell was that?!"

Russell can't help but chuckle. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I tried to keep it classy, but that woman was persistent. Not that I blame her--"

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes (not that you really blame her either). Then you stare at your man in annoyance, crossing your arms. "I didn't see you trying all that hard to fend her off, huh, Romeo? If another man had touched me like that, you would've broken his fingers off, like a fucking caveman."

Russell's brows raise at the dig, but the way you're getting all testy is kind of cute (and also kinda hot).

"All right. You got me there," he says. He slips his arms around your waist and tries to soften you with a charming grin. "Come on, sweetheart. You know I'm not going anywhere."

"Do I?" you blurt out, before you have a chance to reign it back in.

Russell's contract jobs take him all over the country -- all over the world. Yes, he's on his way out, he claims. He wants to settle down with you, or so he says.

But you have no idea of knowing what he does when he's not with you.

All those days out on the road, crashing in skeevy motels, winding down at dive bars -- has he ever been tempted to "sample" the local fare? Has he ever...

Russell's amusement fades, sobering into a frown and a furrowing of his brows. He hums in disapproval. He doesn't like what he's seeing in your eyes: doubt, most of all.

"Hey," he says. It's a serious tone you don't often hear in his voice. He curls a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to meet his.

"I'm gonna need you to listen to me, and listen good," he says. You frown at that, but he brushes his thumb across your cheek, a small, but tender caress. "You and me, we've got something good. I know what that means. So you can believe me when I say, I'm in this. I'm right here, even when I'm not here."

And he smiles at you. "That make sense?"

Slowly, you start to smile too. "Not really," you laugh.

But it does. You know what he's trying to say, and...you believe him. Your fingers curl in the front of his shirt.

Tentatively, you lean up and press your lips to his; just a sweet, slow meeting.

Russell cups your cheek and leans in for a deeper taste, a deeper conviction of every word he just said.

I love you, is what it really means, even if he's not able to say that just yet.

AN: 😮‍💨 Well, there we go! lol I love me a protective man. 💜 Hope you enjoy this set of headcanons!

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[strangeinvader9]

"What do you see in him?" "Everything you don't." - Soldier Boy Prompt Response

Summary: Hughie and everyone don't understand what you see in Soldier Boy but they also haven't seen what you've seen: Ben.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Supe!Reader

A/N: This is part of the Soldier Boy/Beau Arlen/Dean Winchester/CJ Braxton/Alec McDowell/Jason Teague/Tom Hanniger/Russell Shaw/Boaz Priestly/Jake Gray/Jensen Ackles RPF prompt response project I've been working on the last month (previewed here). This idea immediately popped into my head for it.

All unbeta'd.

Warnings: language; implied past sexual assault (not SB); mentions of implied drug use; mentions of violence; mentions of death

Word Count: 2199

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel; @hobby27; @impala67rollingthroughtown

Soldier Boy Taglist: @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303; @just-levyy

@solacedthistest; @deansimpala; @foxyjwls007; @onlyangel-444; @faephoria

@believeinthefireflies95

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx; @lyarr24; @bts24; @deans-spinster-witch

@rebel-paladin; @nancymcl

You can also read on AO3

Beau Arlen | Dean Winchester | CJ Braxton | Jake Gray | Jason Teague | Boaz Priestly | Russell Shaw | Tom Hanniger | Jensen Ackles RPF | Alec McDowell

Once MM stormed out of the room, followed by a glaring Butcher, Annie, Kimiko, and Hughie descended on you. Frenchie stayed in the corner, beyond shocked — so shocked he forgot to puff away at his still burning cigarette.

“Seriously?” Annie spat angrily.

Hughie looked more disappointed than pissed off at you, and that somehow bothered you more than Annie’s fury ever could have. “Y/N, you’ve got to explain this one to me. I don’t…” He took a deep breath and began again. “The guy’s a fossil. A racist, homicidal, perverted piece of shit fossil.” Hughie placed his hands on his hips. “What do you even see in the guy?”

Kimiko furiously signed a repeat of the question.

