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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

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So since you mentioned you were going to write Jason Teague I’ve been very excited and this did not disappoint in the slightest!

I liked how this built at the start, establishing the relationship with Clark and the lingering glance from Lana, obviously we know why that is!

But when he walked in and saw the reader and tried to kick her out, it was just adorable 😂 how nervous he was and how he was trying to play it like a cool teacher had me cackling. “Pretty sure you’re the one the cheerleaders are calling Assistant Hottie,” you say. Your gaze is wry and a hint playful.” I mean, is there any wonder? I couldn’t think of a more perfect nickname 😂😂

Their conversation was so sweet though, the misjudging of ages and the talks of their backgrounds and how they have similarities. It was just so fun to read the instant clicking of two people. I thought the guess the subject was fun (though you slated maths a bit hard there 😉), and how she made the comment that football wasn’t all there was to him. And the haiku, gah I wish I could write stuff on the fly like that, but again it was so sweet!

The last comment on Lana though… I did always find her a bit annoying as a character anyway, i vote more reader and Jason interaction and he lets Lana go back to clark 😂

Overall? I loved this. Please do write more! I would absolutely love a second part to this or just some Jason in general! 💕

Assistant Hottie

Pairing: Jason Teague x F. Reader (implied Jason T. x Lana Lang)

Summary: Jason Teague, Assistant Football Coach, meets you in the faculty break lounge at Smallville High. He tries to kick you out, thinking you’re a student. Technically, you are. Turns out, you both go to the same university.

AN: So I know it’s about 20 years late, but I’ve been wanting to write some Jason Teague for a while now. There’s a very dated reference to iPods (remember this show was circa early 2000s).

Word Count: 2,600 Tags/Warnings: Implied love triangle (quadrangle?), fluff, tinge of angst, and a meet cute.

“Hey, Coach T!”

Jason turns his head, shooting Clark Kent a smile that’s just a little bit forced. He slows down in the busy hallway so the younger man can catch up.

Clark’s friends, Chloe Sullivan and Lana Lang keep walking, though the brunette glances his way. Her hazel eyes catch his.

But Jason focuses on Clark, who’s coming at him with all six feet and three inches of farm boy earnestness.

Jason has City Boy Charm in his arsenal.

“What’s up, man?”

Clark smiles. “Real quick, just wanted to ask you about the drills we’re running today…”

Eighth period is about to start, meaning just another hour until school ends, and another day of practice begins on the football field. Clark takes all five minutes between classes to ask his questions about how he can better move the ball, his throwing technique, how to better communicate on plays with the rest of the guys.

As always, Jason gives Clark the best advice he has to offer. Even a few months into this job, he’s still feeling a bit of imposter syndrome. He’s only a couple of years older than the guys he’s coaching, and Clark is looking at him like he’s got all the answers.

Newsflash, champ. I don’t. Jason smiles though.

Because Clark is something else. He’s a starting quarterback of a game he’s never played before in his life. Head Coach Quigley thought it was steroids at first, but Jason had a gut feeling about the guy.

“He’s not a cheater,” he’d told Quigley. The other man had scoffed, rubbing his chin.

“Okay, Teague. If you think so,” he said. “…Make him piss in a cup anyway.”

Since then, Clark hasn’t given Jason a reason to doubt him, at least on the field.

No, his reasons for still being wary of Clark are more…personal.

“All right, we’ll workshop the rest later on the field,�� Jason says, as the starting bell rings. “You’re gonna be late for class.”

“Okay, see ya later.” Clark nods and holds up a hand in goodbye. To tell the truth, Jason is a little relieved to see him go.

Instead of heading to his office, he makes a pitstop at the faculty break lounge for a cup of coffee. He could use a little pick-me-up, even if it is from a watery K-cup.

When he pushes open the door, he’s greeted by the familiar smell of stale roasted hazelnut and microwaved fish. Along with the wall-to-wall countertop and refrigerator down the end, there’s a small round table fitted with just three chairs.

Uh oh, he thinks.

You’re sitting there with a pair of earbuds in, nodding to your music while you make notes with a red pen. The contents of your messenger bag are half-strewn across the table, displaying a couple of notebooks and binders, different colored highlighters, pens, and a post-it pad.

Your back is facing him, so he has to walk around the table to get your attention. He hesitates, before he taps your shoulder. He’s never had to do this before, and he’s actually a bit nervous.

“Hey there,” he says. His lips quirk when you jolt a little. You stare up at him with wide eyes and the top of your pen resting against your lower lip.

“Uh…” You remove your ear buds and hit pause on your iPod.

“Did you get lost on the way to study hall, or you just here for the coffee?” Jason gestures to the Keurig machine on the counter. “Hate to break it to you, but that stuff’s not exactly quality joe.”

You blinked at him. “What? Um…I mean yeah, the coffee’s ass. But it is free, I guess.”

Jason tries to reign in his smile. He cards a hand through his blonde hair and taps his free hand on the table.

“Uh, are you ditching class or something?” he asks. “If it’s history, I get it. Snooze fest.”

He makes a flatlining motion with his hand. Your brows knit together in confusion…but then you brighten.

“Oh, I’m not a student,” you laugh. “But good on you for trying to lay down the law, Coach Teague.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be confused. “How did you know—”

You point with your red pen, over to the yellow patch emblazoned on his red polo that says: Crows Football and Assistant Coach.

“Pretty sure you’re the one the cheerleaders are calling Assistant Hottie,” you say. Your gaze is wry and a hint playful.

He lets himself smile, albeit with some embarrassment. He points at you.

“And you’re…”

“Part-time teacher’s aid,” you reply. Your hands make a frame around the stack of papers in front of you, that Jason now realizes you’re grading.

Great. His face warms a bit.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, and points to the coffee maker. “Let me just mind my business.”

He doesn’t know it, but you subtly watch him with a small smile while he goes about said business. The Keurig eventually spits out more roasted hazelnut into his Styrofoam cup.

With his prize in hand, he means to leave you in peace to head for his office, but your voice stops him.

“You can sit if you want. I need a break anyway.”

Jason can admit, at least to himself, that he’s curious. (About you.) He goes over to the table and sits down across from you. His eyes unconsciously dart over the splayed contents of your bag, and you don’t miss it.

“Sorry,” you say, as you try to reign in the mess and corral things back into your bag. “I’m kind of an organized chaos kind of girl.”

“No worries. I dabble in that philosophy myself,” he says with a grin. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, giving him your name in return.

You like his smile. His long fingers are wrapped around the steaming cup. Meanwhile, the afternoon sun is pouring in from the windows behind him. It shines golden on his hair and broad shoulders, and makes his green eyes look warm.

Those eyes glance down and focus on a familiar badge sticking out of your bag. His brows furrow.

“No way. You go to Kansas A&M?” he asks. “So do I.”

You blink at him. “What, you’re still in college?”

He laughs and leans back in his chair, blowing out a breath.

“Okay, wow! A bit rude," he says. "Just how old do you think I am?”

You bite your lip in embarrassment.

“Second thought, don’t answer that,” he quips.

“I’m sorry,” you say, through a bit of laughter. “I guess we’re both reading each other wrong today.”

Jason shakes his head and crosses his arms.

“No, no. It’s fine,” he says airily. “Lest I be any more presumptuous, can I ask what year you’re in? Major?”

You concede with a nod, but you’re still smiling too hard.

“Secondary Education. Junior year,” you say. Jason’s brows raise with his grin still in place.

“Okay, a future teacher on our hands.” He leans forward. “As it turns out, I’m actually a sophomore.”

A year below you. You bury your reddened face in your hands, though a giggle still bubbles up.

He doesn’t let you stew in your misery for long though.

“Eh, it’s okay. Don’t feel too bad,” he says. You hear the smile in his voice, and you peek out at him from between your fingers. “I’m technically a year behind. Transferred from another school so I could take this job.”

Once again, your eyes widen as your hands fall away from your face.

“Oh, yeah? I assume you play football, but I’ve never seen you on the team…”

Jason’s smile turns playfully cocky.

“I don’t play anymore, but I’ll have you know, I was on track for the NFL.”

Yeah, for about a minute, comes a dull reminder in his brain.

You rest your chin in your hand as you meet his smile. “Okay. You definitely have the face of a guy who almost went pro.”

Your voice lowers at the end there, impersonating every “dude bro” you’ve ever met who thought he could throw a ball across a field.

“I’m serious.” Jason laughs, but then his eyes dim a bit. “I played for Metropolis U. Tore my rotator cuff, and uh…that’s it. Scrubbed. Had to start over.”

You dim along with him. “That sucks ass. I’m sorry.”

He snorts, almost spilling his coffee. “You’ve certainly got a way with words.”

“But you feel better for me calling you old, don’t you?” Your pen taps on your lip, and his eyes are drawn to the gesture.

He also notices your eyes, the shape of your face, the shade of your hair, the black Fleetwood Mac shirt (with a ripped V hinting at cleavage). It doesn’t exactly scream T.A., but you’re pretty.

Beautiful, really.

He tries not to notice that too much.

“Maybe a little,” he allows. He smiles behind a sip of his drink. It’s getting cold, as he forgets to actually drink it.

“My parents sent me to college to be a lawyer,” you confess. It perks his interest with raised brows. “Like my mom, and my uncle, and his father before him, and so on.”

Jason’s smile is back. You consider that a small triumph.

“I sat in one class. Intro to Business Law.” You shudder at the memory. “Jason, I wanted to bludgeon myself with the textbook. And it wouldn’t have taken long. That thing was the size of a Dostoyevsky novel.”

Jason laughs, even though he doesn’t know who Dostoyevsky is. It does unearth a distant memory of his 12th grade English class (he barely passed that one).

“So, I decided to disappoint them,” you say ruefully.

That, he understands all too well. He raises a finger at you. “Hey, a teacher’s respectable. But I happen to be an expert at disappointed parents, so you’re in good company.”

You smile, small but genuine. Jason counts that as a win.

“What’s your major now?” you ask.

“Sports medicine,” he replies, but you both hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

Your head tilts, and your eyes soften. Not with pity, he thinks. Maybe with understanding.

“You could find something else you’re actually passionate about,” you say.

Jason bites the inside of his lip, sets his cup back on the table.

“Sure,” he says.

His lackluster answer is telling, and he can’t even think of a joke to inject into this moment to lighten the mood. (He even disappoints himself there.)

“Look, I get it,” you say at last. “You probably ate, slept, breathed that game. Like that’s what you were put on this earth to do. And I know you must’ve been good. Because the fact that this school hired you while you’re still in college is amazing.”

He meets your gaze steadily.

Your smile brightens. “But I’m sure football’s not all there is to you.”

That touches him. Warms him even, though he’s reluctant to let it.

“We just met, and you’re already sure about that?” he remarks.

You shrug, gesturing at his cup. “Well, I’m sure that you probably have crappy taste in coffee. I’m broke as hell, and even I don’t drink from a Keurig.”

Jason laughs. If you only knew that he’d spent his summer in Paris, sampling some of the best restaurants and cafés in the world without even looking at the bill…until his dad cut him off. Needless to say, he’s had to refine his tastes.

“What kind of teacher do you want to be?” he asks, instead of getting to all that.

Your brow arches. “You mean what subject?”

“Yeah. What, like physics or something?”

“Ew. God, no!”

“What’s wrong with physics?”

“Too much math. I’m shit at that shit,” you reply.

“Okay. No to the sciences.” He laughs and rubs his chin, squinting at you. “Let me see if I can guess.”

You gesture widely. Go ahead.

“Not economics, I’m thinking. Too close to business,” he teases.

“Business law,” you correct. “But you’re actually right about that.”

“Hmm, history?”

“It's interesting, but it’s also rigged,” you say. “Only the victors in society get to dictate what gets remembered. Just look at Columbus Day. What a sham that is.”

Jason allows that with a nod and a smile. “All right, what then? Algebra? Geometry?”

“That’s math, remember?” you reply, with furrowed brows. “Besides, I don’t like mixing letters and numbers. It’s not sanitary.”

He chortles at that. You’re a little ridiculous, but he kind of likes that.

“Okay, how about English?” he says.

Your gaze flicks up to his. A small, growing smile.

“What makes you say that?” you ask.

“Process of elimination?” he says. His smile curves. He saw your little reaction. “But I don’t know. I get the feeling you’re a hell of a lot smarter than me. The way you’re talking, all quick as a whip… Like I said, you’ve got a way with words.”

You laugh a little. “Oh, do I?”

Jason’s brows raise expectantly as he leans back in his seat again.

Well, then? that move says. “Am I right?”

Your head tilts, and you answer the unspoken challenge in his eyes. You raise a finger and pull out one of your notebooks and you take up your red pen. You tap the top of it on your lip, in what seems to be your habit, and you begin to write on a clean piece of paper.

Your hand moves with purpose on each word. Jason watches you in curiosity. Though when you realize he’s staring hard at your paper, your free hand forms a wall against his probing eyes.

“No cheating,” you reproach.

He scoffs, but he waits for you to finish.

Finally, you tear off the piece of notebook paper, fold it up neatly, and you slide it over to him.

“What, are we passing notes now?” Jason can’t help but joke, even as he opens the little gift. “I thought we weren’t in class, Professor.”

You shake your head. “Just read it.”

He starts to, and his smile grows. He glances back up at you. “You wrote me a poem?”

“Just a little haiku.” You gesture at him to keep reading while you start to pack up your things. The alarm bell just tolled for the end of class, and you have another job to get to.

Jason’s eyes lower back down to the looping scrawl of your handwriting. His smile deepens into a smirk.

Assistant Hottie

You flatter me, see through me

Smarter than he thinks.

He stares at your words for a while. He rereads the last line a few times.

By the time he looks back up, your bag is packed and you’re standing, ready to go. You smile at him.

“See you on campus,” you say. “I also work at the Writing Center, if you ever need a spruce up on your essays.”

“Can I get you to rewrite my history paper?” he teases.

“Make an appointment,” you counter, still with that smile. “And we’ll see.”

You leave the faculty lounge, and Jason feels a suspicious jolt in his heart.

Something he immediately feels guilty about.

Because the real reason he came back to Kansas is to continue his summer fling with Lana Lang, a senior at Smallville High.

Well, to him, it’s not a fling. He used to think it was as close to love as he’s ever been. Recently though, he’s been getting the sense that she’s still hung up on her not quite ex, Clark Kent.

That’s not even the most complicated part.

She’s 18, and Jason’s barely 20, but their relationship could still one day be the reason he loses his job…

And maybe, any chance he might have of being friends with someone like you.

AN: Lol no shade to my sciences, history, and math people! Just creating a character. I left this one open for a possible part 2, so let me know what you think. Want more Jason? 😉

Jason Tag List:

(Includes "Everything" tags + "JT" tags.)

@sleepyqueerenergy @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28

@charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @mrsjenniferwinchester @jc-winchester @fromcaintodean @deanbrainrotwritings @jackles010378 @akshi8278 @rachiem4-blog @waters-2567 @jessjad @sweettimelady @iprobablyshipit91 @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @lokigirl666 @xiphoidbones

#fic rec #Jason Teague x reader

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

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Thanks @zepskies for the tag! This one is fun but also hard 😂

Supernatural: Dean Winchester

The Boys: Soldier Boy

Big Sky: Beau Arlen

MCU: Spider-Man (any of them 😂)

Harry Potter: Fred Weasley

OUAT: Captain Hook / Killian Jones

Stranger Things: Steve Harrington

Gossip Girl: Chuck Bass

One Tree Hill: Brooke Davis

Riverdale: Jughead Jones

NP Tags: @spnexploration @pink-sparkly-witch @deanwanddamons @deanwinchesterswitch @deanwritings

10 Fandoms/ 10 Characters/ 10 Tags

Thank you to my beautiful @makeadealwithdean for the tag! ❤️

Supernatural - Dean Winchester

Stranger Things - Steve Harrington

The Boys - Soldier Boy

Bridgerton - Anthony Bridgerton

The Vampire Diaries - Damon Salvatore

Good Omens - Crowley

The Sandman - The Corinthian

Harry Potter - Draco Malfoy

Marvel - Bucky Barnes

Ted Lasso - Rebecca Welton

Tagging (no pressure) - @hintsofhoney @denim-devil @never--doubt @pink-sparkly-witch @zepskies @laylaackles @syrma-sensei @that-sarcastic-writer @foxyjwls007 @winchestergirl2

#tagging game #10 fandoms 10 characters #tag game

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

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@zepskies thank you for the tag!