You knew Hughie was right. Soldier Boy had done a lot of fucked up shit — shit that wasn’t forgivable in any way, shape, or form. But you also knew Ben, the man underneath all of that asinine machismo and false bravado. You’d seen glimpses of him here and there when no one else had, when Ben himself hadn’t even known you had. It also didn’t hurt that you’d seen memories of his childhood play in his mind or saw flashes of his strained relationship with his father — the man he could never live up to or gain his approval, no matter how hard he tried. There was a lot swimming underneath the surface of that green suit, under that indestructible skin, that had gotten corrupted and then shaped by easy fame, a greedy corporation, and more drugs than any person should have coursing through their system on a daily basis, even a Supe. All of it was certainly no excuse for the things he’d done, but you knew there was more to him than who he’d been, who he was now even — you’d literally seen it.

So you looked your oldest friend in the eye and spoke as honestly as you could. “Everything you don’t,” you told him quietly before walking out of the room in the opposite direction MM and Butcher had gone in. You came to a stop outside the door when you saw Ben standing there, his green eyes watching you sharply. 

He had obviously heard every word and while it wasn’t exactly something you wanted him to find out, you refused to act embarrassed or caught out. So you stuck your chin up a little higher, daring him to say something he would end up regretting should he piss you off.

“You saw a lot more than you let on when they had you do a read on me after pulling me out of the tube.” Not a question but a statement, one that didn’t contain any traces of surprise.

He was right; you had seen plenty — some things you’d rather forget. But you had meant what you said to Hughie just before, to Butcher and the team before that. There was more to him than the green suit, than the America’s Son bullshit facade, and even the horrible things he had done in his time. There was something there worth trying to extricate, to let see the light of day that hadn’t in a very long time. 

You didn’t respond to what he’d said; you had no need to. You only watched him as he watched you.

Ben took a few wary steps forward until he was right in front of you. He carefully reached out a hand to your cheek, laying his fingers along your skin when he saw that you didn’t immediately pull away from him. 

“So,” he started, his voice a little more gravelly than usual as he spoke quietly to you, only for your ears and his. He tenderly ran his thumb near the corner of your mouth. “I matter to you, huh?”

When you thought he was indeed making fun of you as he thought he might, echoing your words back to you, you noticed a small smile forming on his face as his eyes roamed over yours. You had seen plenty of smiles from the man since you’d first seen him a couple of months ago or so — mostly smug smirks or leering grins, usually aimed at everyone but you — but you had never seen this one before. It caught you off guard so much, you were captivated. “You know you do,” you murmured. 

He stared at you for a moment, glancing between you and your mouth, and then slowly leaned in. When his lips gently connected to yours, you felt an immediate electric shock travel through your system. So much so that you started seeing images playing behind your eyelids that weren’t your own. 

…Him listening to you and Hughie bicker in the next room about which Billy Joel song was the best (We Didn’t Start the Fire for you and Pressure for him) and how he smiled to himself when you told Hughie in a playful tone to suck it when the little whiny bitch tried to show you what the critics helmed the better song. 

…Ben getting angry when some piece of shit Supe had the balls to put his hand on your ass at Herogasm — a hand he immediately crushed.

…Him surreptitiously studying each interaction between you and Butcher, noting the hostility but begrudging respect between you, wondering if there was a story there and if there was, how he planned to convince you that he was the better man for you compared to the backstabbing Brit.

…Him rushing to protect you with his shield when one of Homelander’s team of misfits you didn’t see coming nearly killed you with a massive blow. You felt the rage coursing through his veins when he noticed a small trickle of blood coming from a wound near your scalp as you glanced up at him gratefully. Most of the Supes you had engaged had died that day and now you knew exactly why.

…Ben watching you out of the corner of his eye when you stood at the window, arms crossed and ominously silent, after MM had mentioned The Deep while planning on how to take out Homelander. He waited until everyone had cleared out, even Hughie who had squeezed your shoulder as he passed you by, and Ben carefully approached you from behind, torn between wanting to pull you back into his large frame to cage you protectively in his arms or to ask what was the matter. He had ended up going with the latter and you simply said “Kevin’s not a good person” and walked away, your shoulders a little more sunken down than he’d ever seen them. You felt his resolve from that moment and now knew why he had gone after The Deep with such a laser focus before even bothering with Homelander. 