I find this ridiculously difficult as I don’t think I have one fav song, more like a list of go to’s depending on my mood. This one, however means the world to me and will always have a special place in my heart as it was mine and my husbands first dance 💕

I found a love, for me

(Ed Sheeran, Perfect)

NP Tags: @spnexploration @pink-sparkly-witch @deanwanddamons @deanwinchesterswitch @deanwritings

When u get this u have to put the first line of ur fav song and tag 5 people u follow 🙃🙃

They took my sadness out of context

(Mariners apartment compex - lana del rey)

@rxmqnova @sjswrites @engenelxver @simpforlizzie @legendsofela

#favorite song #tagging game #first dance

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

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“What the fuck is wrong with this cocksucking coffee maker?” Ben snarked.” I mean what a start 😂 I don’t think there’s many characters I could imagine saying this but Ben is for sure one of them 😂

I know bens got a reason here, don’t get me wrong but the reader has the patience of a saint dealing with him most of the time, I must say 😂 and it’s so tough to read how grouchy and short he is with the reader and know the reason but also know he won’t want to admit his feelings because he’s solider boy and that’s not how he works. I thought the reader tread a happy medium here, not blowing up at him but standing her ground too, like suggesting she’d go out with Annie if he was going to continue being pissy. She reads him well and knows there’s something underlying happening, it’s just about getting him to open up.

“This man was protective, but he had never been this bad. Not even after you got out of the hospital after Vought Tower collapsed. Granted, you’d been fully healed. He’d never outright tried to forbid you from leaving the house though.” I loved this line because yes, hes going about it wrong but at the end of the day Ben is just trying to be protective. It hurts to see how much that dream really has rattled him. “You need to take Compound V,” he said.” I really should have seen this coming as his response to the dream but I was so caught up I really didn’t. “You need to live in fucking reality. I can’t be with you 24/7. I don’t trust those CIA fucks to wipe their own ass, let alone keep an eye on you. Especially when I’m in the field.” I found this really sad though because it’s absolutely true of how Ben feels but the reality is in his dream he was with her and he didn’t save her and that’s got to be killing him just as much as the thought of her dying in any circumstance.

But again, the reader is so good for him. She’s smart enough to put all the pieces together and get to the crux of the issue and finally tease it out of him.

I could literally quote so much here; I particularly loved this line though “Somehow, you’d become his reason…for most things.” Because damn 🥹 I also loved the reader gave him her reasons; it gave him more understanding of the situation. Obviously we happily know that she has her supe STD 😂😂 so all is good, but I liked this addition to the overall story.

“I thought you didn’t mind a few wrinkles,” you teased” this was such a good way of relieving some of the tension and heaviness of this, it literally made me laugh out loud.

I’m glad he compromised in the end and the reader was totally for it haha!

As always, I loved this! I love this whole verse and your version of Ben. Great job 💕

Talk to Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: Ben had a vivid nightmare last night. You know how he is about is “man feelings.” But you try to get him to open up anyway, before you both lose your tempers.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @deans-spinster-witch. It's set in the Break Me Down-verse and is a sequel to the SB imagine below:

See this imagine for context: Ben loses you.

Word Count: 1,600 Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Imagine: You confront Ben about his fears.

“What the fuck is wrong with this cocksucking coffee maker?” Ben snarked.

He bumped the top of it with his hand, so hard you thought he was going to break it.

Your brows furrowed as you shot him a look. It was too early for all that.

“Nothing?” you said. “Worked just fine for me.”

He sported an even grumpier face as the coffee finally poured into his mug.

Something’s wrong, you thought.

Ben was usually quiet in the morning. Relaxed and slow until he’d had his coffee and started his routine, with his newspaper at his favorite lounge chair, then breakfast in the kitchen with you.

You were making pancakes on a griddle, but you were also watching your boyfriend. He wasn’t just quiet. He was downright grouchy and taciturn.

What crawled up his ass? you thought. Though you had your suspicions...

“Breakfast is done,” you called to him.

He eventually joined you, sitting down at the breakfast bar. You served him a mildly enormous stack, and just two pancakes for yourself. In most respects, Ben was still a bottomless pit.

However, after eating the first couple of pancakes in silence, he pushed away from his plate and leaned back in his seat. You held your coffee mug between both hands and eyed him.

“You okay, baby?” you asked, repeating the very words you’d asked him last night.

He glanced at you through surly brows. “Yeah. You can stop asking me that.”

Right, you thought. He’d been twitching in his sleep, muttering, making sounds that had worried you enough to wake him with a gentle hand on his dewy arm. His response had worried you too—that haze of disoriented shock, followed by relief when he recognized your face.

You’d comforted him the best you could after his nightmare, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. You knew he wouldn’t now, either. That didn’t stop you from trying.

You set down your mug and soothed a hand up his arm, until your fingers disappeared under his shirt sleeve.

“What’s got you all sunshine and rainbows then, Mr. Grouch?” you lightly teased. “I even made you pancakes. Still waiting on my thank you.”

Ben didn’t want to answer, though he briefly glanced at you. He slurped at his coffee.

You sighed. A tick of annoyance at your brow.

“Okay," you said. "Well, since we had breakfast here, I figured we could go out for lunch later when we get to the city. There’s this amazing deli I could take you to—”

“We’re not going,” Ben said.

You blinked in surprise. Your hand fell away from his shoulder. “What?”

“I’ve got things to do,” he said. And without looking at you, he grabbed his half-full plate and got up to bring it over by the sink. He speared a few pancakes back onto the plate you’d served them up in before dumping his plate into the sink.

At least he was learning something about living with you. Now, if he really wanted to impress you, he'd wash that damn dish.

But for now, you wanted answers more than you wanted clean plates. You slowly got up out of your chair and went to him. You tried your best not to be accusatory when you asked your next questions.

“What do you mean? What do you have to do?”

He didn’t seem to want to answer you. Or maybe, he didn’t have a good answer, because he was fucking lying.

You laid a hand on his arm. “Ben. I need you to talk to me right now, because this is our first day off together in weeks. You know this was supposed to be our day. So you’d better have a damn good reason.”

He frowned angrily down at you. “We’re not going because I fucking said so. That’s all you need to know.”

You glared back at him, standing your ground.

You raised a brow. “That’s not good enough with me, and you know it. But if that’s how you’re going to be about it, I’ll call Annie and make it a girls’ day.”

You turned on your heel to walk away, but an iron hand grabbed your wrist. Holding back a wince, you frowned at Ben over your shoulder. His face was tight with irritation.

“You’re not going any-damn-where,” he snapped.

“You better let me go, right now,” your temper snapped right back.

This man was protective, but he had never been this bad. Not even after you got out of the hospital after Vought Tower collapsed. Granted, you’d been fully healed. He’d never outright tried to forbid you from leaving the house though.

“What the hell is your problem?” you said.

He didn’t want to let you go, but after a beat, he released you. His frown deepened when you had to rub the ache out of your wrist.

He hadn’t meant to grip you that hard. Part of him relented…but then it firmed back up, when he remembered last night. The images were still filtering through his mind on a loop.

The alley, the blood slipping through his fingers, your pale, cold cheek, and lifeless eyes staring up at him.

“There’s something we need to discuss,” he said gruffly.

You tilted your head at him. Your face was tight and angry now, but you still followed him into the living room. You sat down together on the couch, and with crossed arms, you waited for him to speak.

His elbow rested on his knee while his hand swept over his mouth and beard. Then his gaze slid over to yours.

“You need to take Compound V,” he said.

To say that shocked you was an understatement. Your eyes widened, and your body went rigid.

“Excuse me?” you said lowly.

“There’s no way around it,” he said. Grit was laced in his voice, but you didn’t care.

“I’ve made myself very clear—”

“And you also said we’d revisit this little chat, so here we are,” Ben retorted. “You need to live in fucking reality. I can’t be with you 24/7. I don’t trust those CIA fucks to wipe their own ass, let alone keep an eye on you. Especially when I’m in the field.”

You just managed to lasso in your temper when you finally realized where this was coming from. You inhaled a couple of calming breaths. Your fingers tapped your knees. You sat up straighter before you turned to him more fully.

Your hand reached out to cover his on his thigh.

“Ben,” you started. Soft and even. “What did you dream last night?”

His face tightened further, his lips pressed into a line. It took him a moment, but eventually he answered.

“Nothing. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

“We both know that it does,” you chided.

When he just maintained his stoic façade, you slid closer to him on the couch. You curled a hand around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

You looked up at him.

He didn’t want to break.

You just waited until the green of his eyes met yours.

“Hey. It’s just me,” you said softly. “Talk to me.”

His brows knit together, slightly. His jaw clenched and twitched under his skin.

“I lost you,” he said.

Admitting to that was like admitting that his uniform was a lie; that he had no fear. That he was invulnerable. That he was a god in human form.

But you had become the last human part of him. To lose that would be to lose everything again, worse than 1984.

Somehow, you’d become his reason…for most things. He didn’t think you realized it, nor would he allow himself to tell you.

His eyes closed when you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You let your fingers sift through his hair, brushing it back and away from his forehead.

“Do you know why I want to stay normal?” you asked. "Albeit fragile and breakable."

He didn’t answer, but his eyes silently asked for one.

“Because I want to stay myself,” you said. “Power corrupts, and there’s a big chance I wouldn’t be the woman you loved anymore if I injected that shit into my veins.”

Ben frowned. He hadn’t considered that…but he still felt it was a price worth paying.

You moved off the couch and into his lap. He welcomed you with an arm curling around your waist and another moving up your thigh.

Your arms twined around his neck, and you kissed him properly, nice and slow. He tasted like coffee and maple syrup. His hair was soft between your curling fingers.

You parted from him after a while, just to press another comforting kiss to his temple.

“I know what I’m asking of you, and I’m sorry,” you whispered against his skin. “But we’ll figure something else out.”

“How?” he scoffed, his brows furrowing again. “In a few decades—”

“I thought you didn’t mind a few wrinkles,” you teased.

A smirk flickered across his lips. “You know what the fuck I mean.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But we have time. I promise, we’ll figure this out.”

Ben didn’t totally believe you. There was going to come a time where you were going to have to make a choice: between him and your principles.

It wasn’t fair, but that was the reality. Life wasn’t fucking fair.

Until then, maybe he could make one concession.

“If you want…” he said. You leaned back enough to see his face.

He met your gaze. “We can go to dinner later. In the city.”

A slow smile spread across your face.

“But we’re getting a private room,” he warned, squeezing your hips. “And we’re driving there and back. That’s it.”

Your smile warmed further, and kissed the corner of his mouth. You were sure you could convince him to go a Broadway show afterwards, if you plied him in a few key ways...

“I like the idea of a private room,” you said.

His fingers crept up your pajama pants, drifting down between your thighs. His thumb started to stroke warmth through your panties. It had you smiling, sighing, subtly pressing into his hand.

His smirk deepened.

“You do, don’t you?” he said.

You let out a breathy laugh at the change in him. It didn’t take much to get him worked up. So you hugged him close and spoke into his ear all the things you had planned for him tonight.

Before, and after dinner.

AN: Lol I love writing this lovable asshole. 💚 Especially in the BMD-verse.

I have more Dean imagines coming soon! Including a requested sequel to "You are Dean's one exception," in which Sam "crosses the line"... 🫣

Soldier Boy Masterlist

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BMD Tag List (Part 1):

@this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

#fic rec #soldier boy x reader

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

Note

When I saw the prompt you had for this I was a little worried, you know I’m a hardcore dean girl until the bitter end. I trusted that you too are more a dean girl though 😁

Witches. Of course it’s witches and it’s not just something Sam decides to do, it’s hard to imagine him doing that to his brother, especially after the chat they had. But a spell makes perfect sense.

So many little details I loved in this…

I love that Dean recognises the change in his brother straight away. He knows what’s happened and he’s trying to save Sam from himself. It did make me laugh that when all else fails we got “But that's also when Dean knocks him the hell out.“ very dean 😂

I love that it’s the reader who says “It doesn't change anything." I feel like it’s a much stronger statement than coming through dean.

I love this sentence “Trust. That's what that is. Dean trusts you, and now that the spell has worn off, he trusts Sam again.” And just the thought of dean having this in a relationship makes me so happy.

But yeah, it is really sad and I feel for Sam of course but this is ultimately the only way it could go for me reading as the reader.

Thank you for giving us such amazing imagines 💕 I loved this!

OMG I KEED A PART 2 TO SAM HAVING A CRUSH ON DEANS GF

Like idk maybe say Sam didn't listen to Dean and tried making a move on reader? Like ofc he wouldn't ever do that *I don't think* but in this hypothetical scenerio it happens

Hey hun!

Oooof, that's hard. You guys really like this angsty love triangle stuff, huh? 😂 I genuinely think Sam would rather saw off his own hand than hurt Dean that way. But this is like, the only thing I could think of on this one. 😅

See this imagine for context: You are Dean's one exception.

Pairing: Dean W. x Reader, one-sided Sam W. x Reader Word Count: 1,100

Imagine: Sam crosses the line.

Goddamn witches.

That's the last coherent thought Sam has, before his mind is no longer completely his to control.

Well, it's still his mind. His body. But the careful door in his mind and in his heart, reinforced with steel and chained shut with titanium, combo-coded, locked and loaded, now has broken hinges.

Thoughts he hasn't allowed himself to think for months are pried open, with a sick kind of enjoyment in pain.

You're his brother's girl. Sam can't help but love you. He wants you. And now, he might be able to have you.

The witch is dead, but the spell she just hit Sam with remains. He's not dead, so that's a plus.

"Are you okay?" you ask him, slightly breathless. You're the closest to where he's sprawled on the ground, so you go to him. You touch his arm, and he can't help but clamp down on your hand. He looks at you with the thinly veiled eyes of a hunter as he smiles. Because your concern reaches the deepest parts of him.

"I'm fine," he says.

But Dean reads the hunger in his brother's eyes. He's subtle in the way he grasps your shoulder and Sam's (noticeably tighter).

"But what happened? How do you feel?" you ask, trying to take stock of what you're all dealing with here.

"I uh...feel fine, actually," Sam says. He rolls his shoulders. His gaze focuses on you. Dean holds him back from getting off the ground.

"Get the book. See if there's a way to fix this," Dean tells you without taking his eyes off Sam.

Sam tilts his head at Dean, the beginning of an angry frown on his lip as you rush away to find the witch's spell book.

"What's the matter, Dean?" Sam asks. He doesn't bother to lower his voice. (He literally doesn't have a filter anymore.) "Afraid of what might happen when she actually has the chance to choose?"

Dean's lips purse as his eyes darken. "This isn't you. And when you wake up from this, you're either gonna hate yourself for even thinkin' what you're thinkin', or you're gonna have one hell of a headache."

Sam stares back incredulously. He scoffs. "What're you gonna do, kill me?" They both know that's not happening.

But that's also when Dean knocks him the hell out.

When Sam wakes, it's to you stuffing tissues in his bloody nose. He groans a bit. He looks at you and still wants. But when he looks down at himself, he's in the bunker, handcuffed to the war room table.

You look worried for him as you go back to your side of the table with the book. Dean is oddly nowhere in sight. Sam thought he'd be watching you (and Sam) like a hawk.

"Dean'll be back in a sec. He's trying to get ahold of Rowena," you supply. "But how're you feeling? What's the spell doing to you exactly?"

Sam rolls the kinks out of his neck and removes the tissues, even though his entire face radiates with pain. His brother once promised to break his nose, and he did just that.

"Basically? I think it took away my inhibitions," he replies. More like threw them in a blender and put his deepest, headiest desires into overdrive.

You frown. "Like a really bad bender, or a truth serum kind of thing? But why would he punch you out for that?"

Your gears are turning rapidly, weighing out all the options. You always were smart. Sam leans forward slowly. Noting your thread of wariness, his face softens. He doesn't want to scare you...

He sighs. "Listen...there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while now."

He reaches out a hand. You're looking at him in frozen surprise. His curled fingers brush your cheek. He leans in toward your face.

But you flinch and pull away.

"What the hell are you doing?" you ask.

Sam should've known, but it still hurts him. His jaw clenches. The spell takes away his self-preservation, however.

Just as he might've tried with words to finally confess the depths of his heart, the door creaks open.

The sound of Dean's heavy boots approaching makes him flinch. But Sam looks over with an unrepentant stare.

Dean glances at Rowena, nostrils flaring. "Fix him." He gestures at Sam before he joins you on your side of the table, resting a protective hand on your back.

Rowena shoots him a droll look. "Only because you asked so nicely."

"I don't need fixing!" Sam argues, glaring at Dean. His voice echoes on the bunker's walls. "You're just afraid of what happens if she knows the truth!"

Your eyes widen further. You look from Sam, to your boyfriend. Dean's jaw is clenched tight.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?!" you ask in earnest. Dean meets your gaze for a moment, his face tense. His reluctant eyes communicate to you things you never knew. Things that clog emotion in your throat. Dean turns back to Sam.

"Don't do this, Sammy. It don't end well for you," Dean says.

"Like hell," Sam retorts.