…You reassuring him when he suddenly woke from a sound sleep, gasping and wide-eyed, as his chest began glowing — a result of him not self-medicating nearly as much as he used to. He had wanted you to feel safe around him so he’d cut back on the Bennies, the reefer, the booze, and even the women. He would never admit it out loud but he cared deeply about what you thought. Unbeknownst to you at the time, when you had first seen inside his head, he had gotten a glimpse inside of yours, too. And what he had seen…he wanted to be a man worthy of you. Or at least try his best. You were everything he hadn’t even known he wanted until that moment. So he had made a valiant effort to kick the drug and alcohol habit to the side but it didn’t come without consequences for him. Ben had dreamt he was back in Russia, stuck in a box as they poked and prodded at him, laughing and telling him he would never be free and he would never see anyone again. When he heard your voice telling him he was safe, he grasped for you and you let him, even though he felt you tense up at his greedy touch. “Sorry,” he gruffed out and immediately released you, worried he had either hurt you without meaning to or had made you uncomfortable in his bid to make sure you were real. “It’s okay,” you whispered, picking up his hand and placing it in between both of yours. “I’m right here. You’re safe.” When he felt your thumb tenderly swiping over his knuckles in reassuring strokes, he rasped out, “Did you see?” Instead of answering, you reached up to lay a hand against his cheek. “You’re home now and you’re never going back.” Your words were a fiery promise enforced by the steely resolve in your eyes. “I won’t let you.” He gently held his hand over yours and the glow in his chest receded; he believed you.

…Him watching you as you slept on the opposite end of the couch. You mumbled and sighed a lot in your sleep and it fascinated him. Earlier, when you had found the show he wanted, he had asked you to sit and watch with him, just in case he didn’t understand any of the references. You had obliged and promptly drifted off two episodes in. To Ben, it was a huge ego boost; you felt safe and comfortable enough around him that you could fall asleep near him. As he watched you, hearing your sounds, he really wanted to know what you were dreaming about, especially when your brows knit together and you let out a terrified whimper. He had picked you up without waking you and held you close to him. “You’re okay, doll,” he promised in a soothing murmur to your hairline. “I’ve got you and nothing is going to happen. I won’t let it.” He heard you inhale deeply and then release a contented sigh a moment later. You relaxed in his arms, curling into him, and he stayed like that the entire night: holding you as he watched episode after episode of Friends, something he had only picked because he thought you might like it enough to agree when he planned to ask you to stay. As much as he enjoyed the sound of your voice when you patiently explained things to him, the night turned out even better than he dared to hope, especially when you subconsciously buried your face into his neck and stayed cocooned there. Only when he heard you beginning to stir back into consciousness hours later did he gently place you back in the spot you fell asleep in, pretending not to notice when you fully woke up, opening one sleepy eye to find him in front of you. He shrugged off your apology and glanced over to find you softly smiling at him, causing a strange twinge to happen inside his chest, something reminiscent of when the nuclear reactor inside of him went off but far less dangerous…and much more pleasant.

The images faded as he slowly pulled back a few inches, his green gaze staring deeply into yours. “Was that okay?”

You slowly nodded, still beyond shocked not only at what you had seen or how gentle the kiss had been, but also the sensations it had caused to sweep through you — things you were pretty sure you’d never feel in your lifetime. Hints of desire and a lightness whispered throughout your body as another stronger emotion gained a foothold and blanketed your entire being. Whereas it might have frightened you before, it didn’t now. You knew you were safe, protected, and after this kiss, you now also knew you were cherished to a certain extent.  

Almost as if he knew what you were thinking, fleeting relief gave way to a small smile on his face and he tenderly placed his thumb on your chin. “Good. Because you matter to me, too.”  

You couldn’t help but smile in return, seeing his eyes light up, and you gently framed his face in your hands. You stood on the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his again, eager to see more as he willingly put his guard down to let you completely in. You also wanted to experience that rush of sensations again with him and this time when he wrapped his arms around you to carefully hold you against him, you buried your fingers into his hair and only deepened the kiss. It wasn’t Soldier Boy who was kissing you back and whose thumb tenderly brushed against your jawline; it was Ben — the very Ben you’d seen hidden underneath all of the layers of toxic masculinity, simmering rage, and the Supe tamping down the man with years of drug use, womanizing, and an overinflated ego. And from the images and thoughts swimming in your mind that didn’t belong to you, your Ben by all accounts. Something that sadly Hughie and the rest would never understand or even be willing to try. But as Ben soundly kissed you, when he broke away to let you catch your breath and placed his forehead against yours, tenderly rubbing strands of your hair that had come loose between his fingertips, you found that part didn’t really bother you all that much.

dividers by @firefly-graphics