"Okay, sleep now, dear," Rowena says. And with a wave of her hand and a haze of violet, Sam's world once again blackens.

When he next wakes, he's in his own bed. Not restrained. He indeed has a massive headache, and it's hard to breathe through his still broken nose. He groans and turns, and his brother is there.

When the overwhelming guilt sets in, Sam knows he's himself again, with all the careful walls around his heart put back in place. Rowena must've broken the spell when he was unconscious. Dean can see the truth in Sam's eyes.

"There he is," Dean remarks dryly. "Our giant Jekyll and Hyde."

Sam inhales deeply. "Dean..." I'm sorry doesn't quite cut it.

"She knows," Dean says, after a moment. "Obviously."

Sam nods, swallowing past a lump in his throat. He hesitates to ask the next burning question, because part of him knows the answer.

"It doesn't change anything."

Sam's head turns at the sound of your voice. You stand in the doorway, with your arms crossed despite the disheartened look on your face. Your eyes meet his, steady and sad, but firm.

"I know," Sam says, with a small, self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry...for all this."

"It's not your fault," you reply. Spell or no spell, the way he feels is not his fault.

You step into the bedroom and go to Sam's bedside, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. That hand smoothes up his neck, and your fingers briefly thread into his hair. Another silent conversation passes between you and Dean, the way only lovers that close can accomplish.

After a beat, Dean nods and gets up out of his chair. He thumbs at your cheek; it's both an answer to your unspoken request and an endearment. Then he pats Sam's shoulder before he leaves you and Sam alone in the room.

Trust. That's what that is. Dean trusts you, and now that the spell has worn off, he trusts Sam again.

Sam meets your gaze. As awful as he feels, he still loves you. He knows you know by the way your gaze meets his.

All he wants to do is touch you.

To apologize, and to touch you.

He hates himself.

You shake your head. "I love you, Sam. As my friend. My brother."

"I know," he nods. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," you reply. "You just have to respect that."

"'Course, I do," Sam nods again. You would've never known, if not for the damn spell.

You surprise him by taking his hand. Yours is soft and warm and kind.

Always kind...

But never truly his to hold.

AN: GAH! The Angst. You could bottle it. 😩

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#fic rec #dean Winchester x reader

580 notes · View notes

iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

Text

So excited to see another chapter of this 🥰

Interesting conversation between the reader and Claire. I’m wondering what’s going on there and why Claire seems so wary…

So Dean is clearly worried and on edge but he’s really not thinking about the poor reader is he? Going in separate cars and then just ranting about staying in the motel instead of thinking you know she might be worried about him considering that he got shot last time he was on a hunt. It’s not coming from a bad place but not great. I don’t blame her for getting frustrated and walking out. But god bless madi lol. Always there to make the reader feel better and totally understands how’s she’s feeling. I’m so glad she’s there for the reader as she is 💕 and interesting on madis thought to Claire’s reaction, I totally get that and hopefully we can see Claire warm up to her!

When they came back it was clear Dean was still on edge and struggling with something. Claire was really pushing some buttons and being frustrating. The dig at dean “walking off” really annoyed me, I was totally with madi 😂😂 I liked Sam’s clap back though ““Better an Alpha that recognises he needs space than one that keeps pushing through and ends up hurting those around him,” Sam said mildly.”

I’m glad dean finally figured out what was bothering the reader, the bit at the end was really lovely 🥰 I do love that she got the point in that madi figured it out 😂 we love madi!

Amazing job and I can’t wait for more 💕

Pack chapter 26

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Madison

Series summary: Omega!Reader is thrown into a world she's not expecting when her mate turns out to be a hunter, and she's not used to Alpha & Omega Pack dynamics.

Chapter summary: The Pack heads out on Claire's hunt

Chapter warnings: none

Word count: 2.2k

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 25 <- -> Part 27

I couldn’t sleep. I tried not to disturb Dean, who needed sleep just at much as I did, not that he would admit it.

Eventually, I got sick of just lying there. I crept out of the bed, eased the door open and slipped into the corridor. I was pretty sure if we’d been in a motel room Dean would’ve been on high alert and I wouldn’t have been able to do that without waking him, but tonight at least he was more relaxed. And exhausted from days of rut.

I made my way to the kitchen, turning on the kettle to make myself a cup of tea.

“Umm, hi,” I heard from the doorway. I damn near jumped out of my skin. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I turned to Claire. “That’s ok, just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up.”

“You can’t sleep, hey?”

“I did a fair bit of sleeping the last few days.”

She looked at me critically but just said, “Sure.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, you know, night owl.” She’d caught me lying, and I could see she was too. Still, I didn’t want to pry.

“You want some tea?”

“Nah, I already made myself a hot chocolate earlier.”

“Oooh, that’s better. But still, tea might help me get back to sleep.”

She stood and watched me for a minute while I readied the tea bag, put it in the mug and poured in the water. I was headed to the fridge for milk when she continued. “Are you a hunter?”

“No, didn’t know about monsters until they all started beheading vampires in front of me. But I am learning some lore and things, and Dean promised to let me train now that I’m better.”

“Right.”

I don’t think my answer pleased her.

“What kind of monster are you hunting?”

“The kind that does not need to be discussed at 3am,” Dean said in a displeased voice, walking in and blinking heavily in the light. He crossed his arms, “What are you both doing up, the night before a hunt?”

I suddenly became very interested in looking at my tea.

“What, are you going to send me to bed?” Claire sassed at him.

“Yes.”

“I’m not some little kid to be bossed around.”

“No, but you are the one who wants to go hunt this monster, and if you do not get your ass back into bed and get some more sleep, you ain’t coming.”

Claire growled.

“Growl all you like, I have your car keys.”

“This is bullshit!” she yelled, storming down the corridor towards the bedrooms.

“Now, do I have to threaten you too?” he said to me, a slight smirk on his face.

“I didn’t want to wake you with my tossing and turning.”

“Well, I’m awake now, so you can toss and turn all you like. Come on.” I let him usher me to our room and into bed.

---

Dean threw Sam the keys to Baby, who caught them with only a small show of surprise on his face. Dean also held the keys to Claire’s car in his hand. She held her hand out to him for them.

“Nope,” Dean said, “I’m driving.”

“That is my car!”

“And you were up half the night. I’m driving.”

Claire huffed and stormed off for the garage, Sam and Madi behind her. I went to follow, but Dean caught my wrist.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said when I turned to look at him. “Can you go with Sam and Madi? I want to talk to Claire and I think it’ll go better if it’s just the two of us.”

“Oh, umm, ok.”

“Thanks,” he said, kissing my forehead. I headed to the car.

---

“You ok back there?” Sam asked as he drove.

“Umm, yep, fine. Just a bit tired,” I answered from the backseat.

“You can have a nap if you want one.”

“I’m fine.”

---

Dean was ranting about Madi and I staying in the motel room again. Like we hadn’t done that last time.

He was really starting to get on my nerves.

“Make sure the salt lines are maintained, I don’t think there are any demons around but you never know. Don’t open the door, not even to housekeeping. Don’t-”

“For God’s sakes, Dean, we know how to stay in a bloody motel room!” I yelled, unable to deal with his continued monologue.

He looked at me shocked, and then his expression started to turn to stern. I didn’t stick around to listen to his lectures.

“I’m done,” I muttered, stomping to the bathroom and slamming the door.

I couldn’t hear all of the words, but I’m pretty sure Sam told Dean to leave me and then that they should go. I sat on the lid of the toilet, my hands shaking slightly. A minute or two after I’d stormed in, I heard gentle knocking on the door and Madi calling out that they’d gone.

I came back out, feeling a bit embarrassed about my outburst.

Madi smirked at me, “Don’t worry, I was about 30 seconds behind you in wanting to yell at him.” She always knew how to make me feel better. “So, Netflix?”

We settled on the bed with the best view of the TV, scrolling for something to watch.

“You ok?” Madi asked me gently.

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to hide my fidgeting.

“Because you look like someone who’s stressed about their Alpha out hunting, perhaps because he got injured last time.”

I looked at my hands.

She wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “It’s ok to be worried.”

“Thanks, Madi. He’s just so... blasé! Hasn’t acted at all like he got shot last time and maybe he should look after himself. Instead he’s lecturing us on how to be safe, telling Claire she needs to do what she’s told or she’ll be left here too. Nothing at all about his own safety!”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Dean doesn’t like people fussing about him. And both of them act as though injuries and apocalypses and whatever else are just the inconveniences of the job. They’re insufferable.”

“I don’t think Claire likes me either.”

“Claire would never admit this, but Dean’s been a surrogate father to her. She’s probably scoping you out.”

“What, for if I’m any good as step-surrogate-mother? Or if I’m good enough for Dean?”

She laughed, “One or the other, maybe both!”

“Great, more drama I’m bringing to the Pack.”

“Hey, hey, you didn’t bring drama to the Pack. And Claire will be fine, don’t stress about it. Besides, if she’s not fine, Dean will tell her to pull her head in.”

“I guess,” I said unconvincingly.

“Come on, I’m sure I saw M&Ms in one of these bags.”

I let her try and distract me.

---

It was after 6 when Sam pushed the motel room door open, Claire and Dean following him and arguing between themselves. Sam looked like he was sick of this shit, which made me wonder how long they’d been going for.

But mostly I was busy looking them up and down, checking for any signs of injury. They all looked ok.

Dean finally looked sick of it. “Enough!” he barked at Claire.

She looked she was going to continue, but appeared to think better of it. She huffed and walked over to the open packet of M&Ms.

Still looking frustrated and running his hand through his hair, he turned to Madi and I. “Anything to report? Any problems?” His tone was tense, all business.

“No, totally quiet,” Madi answered.

I had already been tense, but now my nerves felt shot from the agitation radiating off my Alpha. Dean looked like he was to say something to me, but pulled himself up. Perhaps he had noticed me shrinking away from him.

He ran his hand down his face. “I’m going to check on the car, it was making a noise earlier.”

“No it wasn’t-” Claire tried to say but was drowned out by Sam loudly saying, “Good idea.”

Dean manhandled the door open and almost slammed it behind him.

Claire was looking at Sam, irritated. “The car was not making a noise!”

“That’s just Dean’s way of saying ‘I need to go do something with my hands to calm down’,” Madi explained.

“What, he just walks off? Some kind of Alpha he is,” Claire scoffed.

Madi growled lowly, always quick to respond. Sam put his arm around her and she calmed some.

“Better an Alpha that recognises he needs space than one that keeps pushing through and ends up hurting those around him,” Sam said mildly.

Claire rolled her eyes and turned back to the M&Ms. Madi huffed quietly but stopped growling.

Once she’d calmed down, Sam kissed Madi’s forehead then come over to sit next to me. “How are you going?” he asked me gently.

“Fine.”

“You don’t really seem fine.”

“In the 5 minutes you’ve been here?”

“Ok, I see your point. But you didn’t seem fine when we left either. Or in the car.”

“Dean sending you to do his dirty work?”

He chuckled, “No, he can fight his own battles. Besides, I think you had a point this morning, he was going on and on. But that doesn’t mean that yelling at him and locking yourself in the bathroom is normal for you, either.”

I looked at my hands, flicking at my fingernails.

“You don’t have to tell me, but maybe you should think about telling Dean.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I said more forcefully.

He held his hands up in surrender, “Ok, ok, I can take a hint. Just think about it.” He rubbed his hand on my upper arm in a comforting gesture then moved over to the tiny kitchenette where Madi was waiting. The motel room was slightly bigger than our usual, with two queen beds and a fold-out couch for Claire in a little sitting area next to the kitchenette, but still felt suffocatingly small.

I couldn’t help but feel worried about Dean being outside alone when monsters were still on the loose, too. His paranoia had rubbed off on me. What if he got hurt while he was out there and we didn’t notice until it was too late?

A little later, I stood up and headed to the kitchenette myself. I fidgeted with my hands whilst I stood awkwardly in front of Sam.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked, voice full of concern.

“Can you, umm - I know it’s silly - but can you please check on Dean?”

“Not silly at all,” he said, heading for the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Madi took my hand and gave it a squeeze while Sam left. Claire was staring at her phone, headphones on, seemingly oblivious to everyone else.

Shortly after, the room door opened again. A much calmer Dean stood on the threshold, eyes searching for me. “Y/N, can you come outside for a minute? It’s ok.”

I nodded and headed to him. If he’d still been angry I would have thought I was in trouble, but he looked more caring and concerned. Sam squeezed past him back into the room and then Dean took my hand and led me out, shutting the door behind us.

He turned to face me. “I’m sorry, ‘mega, I’ve just realised what an insensitive asshole I’ve been being.”

“What? You’re not-” he gently cupped my cheek with his hand, the sweet gesture silencing me.

“Yes, I have. I forgot that the last time I left you alone all day in a motel room, I got shot. Of course you’re worried. Sam and I didn’t think about it until you just sent him out to check on me.”

I started to tear up. He pulled me into a hug.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured.

I leant into the hug and enjoyed the feeling of being held, being close to my Alpha. He stroked my hair.

“Are- are you being careful?” I asked him.

He pulled back a little so he could look into my face. “We are always as careful as we can be, we are always looking out for each other when we’re hunting. But, sometimes we get injured. It’s going to happen occasionally. I know you’ll probably never be completely relaxed – I worry about Sam when he’s out without me, too – but I don’t want you freaking out every time we go out either.”

I bit my lip, not really sure how to reply. I couldn’t just turn off my worry.

He stroked the side of my face with my thumb. “How about this? You work on trying to relax when I’m hunting, and I work on paying better attention to you?”

“I’d prefer you paid better attention to your safety.”

He chuckled, “Ok, deal.”

He wrapped me in his arms again. I breathed in the scent of him and felt a little less stressed.

“You know,” I said after a minute, “Madi worked it out straight away.”

He laughed, “Of course she did, she’s smarter than Sam and I combined.”

Tag list:

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#fic rec #dean Winchester x reader #alpha!dean winchester x omega!reader

71 notes · View notes

iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

Text

Look at me getting caught up 😂 how can I resist this man though 👩‍🚒🔥

“You woke feeling delightfully warm.” Hmm I bet she did alright after that night 😏

It was so sweet that Dean was just waiting for her to wake up but staying close to her. I loved that. And this line “And you hadn’t felt this relaxed, this warm and comfortable and safe, in a very long time.” Was just so lovely to read. Their relationship is developing so nicely.

But oh no. Reading his text messages, I do not agree with. I get being in love sends you a bit crazy and she did have those talks with Meg and Jo but she needs to talk to him not scroll his history 🙈 I felt like I was screaming at her to stop. I mean I appreciate the messages weren’t great but they were old or unanswered, he’s been honest with her about his past she needs to let this go. I honestly thought Dean was far more patient and forgiving than she deserved for that. I am glad they worked it out though and got some feelings out and used the b and g words! Yay! I don’t want them to be in an actual fight, I like the happy warm fuzzy feelings much more 🥰

I’m glad Dean got to show some of his cooking skills because he honestly always seems so happy in the show when he’s cooking.

I also want her to ask Dean about her car because I adore it when he goes into protective mechanic mode 😂

And she finally got to meet Sam, I loved that whole interaction. You know Sam secretly shipping dean and the reader is my absolute fav Sam and you didn’t disappoint. I loved this line “Sam’s brow quirked. Mr. Serial Bachelor was joking like that already?” Cackling! But in all seriousness again, I love how far they’ve come already to even joke about something like that! “He continued to sip his coffee, all the while hiding a certain smile behind his mug.” Yes Sam 😏

Sam was very wise with his take on the reader reading the texts and I do see his point. I still think she went a bit far though 😂

Hmm I was a bit sad at the conversation with Andrea. I really loved their friendship at the start but it feels like they’re drifting and I agreed she didn’t seem as invested in the readers relationship as her own which is really sad. I’m interested to see where that goes.

I’m glad Meg apologised at the firehouse. Yeah she was a bit drunk but it was still out of line. And the conversation with benny, I loved that she got the comments in their to give Dean some ammunition 😂

But of course he takes her to his office. What’s going to happen there i wonder 😂😂 in all seriousness I liked the little bit with Mary and dean saying he thinks she would have liked the reader. That was really special. But what?! You left it there! Haha you’re killing me girl.

This was another great chapter and I eagerly await next week! 💕

Smoke Eater - Part 8

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

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

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

🔥Series Masterlist

AN: Just wanted to say thank you so much for all the amazing feedback on the last chapter! I work hard on all of these, but I agonized over Part 7 in particular lol. Really wanted to get that balance right. 😉

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, fluff, suggestiveness, implied sexual harassment, and a (sort of) cliffhanger.

Part 8: “Likewise, Baby”

You woke feeling delightfully warm. Your eyes cracked open. Though the room was dim, the window behind you had horizontal blinds that were letting in a bit of light.

You cradled the pillow beneath your head, with your hand tucked under your cheek. And you weren’t alone.

Dean was sitting up against the headboard beside you.

He was already dressed in a faded gray Fire Department shirt and sweatpants, with his long legs crossed over the navy comforter. He sipped at a mug of robust-smelling coffee while holding an iPad in the other hand, occasionally scrolling with a finger.

A slow smile cleared some of the sleepiness from your mind. You should’ve known he’d be an early riser, considering his job, but you were pleasantly surprised that he was just sitting with you, waiting for you to wake up in your own time.

Breathing in deep, you stretched out your legs under the sheets. The sound earned Dean glancing away from the screen, and then his smile aimed at you.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted. You hummed sleepily in response.

“Sleep good?” he asked.

You nodded and braved swimming through the sheets to snuggle closer to his side. After setting aside his mug and iPad, Dean welcomed you over with a hand soothing down your back. You curled against him, resting your head against his chest.

He dropped a kiss onto your wild hair. You still wore his shirt from last night and nothing else, but you felt the warmth of his hand through the fabric, rubbing up and down your back. You slipped an arm comfortably around his middle and let out a soft sigh.

“I see you’re not too chatty in the morning,” he teased.

You made a sound of agreement. “You wore me out, Lieutenant.”

And you hadn’t felt this relaxed, this warm and comfortable and safe, in a very long time.

You also felt Dean’s chuckle reverberate through your chest. His hand came up to pet your hair, and he pressed another kiss on the top of your head.

“Likewise, baby,” he replied. Cheekiness colored his tone. “That record’s gonna be hard to beat.”

You smirked and huffed against his chest. After trying some of the cake last night, he’d given you another sample of his talented fingers, right there at the table. Then you’d tried to start cleaning up the kitchen, only for Dean to distract you once again.

That time, he’d settled behind you at the kitchen sink and goaded you with sinful lips along your neck and wandering hands, until you decided that your earlier promise of “next time” was right now.

You’d turned in his arms and finally found out what he tasted like, after you sunk to your knees and dragged down his sweatpants and took his waiting cock into your mouth…

Needless to say, it was a while before you both made it to a shower, and finally to bed for actual sleep.

Remembering it all made you blush, biting your lip. He let out a quiet laugh as you hid your face in his chest. His fingers slipped into your tangled hair and gently massaged the back of your head.

“Want some coffee?” he asked. You nodded.

“Need some,” you replied. “Let me freshen up first though.”

So you slowly got up, reluctance pulling at every muscle in your body. While you were in the bathroom brushing your teeth and fixing your ridiculous hair, Dean cleaned up the rest of the dishes from last night and poured you a steaming cup of coffee from the carafe. He didn’t remember how you liked it, but his intuition said you liked a bit of sugar and creamer.

He found himself smiling like an idiot, until something Meg said rolled through his head again.

Goddamn. I am twitterpated.

With that thought, he immediately shook his head to rid himself of it.

You padded back into the bedroom to find your dress…and your panties, for that matter. While you were getting dressed, a phone buzzed on one of the nightstands beside the bed. It was Dean’s phone.

You went over to it curiously as you fixed the straps on your dress. The screen showed a missed text message from last night, around 10:00 p.m., and another one this morning. You read the latest one with a sinking feeling in your chest.

From Marissa: Surprised I didn’t hear back from you last night. The offer still stands. 😘

You knew it was wrong, but your finger scrolled to see last night’s text preview.

From Marissa: Hey, been thinking of you… ❤️ I’m free tonight if you want to come over. You always look so good in my bed. 😉

You were beginning to feel sick to your stomach. You forced deep, even breaths through your nose as you sat down on his side of the bed, and you contemplated doing something you knew you’d probably regret.

You’d seen Dean unlock his phone enough times to remember his passcode. Your thumb hovered over the keypad…

Again, you knew it was wrong. You’d never, ever done this to someone in your life, and if he caught you at this, he’d probably be pissed.

But you couldn’t help yourself. You unlocked his phone, and you found the girl in his text messages. While you saw that he hadn’t even looked at the message, and hadn’t even spoken to her in a couple of months, the previous text messages were a sick siren song that you couldn’t help but fall into.

However, you could only read a few of the old ones before you became disgusted, and you quickly minimized his text messages. You reminded yourself that you didn’t have a right to be reading this, or to be jealous, for that matter.

Those messages were before he even met you. It just didn’t change the fact that reading them, and hearing his voice in your mind while talking explicitly dirty with another girl still stung.

Another thought whispered in your mind. You’re already here. Might as well…

Biting your lip, your thumb shook as you went into his contacts. You saw familiar names: Benny, Cas, Dad, Eileen, Gordon, Jo…but those were followed by unfamiliar ones. Haley, Jackie, Kat, Lisa, Lauren, Marissa, Nadia, Olivia, Priya, Rachel, Serina…

What the fuck! He’s got the whole damn Kansas Directory of Sluts in here! you thought in both alarm and disgust.

So consumed were you that you didn’t hear Dean coming down the hall, nor did you see him appear in the doorway to his own room with a fresh mug of coffee.

“Hey, so what do you want for breakfast…” His question died on his tongue the moment he saw you with his phone (and an angry, perturbed look on your face). His brows furrowed as he entered.

You were caught red-handed, and you knew it. Guilt and hurt and anger radiated under your skin in equal measure, though you set his phone down for him on the bed and met his eyes.

“You got a booty call from Marissa,” you said. “She misses you in her bed.”

“So you snooped through my phone?” Dean levied at you. The warmth in his tone was gone, though his still handed you the mug of coffee and grabbed the phone. His contacts were still open on the screen.

“I shouldn’t have,” you testily agreed. “Believe me, I regret it now.”

You stood, set down the mug on the nightstand, and began searching the room for your sandals. You didn’t think you could stick around for breakfast.

Dean’s jaw locked, and he let out a sharp breath as he watched you.

“So you’re leaving?” he asked incredulously.

“Why, don’t you need to check on your side piece?” you shot back.

Dean huffed in irritation. You bent over to put on a sandal and nearly toppled over as you lost your balance. He got up, but you managed to catch yourself and held up a hand against him helping you.

You straightened and looked up with him with steel in your eyes, where last night had been all softness and fire. It reminded him of when he saw you square up against your boss. No nonsense, no inches given. He remembered then that you were a real pistol when you needed to be.

“Okay, Nancy Drew. I’m sure you saw that I haven’t hit up that girl in months!” he said. He wanted to be patient with you, but his temper was already snapping at the invasion of his privacy.

Yours was snapping right back, as your hands went to your hips.

“Dean, you’ve got an entire catalogue of ‘Pussy On-Demand’ in your phone!”

Frowning, Dean held his hands out wide in a what do you want from me gesture.

“Look, I was honest with you about my past,” he tried, but you cut in quick.

“Is it your past?” you asked. Your heart pulsed with pain at the thought, but you had to ask. “Or were you still talking to these girls, even seeing these girls while you were ‘wooing’ me? I mean…I guess I don’t have a right to complain. We never explicitly said we were exclusive—”

“All right, stop. For the love of Christ,” Dean said in sheer frustration. He approached you with caution. You were still frowning and testy, but you allowed him to grasp your upper arms.

“First of all, I didn’t even see that text. Because I was preoccupied with you. Second, no I wasn’t seein’ anyone but you after our first date. And third…” His lips pressed together.

This last one was tough for him to admit, even embarrassing. You were waiting for him though, probably with the last shred of benefit of the doubt you had left for him.

He sighed, brushing your arms with his thumbs. “Before last night, I hadn’t had sex in a couple of months.”

Your brows went high at that one, only because the weight in his voice told you that two months was a big deal for him. (For you, it was child’s play.) Remembering that laundry list of names, though, you had to agree.

You eventually relented, your shoulders relaxing a little.

“I’m sorry I looked through your phone,” you said again, more sincerely this time. “I’ve never done that to anyone, ever, and it’s not who I am. It’s just…you’re making me a bit crazy.”

A smirk pulled at Dean’s lips. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

You reluctantly smiled and pushed at his chest with a half-hearted hand. Sighing, he pulled you in close. You allowed yourself to rest against him, and even slip your arms around his middle and tangle your fingers into the back of his shirt. Dean pressed his lips to your hair.

“I might be playing a lot of this by ear, but I told you. I’m not playing around,” he said. “I want to try being with you. Just you.”

After a moment, you nodded. You looked up at him, resting your chin on his chest.

A smile tugged at your lips.

“So what you’re saying is, you’re my boyfriend.”

Dean’s smile grew as well. “I mean…yeah. If you’re on board.”

You nodded and leaned up for a kiss. “I could be persuaded.”

He met you there with both passion and sincerity as his lips glided over yours. Your fingers dug into the muscles in his back, spurring him to hold you tighter against him. The weight of his hands felt deliciously good against your lower back.

“Stay for breakfast,” he said between heated kisses and panting breaths. “I’ll cook this time.”

You remembered that you had to check on your grandfather. You’d texted him before going to bed that you were staying over at Dean’s place. George had already been asleep, but he answered you this morning that everything was fine. Still, your instincts warred between wanting to make sure, and staying here a bit longer.

Your curiosity was piqued, however.

You paused against Dean’s lips. “You cook?”

He looked down at you with offense at your surprised tone.

“I’m a damn good cook,” he said, his brow waggling. “What do you want? Pancakes, eggs and bacon, or something more chill, like oatmeal or something?”

Your stomach began to percolate at the mere mention of food.

“Yes,” you replied with a grin.

Dean’s amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Someone’s hungry. Worked up an appetite, huh?”

“Starving,” you admitted. Your hands moved down his back, feeling how some of the muscles there contracted. Looking up at him through your lashes, you added, “But I’ll take whatever you give me.”

Dean laughed and kissed you again.

“Oh, I’ll give you plenty, naughty girl,” he promised against your lips.

Thank God it’s Saturday, you thought. You inhaled the coffee Dean made for you before taking another sip. It was delicious, and you had to make a mental note to buy the same brand the next time you went to the grocery store.

You peered out the small kitchen window while the smell of food continued to stir your appetite. Really is a cute neighborhood. The building overlooked a nice little park. Already there were people jogging, walking their dogs, parents with their children heading to the playground.

You liked where you lived as well, but the two-story house was a bit much just for you and George. It also needed some work done, of which you hadn’t gotten around to taking care of with how busy you’d been lately. Not to mention your car, which was occasionally starting to shake when you accelerated past 50 miles per hour.

I really should ask Dean to look at it. Bet he’d relish the challenge of reviving an old car.

Then a small ding alerted you to the toast, now ready to be buttered. You were helping with the smaller things while Dean worked on the eggs and bacon.

You also heard the front door unlock. Soon enough a tall man with dark, long hair down to his shoulders entered the kitchen with a workbag on his shoulder and a small overnight bag. He wore a smart-looking, but simple suit, chestnut brown.

“Hey,” he greeted Dean, but his hazel eyes widened a fraction when he saw you. “Oh, hi there.”

Dean turned his head and smiled.

“Hey, Sammy,” he said. “Come meet my uh…my girlfriend.”

Your face heated up at the way he glanced at you with that smile.

Hear that? Official girlfriend status.

You also tried to hide your excitement as you introduced yourself to Sam Winchester. He shook your hand with an amiable look.

Dear God, you thought, noting his height, and his broad shoulders that rivaled Dean’s. Winchesters are massive.

“Finally. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said.

“Same here,” you agreed, matching his smile. “Really good to meet you, Sam.”

“And how is it you always make it right on time for breakfast?” Dean teased. He was pouring the scrambled eggs out of the pan and into a large bowl.

“Just good timing,” Sam replied, smirking as his brother rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, how’s Eileen?” Dean asked.

“Good. She had her students help her decorate the classroom for the fall this week,” Sam said.

He fished out his phone and showed you and Dean the pictures. The two of you had your heads bowed close to the phone. Dean wore a smile at the sight, while you cooed at the adorableness of Eileen with her students.

They seemed to be elementary school age (between seven and ten years old, if you had to guess). They’d done the Thanksgiving turkey hand for arts and crafts, even though the holiday wasn’t for a couple of months. One of the boys had taped it to his forehead.

“They’re so cute!” you gushed. “I remember doing that in elementary school.”

Dean shot you a grin. “You like kids, huh?”

Sam’s brow quirked. Mr. Serial Bachelor was joking like that already?

Meanwhile, you sent Dean a narrowed look, despite your blushing smile. Never mind that you two had just established the seriousness of your relationship about five minutes ago.

Honestly, you were surprised that having kids was even on his radar…but for the first time, maybe it was starting to be on yours too.

And that alone was a shocking revelation, considering how career-driven you’d been up until now. It was even somewhat scary, just how quickly this man had buried his way into your heart.

“Yeah, and what if I do?” You laughed and carded your fingers through his hair, but you made sure to tug on it a bit. “Clearly I need to be careful with you.”

“That’s probably best, as a general rule,” Sam interjected. He smirked at Dean’s flat look.

“All right, all right,” Dean waved at him. “Help me get the plates.”

The three of you talked and joked and laughed all throughout breakfast. You and Sam had a fair amount in common, speaking of your respective experiences in college, with him following into law school and you with culinary school. He told you more about his work at the District Attorney’s office, and about how he and Eileen had met.

Then you and Dean told the story of how you two met, from each of your perspectives. You recounted how it had been Nick’s fault that you’d been in that elevator to begin with, grabbing his latte, of all things. You remembered how goddamn hot it had been in that elevator, how no one could hear you, how you’d been doing your best not to freak the hell out.

And then you heard his voice. “Fire Department!”

The save was pretty standard, from Dean’s perspective. But he’d noticed you, even in your coffee-stained blouse and skirt. He remembered the way you lost one of your shoes.

“And I mean, ridiculous fucking high heel,” Dean said to Sam. He held his hands apart several inches, making you laugh at his gross exaggeration. “I got no clue how she walks in ‘em.”

Dean also relished retelling the moment you later stood up to Nick with gusto.

“I thought she was gonna chuck it at the guy’s head, Psycho style,” Dean said. He mimicked holding the shoe like a knife stabbing from above.

You laughed and covered your face with your hands. “I wasn’t that bad!”

Dean chuckled, but he rubbed your shoulder.

“Nah, it was awesome. I remember thinkin’, this girl’s a badass.”

You lowered your hands and glanced over at him, letting your smile peek through.

“Oh yeah?” you asked.

“Class and style, baby,” he said, giving you a wink. You shook your head, despite your amusement, and how his words touched you.

“Says the guy who literally rappelled from the roof like Batman,” you said with a smirk.

“Ooh, Batman. Here that? I’m taking it.” Dean’s brows rose, and he shot Sam a grin.

To which his younger brother rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re Batman.”

You giggled into your hands. His brother’s sarcasm was nothing new, but Dean enjoyed seeing you laugh after all the tension this morning. He took one of your hands away from your face so you couldn’t hide anymore.

You looked over at him. When your eyes met his, somehow you were captured again.

Sam watched carefully from his side of the table. He watched his brother, and was hardly able to believe what he saw. He continued to sip his coffee, all the while hiding a certain smile behind his mug.

You left the apartment a short while later, despite offering to help clean up. Dean knew you wanted to get back to your grandfather and didn’t want to hold you up, but he still walked you to the door and made sure you had everything you needed before you left (including a leisurely goodbye in the doorway that had his old neighbor Gladys tsking as she walked by).

He eventually returned to the kitchen to help Sam finish cleaning up, thumping him on the back while Sam was trying to wash the pans in the sink. Sam uttered a grunt, but his lips edged at a smile at Dean’s obvious good mood.

“I take it last night went well?” Sam asked knowingly.

“Yeah, good thinkin’ on staying at Eileen’s,” Dean smirked back. His mind rewound the evening: having you cook for him, the shenanigans that interrupted your baking lesson, and also the baking, and the cleaning up.

His smile only dropped a bit when he remembered the arguing part.

“Well, there was a rough patch,” he admitted. At Sam’s questioning look, Dean explained how you’d looked through his phone…and what you’d seen on it.

“She apologized, but it was a tough go of it for a second,” he said.

Sam had finished the dishes by now. He stood leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. He sighed through his nose.

“You want my advice?” he asked.

Dean quirked a wry smile. “Something tells me I’m gonna get it anyway.”

Sam nodded. “You just need to take the ‘L’ on this one. Don’t hold it against her.”

Dean’s brows knitted together as he frowned.

“Oh yeah?” he said in full sarcasm. “Is that what I need to do?”

He loved when his brother when full Dr. Phil on him.

“Listen,” Sam said. “Yeah, what she did was wrong, but her concerns were understandable.”

Dean took that in, carding his fingers through his hair.

“You can’t assume that she can read your mind, Dean. On your intentions, on how you feel—any of it.” Sam leveled him with a more serious look. “She’s taking this as it comes, just like you are. And she’s taking a chance on getting hurt, just like you are.”

Damn it, Dean thought. He especially hated when his brother made sense.

He was quiet for a moment, until something occurred to him.

“You think Dad would like her?” he asked.

At that, Sam’s smile broke free. Dean’s gaze flattened in annoyance.

“What?” he asked.

“If you’re willing to subject her to Dad, I know you’re serious.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He stole the last leftover piece of bacon from Sam’s plate and headed for his room.

I think he’d like her.

“So how’s it been going?” Andréa asked you.

The two of you were finally getting a chance to have lunch together in the staff breakroom, for the first time in about a month. You blamed it on your busy schedules, but you knew it also had to do with the fact that you both had new men in your lives.

You had been reaching out to your friend a couple of times a week to check in, sometimes even offering to grab dinner or catch a movie after work, but Andréa always seemed to have an excuse. You didn’t think she was pulling away from you intentionally… It did hurt though.

You just supposed you should be grateful that she showed up out of the blue in your office, asking if you had time for lunch.

“Work is…well, the usual,” you replied.

Nick was still an asshole who made your life harder and more stressful with every interaction. He changed his mind on deadlines, or better yet, forgot them entirely. He often got drunk while schmoozing with CEOs and representatives of potential accounts.

He also sucked at paperwork, which meant you often had to redo it, or get his assistant to do it. And he still pitted you and Josh and other teammates against one another (Paul had quit last week due to the pressure).

But all that, you could handle. What bothered you more were the “harmless” comments threaded with innuendo. The lingering looks he gave you, seizing you up from breast to toe.

You’d taken to wearing pants exclusively, instead of skirts, and flat shoes instead of heels, just to try and put him off. You maintained your professionalism and always kept several chairs between you and Nick in meetings. Though you dreaded moments where you had to be alone with him. Those were the times you were on your guard the most.

Thankfully, he hadn’t done anything outrageous since the last time he was drunk before a meeting. As in, you hadn’t had to threaten going to HR again…yet.

And these things you kept to yourself. You didn’t want Andréa to worry. Or worse, for her to try and get involved, and earn Nick’s eye on her next.

“What about with Dean?” Andréa asked, breaking you from your thoughts.

You brightened with a smile. That you would happily share.

“Good. Like really good,” you said. “I mean, we had our moments this weekend, but…I really think this could work.”

Andréa shot you a sly look, though her smile said she was happy for you.

“Oh wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so smiley,” she teased. “What is it with these firefighters at Firehouse 25? God sprinkled them with something special, I swear.”

You eyed her with amusement. “Oh yeah? How are you and Benny doing then?”

And that seemed to be the exact question she was waiting for. She turned to you fully and grabbed your hand.

“Oh, girl. I have so much to catch you up on,” she said.

You smiled at her indulgently. You truly wanted to hear everything she had to say. You wanted to hear about her disastrous first meeting with Benny’s family, especially with his father. You wanted to hear about how she was able to turn it all around with a bit of charm and a few funny stories.

You wanted to hear about their impromptu sailing trip last weekend, and the plans they were already making to go to Greece next summer if all went well. Andréa and Benny were clearly a whirlwind romance in the making, the stuff of good old-fashioned rom-com legend, and you wanted to hear the story unfold.

You just couldn’t help a small thought in the back of your mind…that she wasn’t quite as invested in your life as you were in hers.

A couple of weeks later, you parked your old Camry on the side of the road. You didn’t want to block any part of the driveway at Firehouse 25.

Oh good, they’re not on a call, you thought. The truck was there, along with the Squad truck and the ambulance. A full house.

You smiled and first smoothed down your sweater dress. It was mid-November with a chill on the air, and it also gave you an excuse to break out one of your favorite dresses, made of warm brown wool, but still cute with your knee-high boots.

You pulled out the large plastic dessert carrier resting on the passenger seat. It held not one, but two large cakes. You wanted this treat to last a little bit longer than a few hours this time.

You walked up the driveway, smiling as you greeted the Squad men playing poker at a square table just outside the building. A couple of them eyed you in curiosity, and maybe even with recognition. Though you had to swallow a bit of nerves as you pushed past the familiar glass doors of the firehouse.

The first person you saw (that you actually recognized) was Meg. She sat in the common room with her feet crossed and perched on the dining table. She was reading a book, but her head perked up when you came in. She stood and left her book on the table as she waved you inside.

“Hey there,” she said.

Remembering what happened the last time you met the paramedic at the Roadhouse, your smile was a bit thin.

“You must be real special,” she’d remarked, gesturing at Dean. “He usually doesn’t bring his girls around here, where he actually likes to hang out. Guess that’d mean he’d have to see ‘em again with the lights on.”

Despite the less than stellar memory, you tried to be polite.

“Hey, Meg. How are you?” you asked.

“Sober,” she answered frankly. Her head tilted as she let out a short, self-deprecating sigh. “Uh, sorry about last time. I have a bit of a mouth when I’ve had a few.”

Your smile became a bit more genuine. Before you could say, That's okay—

“Oh no, that’s her resting state,” a familiar voice wryly interjected.

You brightened when you saw Dean striding in from down the hall. He met you with a grin, as well as a kiss that lingered on your lips. Meg’s brow rose.

He eventually pulled away, but his hand stayed on the small of your back. He looked happy to see you, and it secretly warmed you down to your toes.

“To what do I owe this surprise?” he asked, his green eyes gleaming. He noted the dessert carrier hanging from your hand with interest.

“I come bearing gifts.” You raised your offering. Dean took it from you with both hands and boyish glee.

“Mmm, I do love me some cake,” he said, licking his lips.

You had to laugh. Firefighters do love food.

Or maybe it was just Dean.

“Remember, you’re meant to share,” you teased.

“No promises,” he muttered. But he still brought it over to the kitchen. Even Meg followed the two of you, peeking over his shoulder in curiosity.

“What kind is it?” she asked.

You gave her a smile. “Orange, cranberry, and poppyseed, with an orange glaze.”

Her eyes widened, but you could tell she wasn’t sure if she was intrigued or not.

“Trust me. It’s like lemon poppyseed, just more orangey,” you promised. “And even a bit sweeter.”

Dean grinned at his friend. “She went to culinary school.”

He said it proudly, which warmed you. Though you bit your lip in slight embarrassment.

“You don’t have to say that,” you said with a nervous giggle.

“Why not?” he protested. “It’s true.”

Meg surveyed you both with a knowing smirk while Dean set up your cakes with a cutting knife and some paper plates.

“It’s still early, but the droves will come soon enough,” Meg said wryly, and she nodded at Dean. “Have you shown her around yet?”

His brows rose. “Around the house? No, as a matter of fact…”

He turned to you with a smile and offered his hand. “Got time for a quick tour?”

You smiled. It was Saturday, and you had a rare morning where you had nowhere else to be.

“I do now,” you agreed. And you took his hand.

Dean led you past the humble kitchen to the barracks, where there were several rows of cots. They were empty and made up with white sheets and dark green comforters.

“We’re all busy by now, but we stay quiet around here,” he explained. “Especially during night shifts, of course.”

He showed you where the bathrooms and showers were, along with passing by a large, closed office. Through the frosted doors, you could see a man talking firmly into a desk phone.

“Is that the Chief?” you asked.

Dean nodded. “Yep, that’s his office. Good ole’ Bobby.”

A scoff made both of your heads turn. Benny gave his friend a wry brow raise.

“Only this one gets away with callin’ him that,” he said. Though he gave you a kind look and touched your shoulder. “How are ya?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you smiled at him. It was just a bit weird for you, knowing he was dating your best friend.

You felt like you knew him from everything she’d told you, but you hadn’t actually been around him that much in person. Everything you knew about him had been pieced from stories you’d heard from either Andréa or Dean.

“I hear ships are sailing with you and Dre,” you quipped.

Benny chuckled with an imaginary tip of his hat. “Well, you’ve heard right.”

At Dean’s slightly curious look, Benny filled him in about his and Andréa’s sailing trip last weekend.

“Who the hell goes sailing in Kansas?” Dean remarked.

You had to laugh a little. “Andréa’s family owns a yacht club. They go boating on the river, mostly. But she goes to Greece every year…and I hear you’re planning to join her.”

Again, you looked over at Benny with good-natured teasing. He took it with a smile and a nod, even taking Dean’s raised eyebrows. His growing smile told you that his friend would be taking some shit about this later. And Benny knew it too.

“All right, I see you guys were in the middle of somethin’. Let me not get in the way,” Benny graciously bowed out with another chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, Captain, my Captain over here’s gotta find a parrot,” Dean ribbed.

Benny just rolled his eyes and gave a lazy wave as he departed.

You gave your boyfriend a bemused look. “What is he, a pirate?”

Dean shrugged. His grin was contagious.

“I just can’t picture that dusty lumberjack on a yacht,” he said. “God, what’s the world coming to?”

You shook your head and bit your lip against a giggle.

“All right, what’s next on the tour?” you asked.

Dean hummed, but after a moment, he brightened with an idea…and a sly look. He took your hand and led you over to a small side room behind the barracks. He opened the door and led you into what was essentially a cubicle, complete with a desk, chair, desktop, and a document filing unit, except it also had a cot in the far corner.

“Step into my office,” he said, gesturing with a hand. You gave him an impressed brow raise as you ventured inside.

“My man’s got his own office? Complete with a bedroom, I see.”

“Yeah. Benny’s got one too, since he’s Captain of the Rescue Squad,” said Dean.

You made note of this with another impressed hum. You then sat down in his comfy office chair and twirled around, before you began perusing his desk area. It was a bit cluttered for your tastes, but you had a feeling Dean was an “organized chaos” kind of guy.

Dean remained standing with casually crossed arms. He watched you trace a finger around one of the picture frames he had on his desk, though he had a few.

There was one of him and Sam after he graduated from law school, cap and gown and all. Another was one of Sam, Dean, and John on one of the rare camping trips they did when they were kids, for Dean’s 13th birthday.

“That’s my dad,” Dean supplied. He pointed at the man, handsome, salt-and-pepper beard, dark eyes, and broad shoulders. Your brows raised of their own accord as your eyes blinked wider.

“Wow, look at that silver fox. I see where the handsome genes came from,” you teased.

Dean’s lips curved in amusement. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

You gave him a sidelong glance and playfully jabbed at his side. But you returned your attention to the last frame.

The picture inside was of a beautiful blonde woman, holding a newborn baby bundled up in her arms. You could see his small pink face peeking out, as well as a little boy cheese grinning over her shoulder. Your attention lingered on this one.

“Is that…”

“Yeah. That’s my mom,” Dean confirmed.

“She’s beautiful,” you said softly.

“Yeah, she was,” he said with a nod. And a thought filtered through his mind, one he spoke without really thinking about it. “Wish she could’ve met you.”

You turned to him more fully then, with a bit of wonder hidden behind your eyes.

“Yeah?” you asked.

Something in Dean’s chest clenched, but he grazed your cheek with his thumb and nodded, giving you a reserved smile. It hadn’t been that long at all since he met you. Just a couple of months. He couldn’t deny it though. It was true.

“I think she would’ve liked you,” he said with a shrug. Like it wasn’t such a big deal.

You both knew that wasn’t the case.

You stood out of his desk chair and went to him, gripping the front of his gray lieutenant’s shirt. You leaned up on your toes for a kiss that almost immediately deepened. Dean cradled your cheek with one hand and pulled you in close by your hip with the other, but you were the one who licked sensuously into his mouth.

He hummed deep in his throat, pleased and a little surprised when you pushed at his chest. He took your cue to step back, leading you along with him when he sat down on the edge of the neatly made cot. He guided you down by your hips, but you didn’t sink down into his lap the way he expected.

Instead, you slotted his right thigh between your legs and took a comfortable seat. You slid up his thigh with slow friction, giving him a small smile as you twined your arms around his neck. A smirk graced his lips as he held your hips.

“Don’t pretend like this wasn’t your plan all along,” you said.

You’d caught the look in his eye before he led you into his office. It made you wonder (with a tremor of unease) just how many women he’d given the “grand tour” of his office…

But you couldn’t let yourself fall down that train of thought. It was a futile thing that would ultimately just upset you, and no doubt would frustrate him. Whatever he did before he started dating you was his business. You just had to focus on the here and now…

And right now, you could already see the half-pitched tent in your boyfriend’s uniform pants as he began to touch you.

“You’re the one who came prepared, Little Miss Easy Access,” Dean remarked. His hands slid up your thighs, bunching up your dress the farther he went. Your lower belly clenched in anticipation when he brushed the edge of your panties. “Maybe I wasn’t the only one with a plan.”

A more amused smile grew across your face, despite the blush warming your cheeks. Something had just occurred to you.

“There’s no way we’re allowed to do this here,” you whispered, but Dean’s grip on your hips was already encouraging you to rock against his thigh.

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

AN: ...🫣 Sorry for leaving it there lol. But hey! Official girlfriend status! 😂 And how'd you like how they dealt with the Marissa of it all, and the reader meeting Sam for the first time?

Of course, there will be more in Part 9.~

Next Time:

“Where’re you goin’?” he teased.

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

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

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

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

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

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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

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

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

#fic rec #dean Winchester x reader #firefighter dean winchester x reader

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

Text

Here for my weekly dose of sexy firefighter dean 👩‍🚒🥰 (delayed again - I’m sorry)

I love how I straight from the off you’d got the innuendos going. Obviously we couldn’t see what they were doing and it easily could have been something else until you said pasta 😂 I think it set the tone of the chapter really well though. And dean certainly did not disappoint with the flirty banter throughout, and I liked that the reader got a few in too!

And then you got them baking together. I mean adorableness right there. I loved it. I also liked that you included the bit about they could have gone to hers but she didn’t invite him. I totally see why she wouldn’t, not even considering the point about germs and his cancer. Having your grandpa there isn’t exactly screaming romance. But I’m also glad that Dean was quite blasé about it really, he showed that it wasn’t a big deal for him that she lives with him. I feel not all potential romantic partners would be quite so understanding. And actually, it just goes on deans growing tick list of things he loves about the reader. Double win!

When he told her the story of his mum and the apple pie my heart just hurt for him. Poor boy. It’s so lovely to see him keeping opening up to her though.

I like how you incorporated johns canon obsession here slightly differently. But still dragging his boys through it. I think Sam’s concerns are completely valid but i do look forward to seeing how that whole side of the story pans out. It’s got to be different this time right?

Hmm I do love all the soft touches and build up as they were baking. Kisses to the neck and then when he licked her fingers. It’s clear there’s only one way this is going! I’m all here for it though

“Perks of dating a firefighter.” Loved this line 😏 one of many.

“You couldn’t believe this was the first time you were seeing him with his shirt off. It was a damn shame, really. But you caught the bit of smugness curving his lips at the way you were ogling, first with your eyes, then with your exploring hands over his toned arms and chest, and the solid plane of his abs, all the way down to his belt. You started undoing the clasp.” I loved this paragraph because I could totally relate. We would all ogle if we had the chance, let’s face it 😂 and I can totally see deans proud smirk at you doing it too haha.

But he stops and checks. That bit really surprised me but I thought it was a great addition! It really shows how serious he is about this relationship.

And then we get to the smut! I know you say you find smut harder to write but girl, you did an amazing job with this 🔥🥵🥵 you did not disappoint in the slightest. The start when she was shocked he even wanted to do that for her and to his cheeky comment “Oh, I’m about to earn it.” His eyes found yours. “You know what my real favorite pie flavor is?” SO. DAMN. HOT.

And what impressed me even more is you managed to get in the protection talk/check which is very important but it didn’t take anything away from the smut. Great job!

And after all that there’s going to be some very burnt cake. I think it’s worth it though 😏

Amazing chapter. I adore this story as you know and this totally didn’t disappoint!

Smoke Eater - Part 7

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

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

🔥Series Masterlist

AN: So I don't know why it takes me exactly seven chapters to get to the smut, but so far that's three different series where that's happened. 😂 (Never Say Goodbye, Break Me Down, and now Smoke Eater. Go figure! 🤷🏽‍♀️)

Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! For smutty smut and baking shenanigans, tinge of angst.

Part 7: “Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle”

You liked Dean’s apartment. It was on the second floor out of three, and a modest, clean, comfortable space.

Though overall it felt very “dude bro” in décor. You supposed that made sense, considering it was just Sam and Dean living here.

And while you still hadn’t met Sam (he was working late tonight), it gave you a chance to do something you’d been very much looking forward to doing with Dean…

“Not for nothin’, this is probably one in three of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth,” said Dean.

True to his word, his mouth was full. You giggled as a flake of pasta spewed from his mouth.

“Oh really? Makes me curious about the other two,” you said mischievously. And you handed him a napkin to blot his face.

You sat across from him in the small dining room adjacent to the kitchen. The table itself was barely big enough to fit in the space, feeling more like a nook than a room, but it sat three people. That was usually enough for Sam and Dean, and occasionally Eileen when she came over.

Dean chuckled, his brows dancing. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out.”

Your face warmed at that, despite your amusement. You had made dinner, for which Dean had been more than enthusiastic.

“You mean I get an actual chef making me food? Sign me the hell up,” he’d teased.

Never mind that you weren’t an actual chef. You had focused on patisserie in culinary school. He didn’t seem to mind though, as he’d devoured two servings of salmon and fettucine alfredo, even down to the steamed broccoli. You had to admit, it warmed you inside to see him enjoy your food.

You’d promised to cook for him last week, and he hadn’t let it go until both your schedules opened up enough for you to come over.

He now hummed in satisfaction as he finished off the last bite on his plate and wiped his mouth with the napkin.

“Thanks for this, sweetheart. I needa have you around here more often,” he said, tossing you a grin.

You smiled back. “It’s my pleasure.”

It wasn’t the first time Dean had invited you over to his apartment, but for the life of you, you didn’t know why it had taken you so long to accept.

…Well, okay, you did know why. You were reluctant to leave your grandfather alone, potentially all night. But George had been adamant about you going out for as long as you wanted, on the promise that he’d check in every few hours until he went to bed.

“Okay, ready for dessert?” you asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said. He still thought about those cookies you brought to the firehouse, almost a month ago already.

Damn, has it really been that long? he thought as he helped you collect the dishes from dinner. He followed you into the kitchen, where you already knew the lay of his land.

Sam couldn’t cook for shit, so it usually fell on Dean to be the figure of culinary expertise. But he had no problem making way for you, especially if you were going to look over your shoulder and wink at him like that.

“Good, because you’re going to help me,” you informed him.

Dean’s smile grew. “All right…what did you have in mind?”

While he started on the dishes in the sink, you hauled out even more ingredients from a big grocery bag you’d brought and stored in the refrigerator. He watched you out of the corner of his eye and spotted lemons, among other things.

“Lemon drizzle cake,” you replied. “One of my grandma’s recipes. I just need a mixing bowl and a cake tin.”

“Good, because we’re not very Betty Crocker in this place. Let’s just say my kitchen tools are limited,” he said, raising a brow at you. “You know, if you wanted to bake, I’m sure you’ve got all the proper bells and whistles at your house. We could’ve done this over there.”

You paused to consider the question he wasn’t quite asking, because he had a point. You could’ve invited him over your house instead. You joined him near the sink and leaned against the counter, tapping your nails on the tile surface.

“Well, as you know, I live with my grandpa,” you said.

“Good ol’ George,” Dean grinned. “That guy’s hilarious. Like the fourth Stooge.”

He particularly liked the story you’d told him about the time George had bought you your first makeup palette when you turned fifteen, but hadn’t told you it was face paint…the kind that clowns used.

“And I’d love for you two to get to know each other better. Don’t get me wrong. But barring the fact that we probably wouldn’t have much…privacy,” you pointed out with a subtle smile, trying to ignore Dean’s resulting smirk. Never mind that you two hadn’t needed “privacy” just yet.

“I guess I’m just not used to inviting people over. I’ve been trying to limit the exposure to germs in the house,” you admitted. At Dean’s quizzical look, you had to explain.

“My grandfather had cancer last year,” you said. “He had surgery to remove the mass, and did well, considering his age. He’s in remission now…but I’m still looking after him.”

You’d gone with him to see his primary doctor a couple of weeks ago for that persistent cough. While the doctor seemed to think it was George’s asthma acting up, you’d still scheduled an appointment with his oncologist.

And while your thoughts led you down an all-too familiar path, Dean processed this with a nod of his head. He shut off the sink. After drying his hands, he looked over at you and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“I’m glad he’s doing better now,” he said. His brows furrowed. “And your grandma passed just a few years before that?”

You nodded, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s been a long few years.”

So, Dean took an inventory in his mind as he rested a comforting hand on your back. You took care of your family. You could cook. You were beautiful. And still, you kicked ass at your job and seemed to have the rest of your shit together.

He had to admit. The more he learned about you, the more he liked you.

“Anyway,” you shook your head with a smile. “Sorry. Ready to bake?”

Dean’s lips quirked as he followed you to the other side of the kitchen. He stepped behind you and letting his hands fall to your waist. His lips skimmed the side of your head, pressing a kiss there.

“Okay, Rachael Ray,” he teased. “Teach me your ways.”

You were trying to measure out some sugar in the bowl first, but you giggled with a warm blush as he kissed his way down your neck.

“Are you actually going to help, or are you just going to distract me?” you volleyed back.

Dean hummed against the crook of your neck. “Can’t I do both?”

You picked up and egg and raised it level with his face.

“Hmm, should I try cracking this against your forehead?” you pondered.

His teeth playfully nipped your skin in retaliation, making you flinch with a yelp. The egg actually cracked in your hand.

“Shit,” you laughed, and you quickly dropped as much of it in the bowl as possible. But getting fractals of the shell in the bowl disturbed your anal sense of meticulousness. When it came to cracking eggs, you typically had nothing if not precision.

You shot Dean an accusatory look over your shoulder. He just grinned back at you.

“Am I helping yet?” he joked.

You chuckled dryly in response. “Just you wait.”

A few more minutes and “helpful” distractions from Dean later, you successfully had a cake batter in the bowl. You were hand mixing up a storm and sorely missing your Kitchen Aid mixer. Dean was right though; his cupboards had little more than one cake pan, one mixing bowl, and one wooden spoon.

At home, you had a modest collection of cookware and bakeware that rivaled Williams & Sonoma. Though that had been a gift from your grandparents, when you graduated from culinary school. (Your grandma had picked them out before she passed.)

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you asked Dean. You were pretending not to catch him sampling the batter with a finger while you buttered the cake tin.

“Ever?” he asked, rubbing a licked finger on his jeans.

“Yeah. Number one top favorite.”

“Hmm,” he contemplated with a cross of his arms. “Pie, I guess.”

You smirked. That explained his little man-child display a few weeks ago, when you’d tried to share his blueberry pie on your second date.

“What flavor?” you asked.

“I dunno. I’m not real picky,” he said.

“Come on. Everyone has a favorite flavor,” you reasoned. “I’m more of a cake girl myself, but even I love a blueberry pie.”

Dean eyed your teasing grin with a growing smirk of his own. He remembered that day in your office just as well as you.

“Okay, fine. Apple, I guess,” he replied. You gave him a mocking look.

“Really, the most basic of them all?” You tsked at him, shaking your head. “What happened to Mr. Rocky Road?”

Dean chuckled, but he leaned against the counter next to you. Instead of giving it to you right back, as usual, he looked more thoughtful. A gentler look grew on his face. It caught your attention.

“You know, one of my earliest memories…” He looked up at you then, more self-deprecating.

You realized he was about to admit to something, maybe embarrassing, or maybe just vulnerable. Your smile softened too as you paused in what you were doing.

“You can’t leave me hanging on that one,” you said. And you drew closer with a hand soothing up his arm.

He glanced over at you. “I remember being…four, probably. My mom made pies during Christmastime. Cherry, pecan, whatever. But my favorite was her apple pie. I still remember it, because I haven’t had a pie since that tasted like that one.”

Your heart clenched, but your insides also warmed. Not just at the story of his mother, but the way Dean told it, his voice softer, steady, and deep. It told you a lot about him without him having to explain; just like you, he knew what loss was.

You curled your hands around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Then your gaze drew back up to his.

“Have you talked to your dad since the last time?” you asked, a bit cautiously. “About his investigation of the fire?”

Dean sighed deep through his nose. “No.”

But despite his father’s warning, he had spoken to Sam.

“It’s different this time, Sam. The brand marks are the same,” Dean argued with his brother, this time in the living room. He sat on the couch while Sam stood, trying to process everything Dean had just told him about Mary’s potential murder.

“You saw the pictures yourself?” Sam asked.

Dean frowned. “No, but Dad—”

“Dean,” Sam cut him off as he gripped at his temples in frustration. “This is what he does. He sees evidence where he wants to see evidence. I’ve been down this road with him too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean gritted out. John had roped Sam into helping him a few times, using his ADA status to look into different leads that ultimately hadn’t panned out.

“They always look like connections to him, but they never end up being anything more than his obsession,” Sam said.

He was firm, and Dean understood why, but his gut was telling him that it was different this time…

Still, he had no choice but to let it go. For now.

Dean shook his head of that memory. Instead, he tried to focus on being here with you. He liked this little yellow sundress you had on, despite the fall chill starting to set in outside. As usual, your hair was clipped up away from your neck while you got ready to put the now full cake tin into the oven.

He came over behind you and freed your hair from the clip, letting it all tumble down. You yelped and glanced over at him.

“Dean,” you chided, even though you were smiling. “My hair’s going to get in the batter.”

“I’ll keep it away, don’t worry,” he said lightly. He curled some of your hair around his hand so he could once again press a tantalizing kiss to the back of your neck. He felt you shiver.

You subtly leaned back against him, even as you whined in protest.

“Can you just let me get this in the oven?” you asked on a laugh. He smirked against your skin. You did manage to get the cake in the oven, but his lips and teasing hands were unrelenting as you tried to start cleaning up.

So you felt you had to take matters into your own hands. A mischievous idea had you smiling. You reached out for some flour that had spilled on the counter.

You turned, and before he realized what you were up to, you marked his forehead with an arch of white against his skin.

“Simba,” you said in a deeper voice, trying to mimic Mufasa from The Lion King.

Dean’s brows rose along with his widening eyes. He’d never seen you do something that childish, but it sparked his competitiveness as he blinked a bit of flour out of his eyes.

“You’re real proud of yourself, aren’t you?” he asked.

Your little smirk was answer enough. You flicked a bit more flour onto his shirt.

Dean chuckled darkly. “Okay, you asked for it.”

Both a gasp and a giggle caught in your throat.

“Oh, no.”

He reached past you for some flour off the counter and flicked it down at you, into your hair, across your face. He grabbed your flailing wrist and marked your cheeks. All the while, his grin grew ever deeper at your shrieking protests.

But you grew devious. You stuck two fingers into the bowl and scraped out a gob of raw, yellow batter. You were fully prepared to fling it into his face, but Dean grabbed your wrist.

“Ey, ey!” he raised a warning finger with his free hand. “You’re about to take this to a new level.”

You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. “So?”

Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.

He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.

Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.

He soon released you with a soft pop, before he did the same to the second finger.

Your breath hitched, and your blush was a living thing spreading down your neck, even as warmth pooled between your legs. By the time your second finger slid out of his mouth, you had to reach back to grip the counter just to steady yourself.

His arm slipped around your waist, and you reached for his face with both hands, bringing him down for the hottest kiss you’d ever had in your life. Teeth clicking, lips and tongues warring and devouring. Your fingers slipped roughly through his hair, while he gripped your hips and ass with a passion just shy of bruising.

You almost didn’t register the way his hands slipped under your thighs, to then heft you up onto the counter. You gasped into his mouth and clung tightly to his shoulders. He chuckled and positioned himself to stand between your legs.

“What, need a little warning?” he teased. Though he was breathless as your soft lips veered away from his, starting a burning path across his jaw and down his neck. You left the remnants of your lipstick all along the way, but it was the occasional graze of your teeth that had him moaning for you.

“Maybe,” you whispered coarsely against his skin, uttering a small laugh, “Sometimes I forget how damn strong you are.”

He scoffed. “Sweetheart, if I can heft a grown man on my shoulders up a flight of stairs, I can get you up on a little counter.”

You snorted in response. Perks of dating a firefighter.

And you shoved off his plaid shirt from his shoulders. Dean helped you by letting it drop the rest of the way to the floor, followed by his black undershirt.

You couldn’t believe this was the first time you were seeing him with his shirt off. It was a damn shame, really. But you caught the bit of smugness curving his lips at the way you were ogling, first with your eyes, then with your exploring hands over his toned arms and chest, and the solid plane of his abs, all the way down to his belt. You started undoing the clasp.

Dean couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he stopped you with his hands gently curling around your wrists. You looked up at him in confusion. To him, you looked unbelievably sexy then. Thoroughly kissed, hair tousled, a strap of your dress fallen to one shoulder while your lacey black bra peeked through.

Just the memory of having your curves in his hands had his dick hardening in his jeans, but he blew out a breath.

“Dean?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

His hands tightened on yours as he peered down at you. “Are you sure?”

You blinked incredulously. “Did I look not sure?”

He paused, licking his lips. He raised a hand to hold your cheek.

“I just…you know I’m trying to do this right with you,” he said. “I just want to know…”

He couldn’t seem to finish what he was trying to say, but you thought you understood. You smiled up at him warmly. You leaned up for a kiss, softer this time.

“Dean, I trust you,” you said. And you could finally say it with no reservations. “I think this feels real. More real than anything I’ve had in a long time… What about you?”

When Dean smiled, it was warm, melting away the doubt in his eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” he said.

He seemed sincere. Maybe this man spared few words when it came to how he felt, but you’d seen a glimpse of the deeper parts. He felt things deeply, down to his bones.

His fingers sunk into your hair, and he guided you into a kiss. It was slower, but no less heady and wanting than the first. Your arms wrapped around his middle, letting you flatten your palms against the muscles in his back. But just as you were getting comfortable, Dean broke the kiss. He flashed you a smirk.

Before you could ask what the hell he was about to do, he’d hefted you back into his arms and over his shoulder. You squawked in protest as your whole world tipped over. Your face thudded on his back with a soft oof, your hair loose and falling like a curtain. Your hands accidentally fell against his ass.

“Ooh, someone’s handsy,” Dean teased.

“Dean!” you exclaimed, despite your peals of laughter. “Is this really necessary? I think I can find your room just fine.”

“Call it an officer’s escort,” he supplied.

“That’s for policemen!” you argued.

You couldn’t see it, but you could imagine the way he was grinning from ear to ear as he carried you through the apartment. You never noticed just how long his bowed legs were as he strode onward. But it felt like his shoulder was digging into your appendix.

Grunting in frustration, you slapped his ass again for good measure.

Dean laughed. “Hey, you’re only fueling my fire, baby.”

He slapped your ass right back, since he had an even better vantage point. He even slipped a hand underneath your little sundress and squeezed the inside of your thigh teasingly.

Your answering yelp, and the futile kick of your feet, had him laughing harder. His cheeks were aching.

Finally he reached his room, where he shut the door with his foot. He was gentle as he eased you off his shoulder and laid you down on his bed. You let out a breathless huff once your head hit the pillows. Your face was all red from being suspended upside-down, your hair a mess, and your dress pooling over your folded legs.

You gave Dean a playful glare. “Get over here.”

His smirk deepened, but he obliged you. He chucked his shoes off first, just like you let your sandals slip off the side of the bed.

He soon made his way up the bed, until he was hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head. He liked the way you were all laid out for him over his sheets, your wild hair spread over his pillows. He’d pictured something like this before, but nothing came close to having you for real.

He just didn’t know you’d been dreaming of the same thing.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to truly fall for someone, not in a long time. You’d been too focused on pivoting after school, on building your career, on taking care of your family. You’d dated here and there, but nothing had stuck for more than a few months. Even then, you’d never felt half of what you felt right now.

It scared you a little, but it also made you feel alive. Being with Dean made you feel that way.

So you took his face between your hands. His stubble rasped against your palms and the pads of your fingers. You didn’t mind that though. He’d left it a bit long for a shave last week. When you’d mentioned off-hand that you liked the thicker scruff (thinking it made him all the more handsome), he’d kept it for you.

Now, he seemed like he was waiting on your cue.

You guided him down to you. He kissed you hot and slow, while a hand moved to your waist and clenched in the material of your dress. He slipped a heavy thigh between both of yours. The pressure was welcome, but you wanted friction.

You bunched up the skirt of your dress and aimed to slip it off, but Dean stopped your hands.

“That’s my job,” he teased.

“Then how about you get to it?” you countered with a smile. He rose a brow at you.

“A bit bossy, but I can dig that,” he smirked.

His kisses dropped against your neck, down your exposed neckline, and he peeled down the straps of your dress one by one. Your breathing became more labored as he touched you, squeezing a breast over the bra as he exposed more inches of your body.

Your fingers carded through his hair on a sigh as he made his way further down. Though he finally got impatient enough to work your dress off all the way, followed by his jeans and your bra and matching lacey panties. He lavished attention what felt like all over your body.

Really, he was just strategic. He stopped in places where you lost breath, moaning his name. Like the spot just under your ear, where he sucked hard enough to make you see stars. Or over your breasts, taking a pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling with his tongue like he had the cake batter off your fingers.

His hands mapped out the soft planes and curves of your body for the first time, sometimes smooth and grazing, sometimes adding pressure that made warmth continue to pool between your legs.

He went further still, wrapping an arm around your thigh and pressing nipping kisses along the inside. All the while his mouth drew closer to the place you wanted him the most. Even though you still raised up on your elbow and gave him a questioning look.

“Really? You want to…” Your voice came out in a whisper.

Dean looked up at you with puzzled brows. “Why not?”

You shook your head, your eyes widening marginally.

“No reason, I guess. I, um…I’ve never had someone do this for me first.” And certainly not on the first time having sex.

Dean frowned.

“Really?” he asked. “A guy’s never gone down on you first?”

You blushed. “Well, maybe with his fingers, but not…”

He shook his head and let out a breath. You felt it between your thighs, and your core clenched in anticipation.

“Okay, baby. I gotcha,” he said. He guided you back down with a gentle hand. “Just lie back and relax.”

You smiled, despite your lingering blush, and you stroked the hand that rested above your stomach. That hand soon slid down as he once again kissed and licked down your thighs. They quivered a bit as his fingers slipped between your folds.

“So fucking wet for me already,” he said in approval. You peered down at him, unable to help a smile.

“You want a medal?” you quipped.

Dean’s brows rose.

“Oh, I’m about to earn it.” His eyes found yours. “You know what my real favorite pie flavor is?”

Your brows knitted together. “What?”

A familiar smirk crossed his lips. “Cherry.”

Before your choked surprise could be broken with a laugh, he began.

And he wasn’t lying, about any of it. The pads of his fingers began toying with your clit, and that alone had your breath hitching and your hips squirming.

He held you down with one hand on your lower belly while his tongue joined his fingers, seeking your heat and finding the hot channel where you craved to be filled. You gasped.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. Once his warm tongue began rolling inside you, you almost couldn’t breathe.

He worked you over with fingers, lips and tongue until you were arching off the bed, fists clenched in his hair and in the sheets, releasing broken gasps of his name. He didn’t relent until your thighs stopped shaking around his head. Your knees were damn near pinning him there.

He eventually withdrew, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He moved smoothly back up your body and heeded the pull of your hands on his arms, and then his face. You tugged him down for a sloppy kiss.

“How’s that for a first?” he asked breathlessly. His tone was teasing, but he was half-serious you thought, by the look in his eyes.

You were honest, without a hint of a joke. “Fucking incredible. Just like you.”

Dean wouldn’t admit it then, but what you said warmed him. He looked down on you with a smile.

Your hands caressed his face, down his neck and firm chest, and further still to caress his straining length over his boxer briefs. Dean let out a halting moan at your gentle touch.

“What if I want to return the favor?” you asked with a smile. He made a sound deep in his throat when you cupped him more firmly, letting your thumb brush over the head.

Well hello, you thought. He was thick, and a bit longer than your first thought. Your already sensitive core tightened at the thought.

Meanwhile, Dean squeezed your arm. His hot gaze bore into yours.

“Very, very tempting.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “I’ve no doubt you’ve got some talents yourself.”

You smiled under the pad of his thumb. Part of you was contemplating some retribution, sucking it into your mouth the way he’d done to your fingers in the kitchen.

“But I’m thinkin’ I want to skip to the part where I have you coming apart all over again,” said Dean. His head bowed near your ear, though his lips skimmed the side of your face. “This time, from the inside.”

His voice was deep and threaded with grit. You bit your lip on a giddy laugh. You managed to nod, sweeping your shaky fingers through his hair.

“Okay, next time then,” you promised and gave him a sensuous kiss. “But first, just want to make sure you’re ready for me…”

You leaned down to slide his underwear for him, down to his knees. He helped you the rest of the way, kicking them off his legs. When he came back, you were sitting up.

You soothed warm hands along his thighs and took his cock into your hands. Dean dropped his forehead onto your shoulder with a grunt, again squeezing your arms as you touched him properly for the first time.

Dean had a habit of impressing you, and this was no different. You liked the feel of him in your hands, warm and thick and heavy.

After licking your hand to coat it with some wetness, you experimented for a moment in how you stroked him, trying to get a feel for what he liked just as he had for you. He gasped and jolted on one particular twist, and he finally stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

“Okay, baby. Keep that up and we’re not gonna get much farther for a while,” he said coarsely.

It was satisfying to know you’d made him feel even a fraction of how he’d made you feel.

You pressed a purposeful kiss into his neck. “I told you, next time I’ll take care of you for real.”

He chuckled, cupping the side of your face.

“Oh, you’re about to. Believe me,” he said.

He kissed you long and deep, until you were once again breathless. The two of you were kneeling in the middle of the bed like you had all the time in the world. And yet, you wanted him more than ever.

“I’m on birth control,” you told him between more fervent kisses, hands drifting, feeling skin to warm, dewy skin, breaths mingling.

“And I’m clean,” he said. You nodded, hesitating…

“It’s our first time,” you said. “Condom, just to be safe.”

He hesitated only a beat before he nodded back, agreeing to your request. “Yes, ma’am.”

He broke from you briefly. He turned and dug into his nightstand while your nails drew light patterns down his back. It was distracting in the best of ways. A trill of excitement had his hands moving quickly, ripping the foil packet open and fitting himself with the condom.

When he was ready for you, he turned and hooked an arm around your waist. You twined your arms around his neck, and once again, you let him lay you down. His kiss came first, and then his fingers between your legs, past your folds to stroke you back to life.

You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your legs around his hips. Though he surprised you again by hooking your legs over his shoulders. Your brows raised at him, and he shot you a wink.

“Trust me, you’ll like it this way,” he said.

You did trust him. Your hands caressed down his neck, down his chest, and you subtly urged him with your heels on his back, encouraging him where you both knew he needed to be.

And with one slow push, his cock was stretching your inner walls with slow, delicious friction. You both groaned at the feeling. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand trembled slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. And he began moving inside you in steady strokes.

Dean was putting his all into this tonight. He thought your promises to take care of him next time were as endearing as they were sexy as hell. Even now, you were touching him wherever you could reach, occasionally moaning his name in his ear, encouraging him with every thrust inside you.

Fuck, he was right, you thought. He was reaching places deep inside you, filling you to the very brim. And you were already on the edge of pleasure, brows furrowed, biting your lower lip so hard that your teeth nearly broke the skin…

Your fingers slipped down between you to further part your folds and rub your already sensitive clit. Dean caught the hint and moved your hand to do it himself, as in time with his thrusts as he could. Finally, you unraveled for the second time that night. Your gasp gave way to a moan.

Your tightening walls gripped him like a vice. His release hit him with the same force, choking a near shout out of him. His hand was a bit too tight in your hair, he realized, so he forced himself to ease up.

He petted over your hair instead as he came down with ragged breaths. After he released your shaky legs back to the bed, he leaned mostly on his elbow and thigh instead of sinking all his weight onto you.

You appreciated that. You soothed up and down his back while you panted for breath.

“Wow,” you managed to say.

Dean’s chuckle took him by surprise too.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He turned his head to press a sloppy kiss where your neck met your shoulder.

Just then, a distant-sounding jingle reached your ears. It was familiar…and you remembered it was the alarm on your phone, which was probably in the kitchen.

“Oh shit,” you gasped. “The cake’s still in the oven.”

He blinked. “Well, I don’t smell burning, so we’re good.”

“Dean! You’re a firefighter, remember?” you laughed, but you still tapped his shoulder so he’d roll over. Reluctantly he did, but he still took you with him, even after he’d slid out of you.

You yelped and clung to his shoulders to balance yourself. “I gotta get the cake!”

“Five more minutes,” he grumbled into your neck. He also liked the way your breasts were pressed against his chest.

“It’s going to be so…damn…burnt!” You punctuated each of those syllables with a playful smack on his arm, until he finally released you with a lazy smirk.

You shook your head and huffed in amusement. Sliding out of bed, you searched around your dress. The first thing you found was his discarded undershirt. You slipped it on real quick and cautiously padded out of Dean’s room. You didn’t know if Sam was back from work, but this was not how you wanted to meet him.

The halls were quiet, so you didn’t think he was home yet. You managed to get to the kitchen unscathed, where you turned off your timer and grabbed some oven mitts. You opened the oven and pulled out the cake, setting it down on the counter. Your eyes narrowed at the almost perfect dome on top.

“What’s the verdict, Chef Ramsay?”

Dean leaned in the doorway, dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else. The view was delectable, but you sighed and gestured at the cake with a shake of your head.

“It’s burnt.”

“What? No, it’s not,” he refuted. He joined your side and stared down at the top of the cake, which was half browned. “Looks all right to me.”

“Trust me, it’s going to be dry,” you said, “even with the lemon drizzle on it.”

It was the perfectionist in you that smarted with disappointment. You didn’t want to serve anyone something you weren’t proud of, especially Dean. But he just leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “I’m still gonna eat the crap out of it.”

You glanced at him, unable to help a small smile. He grinned back.

“Anyway, I think it was worth it. Don’t you?” Dean said. He pulled you in towards him by your waist, and you went willingly, resting your hands against his bare chest. You let your nails drag against his skin a little as you contemplated.

You looked up at him with a grin of your own.

“Yeah. Definitely worth it.”

Dean later sat with you again at the table, this time with your chairs closer together as you each ate large slices of delicious cake (even if it was a bit dry). Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the copious number of dishes still left in the sink and the flour and batter sprinkled across the counter.

He knew Sam was going to have a conniption when he got home (in the morning at this rate). He was probably crashing at Eileen’s apartment tonight.

Good, Dean thought. That meant he’d have the place all to himself, with you.

“You know, I just realized something,” he said.

You knew that look in his eyes. He was about to say something smartass.

“What’s that?” you asked. He reached out and thumbed at your chin.

“I just got my dessert twice in one sitting,” he remarked. “That’s pretty damn good, if you ask me.”

You snorted in laughter. You also blushed, but you were unable to stop smiling either.

You set down your fork and eased back from the table. Your hand on Dean’s shoulder encouraged him to do the same, so you could sit across his lap. He welcomed you with a warm hand on your bare thigh. Already it was creeping under the shirt you borrowed.

You stroked his cheek with the back of your hand and gave him a mischievous smile.

“Think you could handle another serving?”

AN: 🫣 Was it everything you wanted it to be? lol I love me some baking innuendo. What did you like more: eating the cherry pie or making the lemon drizzle? 😏❤️‍🔥

In Part 8, Dean's past comes a knockin'...

Next Time:

While you were getting dressed, a phone buzzed on one of the nightstands beside the bed. It was Dean’s phone.

You went over to it curiously as you fixed the straps of your dress. The screen showed a missed text message from last night, around 10:00 p.m., and another one this morning. You read the latest one with a sinking feeling in your chest.

From Marissa: Surprised I didn’t hear back from you last night. The offer still stands. 😘

Keep Reading: PART 8

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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#fic rec #dean Winchester x reader #firefighter dean winchester x reader

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

Text

Aaand I’m all caught up 😁 (finally! Again, sorry for the delay)

I just wanted to give Dean a big hug at the beginning of this. Poor boys like a puppy that’s been kicked and after what sounds like a hell of a fire, he’s really not in a good place! But then Bobbys praise was just so sweet and I can totally see in my mind his little face lighting up with the praise that’s so well deserved but rarely given to him. I love it.

But oh god, at least the reader has a very good reason for the no contact. And deans response to Bobby had me all teary 🥹 “Of course. Whatever she needs. Anything. Everything. Always.” This is the Dean I love. My favourite dean.

The scene where she’s gone to her father and he apologised. God. I don’t even know what to think. I’m glad he remembered and I’m glad he actually regretted it and apologised but it’s a lot too little, way too late. I thought the reader was amazing and shows how far she’s come since the start of this story.

But oh dean 🥹 turning up to the funeral and being there for the reader completely and utterly and making sure she has other support if she needs it. Honestly this man might just be god damn perfect. I look forward to seeing where they go next now this weight has been lifted.

Amazing update and as always, I can’t wait for the next chapter! Great job!

The One That Got Away - Chapter Thirteen

Warnings: tw: child abuse, tw: physical abuse, tw: mentions of fire, tw: minor character death, tw: funeral, insecurities, self-doubt, a little fluff.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: There are TRIGGER WARNINGS in this part - please heed these, and if you think you’ll be affected by any of them, please do not read.

You can catch up here!

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The fire in the abandoned warehouse had kept Dean and his crew out all night, only finally getting it under control as the sun broke out over the horizon. Arriving back at the firehouse, weary and covered in soot and sweat, Dean felt his insecurities take hold again.

“Captain, a word?” Bobby grumbled.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean replied, trying to keep his exhaustion out of his tone. “I’ll hang my gear up and be right in.”

Knocking on the door, Dean leaned against its frame and waited for permission to enter the Chief’s office. He couldn’t have stood up straight if he wanted to. His muscles were screaming at him from battling the warehouse inferno.

“Come in, and close the door behind you,” Bobby grunted, looking as tired as Dean felt.

“What’s up, Chief?” Dean said as he sat across the desk from his boss and mentor.

“Good job at the warehouse, Dean. You and your team did great tonight.” Bobby’s words of praise were scarce. His actions usually spoke louder than he did, so he meant it whenever he voiced how good of a job had been done.

“Thank you. I’ll pass that on to the crew. They’ll appreciate hearing that.”

“I also wanted to say that the paperwork can wait a while. The relief crew will have a lot of work to do to make the structure safe or have it condemned. It’s likely to roll into the next shift, so go home, eat, sleep, and come in tomorrow at some point and file your initial report,” Bobby said.

“Thanks, Chief. I’ll check in with everyone and make sure they’re good. A few bumps and scrapes happened in there, and I wanna make sure no one needs medical attention.”

“You’re a great captain, Dean, and it won’t be long until you’re sitting in this chair,” Bobby nodded his head to gesture at the seat he was sitting on. “And you’ll have my full backing.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Dean shifted forward in his seat and sighed. “I hate to ask, but I haven’t heard from Y/N since we had our date the other night. Is she okay?”

The second the words were out of his mouth, and he saw Bobby’s face pale, he knew his insecurities were correct. He knew his second chance with her was over. He could feel it. She’d gone back to Chicago.

“She didn’t tell you?” Bobby’s voice was much softer than Dean had ever heard it before.

“Tell me what?” Dean asked, trying to stay calm and not let his emotions show.

“Danny passed away the night before last,” Bobby said solemnly.

Dean felt like the worst person in the world, questioning why she hadn’t called or contacted him when she was dealing with who knows what.

“She got a call from the hospice not long after you dropped her home. She went straight there and stayed with him until he died. I’m sorry, Dean. I thought you knew.”

“No, I had no idea,” Dean ran a hand down his face and huffed out a sigh. “How is she?” Before Bobby could answer, Dean’s phone chimed, and he pulled it from his pocket. “It’s Y/N.”

Y/N Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t reply sooner. My father passed away and I’ve been getting things arranged. I’ll call you in a couple of days when things calm down a little xx

Dean Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do or anything you need, call me xx

“You’ll be there for her, won’t you, son?” Bobby asked, and Dean didn’t hesitate with his answer.

“Of course. Whatever she needs. Anything. Everything. Always.”

“Thank you. You were always her go-to person. She always relied on you and trusted you. I doubt that’s changed, and I’m worried she’ll take it harder than we think,” Bobby cleared his throat to rid himself of the building emotion.

“Now go home, Captain. Get some rest and check in on our girl.

The call from the hospice came almost immediately after Y/N had read the goodnight text from Dean. She’d rushed straight there when they told her father wouldn’t last the night.

When she arrived, Y/N was ushered straight to his room, and as she saw her father for the first time in twelve years, she felt sorry for him. He was a shadow of the man she knew back then, looking years older than he was and much frailer than she could’ve ever imagined.

“Y/N?” her father’s hoarse voice made her heart stop, but she fought with everything she had not to flinch or show him any fear. She’d shown enough weakness to this man and would be damned if the last thing he saw was her fear.

He holds no power over you. Not anymore. Repeated over and over in her head like a mantra. When she believed it, she took a deep breath and stepped further into the room.

“I’m so sorry, pumpkin,” her father said, holding his hand out. “For everything.”

Y/N sat in the chair next to the bed and took his hand. She didn’t want to speak to him, so she remained silent. She knew she’d never forgive herself for letting her father die without a small piece of comfort. Even if he was a monster, no one deserved to die alone.

It was the same reason she’d come at all. She knew the guilt would haunt her for the rest of her life if she hadn’t been there and at least tried to get the closure she needed.

Neither spoke and as her father took his last shaky breath, Y/N silently accepted his apology and cried tears of relief that it was finally over. She could forget all about him and move on with her life.

“Y/N?” Bobby’s concerned voice answered her late-night call.

“He’s gone.”

The next few days went past in a blur. Y/N had organised the funeral, not bothering to pass around the details, knowing no one but she would attend. She’d also hired a company to clear out his house and lawyers to deal with everything else. It’d be a cold day in Hell before she’d step foot on the street she grew up on, never mind the house.

Once the lawyers had checked the house for paperwork and anything of value, the clearing company was instructed to get rid of everything. She’d already taken some of her mom’s jewellery when she left for Chicago; it was all she’d wanted, and that wouldn’t change now, so why trawl through it all?

Standing alone at the freshly dug grave, Y/N listened to the birds singing more than the minister's prayer. She’d lost any faith in a god when her father broke her arm for the third time.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“Dean. Hey,” Y/N couldn’t hide her shock that he knew the date of the funeral, let alone came. “What are you doing here?”

“You have no idea what I had to do to find out when and where this was!” he chuckled softly. “I’m here for you and only you, Princess. Not him. We all are,” Dean said as he held his hand out for her to take if she wanted to. She did, weaving her fingers through his.

“We?” she asked as she squeezed his hand gently. Dean tilted his head to the side, indicating she should look behind her.

Turning, Y/N saw Bobby, Jody, John, and Mary hanging back by the trees. “You didn’t need to come,” Y/N smiled softly at the group before turning to face forwards again.

“We came for you,” Dean reiterated.

“I’m here for me, too. I wasn’t going to, but you know, closure.”

“How are you holding up?” Dean asked, his eyes on the dirt being thrown into the grave.

“Am I a terrible person if I say I’m good?”

“No.” Dean’s answer was instant. “I think it’s completely understandable. That man put you through hell, and now he’s gone. You can rest easy now, sweetheart.”

“He apologised,” Y/N said, and Dean stayed silent. He knew her, knew she wasn’t finished and was replaying the memory again before voicing it aloud.

“His last words, just as I got to him, were, ‘I’m so sorry, pumpkin. For everything.’ I wasn’t expecting it, and I didn’t expect to feel so much relief at hearing him say it, you know? It’s like the final validation that it wasn’t my fault.”

“C’mere,” Dean whispered, pulling her into a desperately needed and comforting hug.

Dean kissed her forehead as he pulled back slightly and smiled softly. “Are you ready to go, or do you need some time?”

“No, I think I’m good.” Y/N sighed deeply and turned her back on her parent’s graves, possibly, she thought, for the last time.

Her mom’s grave was a place Y/N went to a lot when she was a kid when she missed her mom or needed to get out of the house. Whenever she visited, she’d tell her everything about her life and what was going on, but she knew that now her father was resting next to her, it wouldn’t bring her the same kind of peace it once had.

Dean followed her home and insisted he stay with her for a few hours. She’d probably never admit it, but she was grateful for that. There were a lot of emotions swirling around her and wanting to be felt, and she didn’t know what was up and what was down with it all.

They ordered pizza and drank some beers, and Dean listened when she wanted to talk and stayed silent when she withdrew into her thoughts. He stayed close enough to place a comforting hand on her thigh or on her shoulder or take her hand, but not close enough that he smothered her.

Dean made sure she was okay before leaving her apartment later that night. If he was honest, he only left her because they both had early shifts the next day, and she insisted she was fine. He promised to call her in a few days to arrange their next date and made her promise to call him if she needed him, and reluctantly went home.

Y/N went back to work the day after the funeral, not feeling the need to take any more time off than necessary. She certainly wasn’t grieving, so there really wasn’t any point in taking bereavement leave from the hospital.

Everything felt surreal but in a good way. The last time she remembered sleeping so well was when she last slept in Dean’s arms. She felt lighter than ever, and the weight that used to lay heavily on her shoulders had lifted. It was strange to have become so used to the tension and the tightness in her body that she didn’t even know it was there. It felt like she’d lost 100 lbs, and it made her giddy.

When her shift was over, and she got her cell phone out of her locker, the number of texts waiting to be read filled her chest with warmth. And as Y/N read through all of her family and friends messages that were just checking in, she felt loved and cared for.

Coming home might have been the best decision she’d ever made.

Next Chapter >>

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#fic rec #dean Winchester x reader

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

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On a roll lol!

Eek I felt the nerves right with the reader with regards to their first date but oh man I can just imagine how adorable Dean looks when he answers the door. Then this line right here “Of course I did! I’d never forget my girl’s favourite flowers.” Adorable on its own but I am WEAK for when guys say “my girl”. I just can’t 🫠 I love it.

Oh and bless him his idea is so sweet for their second first date. Just pretty perfect. And I loved the little details of including things from their first first date.

It was interesting to get a bit more into their relationships between them breaking up and now. You’ve touched on it but I like details haha. “To jeopardise a happy life with a loving partner on a “what if” was bittersweetly romantic to Y/N.” I completely agree with this. It made my heart melt and I’m so glad they’re here now. But I also adore this line, because just yes! “That they truly were still in love with each other. They were made for each other, and nothing and no one could ever come between them.”

But oh no, I don’t like that ending! Has something happened? Maybe with her dad..? Eek. Need to read more…

Amazing chapter as always 💕

The One That Got Away - Chapter Twelve

Warnings: nerves, first date, fluff, angst, Dean’s insecurities raise their ugly head.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I didn’t have a beta for this, so all mistakes are mine.

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

Dean hadn’t told her what they were doing for their date, only to dress casually. As she was putting the finishing touches to her hair and makeup, there was a knock at her door, and she felt her nerves build. As she walked through the apartment, her heart beat wildly, and the nervous energy coursing through her made her feel like she’d take off at any second.

Stopping at the door, she grasped the handle and took a few deep, calming breaths, desperately trying to calm her racing heart and the butterflies swarming in her stomach.

Opening the door, the sight of Dean made Y/N’s knees go weak. She could tell he was just as nervous as she was by the way he was shuffling from foot to foot, and she couldn’t help but grin at how adorable he was.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” Dean swallowed nervously. “These are for you.” He held out a bouquet of her favourite flowers with a shy smile.

“You remembered?” Y/N asked in awe.

“Of course I did! I’d never forget my girl’s favourite flowers.” Dean blushed as soon as the words left him and looked down at his feet, and she swore her heart skipped a beat.

“They’re beautiful,” Y/N smiled bashfully and leaned forward, smelling the fragrant blooms. “Thank you, Dean. Come in while I put these in water.”

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Dean said as he followed her through the apartment. “It’s nice to see colour on the walls rather than the usual beige.”

Y/N frowned in confusion, wondering if he knew one of Jody’s previous occupants.

“I help Bobby get the place spruced up and ready for the next person. Despite what he says, he’s not as fit as he used to be!” Dean chuckled.

“If you value your life, don’t tell him that!” Y/N laughed.

“Oh, I’m smarter than that, Princess!” Dean’s amused smirk became much softer as he watched Y/N fill a vase with water and place it on the dining table. She carefully put them in the vase and leaned towards the blooms, inhaling their scent one last time.

“Alright, let’s go,” Y/N said as she walked towards him. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“That is a surprise, sweetheart,” Dean smirked.

“Dean,” she scowled at him.

“Y/N,” he grinned.

“I hate surprises!” she groaned and pouted.

“I know,” Dean smiled, “but I promise you’ll love this one.”

“Fine,” Y/N huffed as she locked the door and carelessly threw her keys into her purse.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Dean laughed at her overdramatic reaction.

“Neither have you. Still trying to piss me off at every turn. You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“I think I’m adorable!” Dean grinned boyishly, knowing by the glint in her eyes that she was messing with him.

“You’re insufferable, Winchester! This surprise date better be good, or there won’t be another one!” Y/N winked at him before turning and walking down the corridor towards the elevator.

He knew he shouldn’t; he was better than this, but he wasn’t, not really, and he couldn’t help it and let his eyes drop to her denim-clad ass and groaned quietly in appreciation as it swayed away from him.

“Get a grip, man!” Dean mumbled to himself before jogging to catch up to her.

Dean was the perfect gentleman, holding open doors for her and helping her slide comfortably into Baby’s worn leather seats. The drive out of town was familiar and comforting for Y/N. She recognised the road and landmarks through town. As the city turned to country, she recognised farmhouses and trees, grinning when she realised where Dean was taking her.

“Perry Lake, huh?” Y/N said as she glanced at Dean and giggled at his shocked lock.

“I didn’t think you’d remember this road,” he smirked.

“Come on, Dean, really? We must’ve come up here a hundred times when we were kids. Of course, I remember the road.”

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled, “we had some great times up here, and I thought parking Baby at our spot, having a picnic on her hood, and watching the sunset, might be a nice second first date,” he shrugged as if it was nothing, took her hand in his and raised it to his lips pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“Sounds romantic,” Y/N grinned at the sweet gesture. “You always did know how to sweep me off my feet!” she chuckled.

“I hope I still can!” Dean laughed. “I, uh, also thought it would be good to be somewhere quiet and private.”

“Do you think you’re gonna get lucky tonight or something?” Y/N's teasing tone made Dean laugh.

“That is not… no… I mean, I wouldn’t say no… I’d have to be crazy to do that. I mean, look at you, you’re gorgeous and sexy and perfect, but no, sweetheart, I’m not expecting that. I’d never expect that.”

“I know, Dean.” Y/N smiled at him fondly and settled back in Baby's front seat, content to ride out the rest of the journey in comfortable silence with Dean next to her, lost in her memories of Memorial Days, Independence Days, and Labor Days at the lake.

Dean’s picnic date was perfect. He’d picked up burgers and fries from the diner they’d had their first first date, along with two slices of pie and a six-pack of beer from the store. He placed a large woollen blanket over Baby’s hood to make them more comfortable and handed her a smaller blanket in case she got cold. They had some small talk about their day while they ate, and as they waited for the sun to set, the conversation turned to the only thing they hadn’t covered in the few weeks Dean had been recovering.

Relationships.

Y/N had already told him about Ross, the guy whose proposal she turned down, but he didn’t know much about Taylor. So, she told him how they met and how he’d snuck out on her after their first night together – even though it was his apartment.

They’d then met again in the same bar, with the same thing happening for a second time… a third… and a fourth. On the fifth, they’d come to an understanding with one another and started a friends with benefits arrangement that lasted for three years until she left Chicago.

In return, Dean told her about Lisa. They’d had a whirlwind romance the year after Y/N left for college that ended when Lisa moved to Kansas City. She came back years later with a son in tow whose age lined up with the time he and Lisa had been together. They hit it off again and started dating.

Dean told Y/N that he genuinely thought Ben was his son. He was heartbroken when he found out he wasn’t because he’d always wanted kids. But he was also relieved because when he thought of having kids, he always thought of Y/N being their mother.

Dean and Lisa went on to have a relationship for a year, even living together and him becoming a father figure to Ben. Then, Lisa started talking about getting married and having more kids, and Dean realised he couldn’t give her those things.

After that, Dean spoke to Lisa and explained that although he cared deeply about her and Ben, he’d never be able to give them more than what they had and that, through no fault of hers, she’d never have his heart, not when there was a chance, however small, that Y/N would come home.

To jeopardise a happy life with a loving partner on a “what if” was bittersweetly romantic to Y/N. Both had good people who loved them and wanted to marry them, but both had walked away from that, never knowing if they would ever be with who they really wanted to be with.

It made her glaringly aware that their feelings ran much deeper than even she knew. That they truly were still in love with each other. They were made for each other, and nothing and no one could ever come between them.

The icing on the cake for Y/N was when Dean dropped her back at her apartment and said goodnight with nothing more than his boyish smirk and a kiss on the cheek. For some reason, it meant the world to her that he’d started and ended their date as a gentleman. Not that Dean wasn’t usually a gentleman, it was just that after their history, and the few weeks of getting to know each other again, she expected he’d want more than a sweet kiss on the cheek.

Grinning like a lovesick teenager, Y/N moved around her apartment, getting ready for bed. Her phone chimed with an incoming message, and she knew Dean had safely made the drive back across town.

Dean I had a great time tonight. I can’t wait to do it again. Goodnight, Princess xx

Dean’s message had been left on read all night. He wasn’t worried at first, knowing Y/N had come off a night shift rotation just yesterday morning. He’d suggested they postpone for a few days, but she insisted they still went out last night.

As the day went on, he was glad he was working. Having a busy shift meant he wasn’t constantly checking his phone for a reply. But as the emergency calls eased into the evening and all the drills and housekeeping tasks had been completed, he found himself without distractions.

Secluding himself in his office under the guise of paperwork, Dean could feel the insecurities creeping in. Maybe Y/N had a terrible time on their date and was only being polite when she said otherwise. Maybe she’d changed her mind and didn’t want to try again. Maybe last night proved to her that he wasn’t good enough for her.

The flashing red light, alarm bells and the operator calling his engine to a structure fire were a blessing. It instantly pulled him out of his head and put it straight in the game. The walk to the turnout gear racks was therapeutic. As he climbed into the fire truck with his helmet in his hand and slammed the door behind him, all thought of why Y/N hadn’t texted back was left behind at the firehouse.

At least for now.

Next Chapter >>

#fic rec #dean Winchester x reader

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

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Managed to get back for more!

I’m sorry I’m just so excited. They’ve both finally been brave and just laid it out on the table. They both want to try again and I’m so damn happy and excited because god they both deserve this. Badly! And yes, leaving each other at that time wasn’t easy but they can both see it was the right thing to do. They’ve both grown as people and got passed the difficult conversations of their past and I’m so excited to see where this relationship goes next 💕 I can’t wait to read their date!

Great job as always lovely! I adore this story so much!

The One That Got Away - Chapter Eleven

Warnings: angst, language, fluff.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: I didn’t have a beta for this, so all mistakes are mine.

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“Are you only here until your father goes, or are you back for good?” Dean asked, and Y/N bit her lip and furrowed her brow.

“It depends,” she finally responded.

“On what?”

“If you and I can be okay,” Y/N said, deciding complete honesty was the best way to handle this, and lifted her eyes to meet his. “I’m not expecting things to go back to how they were, De. Too much time has passed for that, but I’d like us to try to be friends again. But I also need to be completely honest and tell you I never got over you.”

“Y/N…”

“Please, just listen,” she begged, “you read my letter, and you know I had some unhealthy coping methods. I’ve only had one serious relationship since I left, which ended when I turned down his proposal three years ago. He told me that he loved me, but I was emotionally unavailable, and he couldn’t stay with someone who couldn’t love him the way he loved them,” Y/N explained.

“When I finally started dating again after that, I always sabotaged it before it could get serious. That was when I knew I would never let anyone in the way I did you, and I’d never get over you. I understand this is a lot, and I get that you might not feel the same, but if you want to try and be us again, awesome. If you want to try and be friends again, great,” she paused and took a deep breath, licked her lips before speaking again. “But if you don’t want me here… if me being here hurts you, and we can’t fix things between us, I can’t stay because I can’t be this close to you and not be part of your life. It’ll kill me.”

There it was. Everything Y/N needed him to know before they made any decisions on their future. This was where her heart lay, shield and armour down, vulnerability showing as she laid her cards on the table and bared her soul to him.

Now it was his turn.

“Y/N, I…” Dean began, grabbing her hands and smiling softly as her watery eyes found his. “I never stopped loving you. I tried to move on, but I couldn’t. None of them would be you. Not even close. Every day since you left, I have regretted not asking you to stay or coming with you. Even now, having read your letter and knowing it was the best thing for us, I still regret it. I hate that making that decision meant I couldn’t comfort you after the nightmares or stop you from drinking away your pain. The sex thing? Well, I’m just pissed that I missed out on what sounds like it could’ve been some kinky shit!” Dean joked, chuckling as Y/N threw her head back with laughter.

“But,” he continued, “seeing you now, your smile reaching your eyes, the constant pain and sadness in them gone, and the confidence you’ve gained. It makes me realise that as much as I will always hate myself for letting you leave… letting you go… it was the right thing to do because you and I wouldn’t be where we are. You…”

Dean swallowed hard, hating even the thought of what could’ve been. “You would be living your life completely in my shadow, or I would be in prison, and you probably wouldn’t be here at all,” Dean said, wiping away the tears falling down his cheeks.

“I know, Dean,” Y/N smiled sadly. “It broke my heart, and I won’t pretend otherwise, but it was the right thing for us to do. Please forgive yourself for that. I do. We needed to grow on our own. I had to learn to protect myself and not rely on you to fight my battles. I had to learn to take care of myself for once, to put myself first and fix myself. I might have taken the wrong path once or twice, but I righted myself and am incredibly proud of who I’ve become.”

“Seeing you at the hospital and tonight, I love who you’ve become, and I can’t wait to get to know her better. I would be honoured if, once I’m fully healed, you’ll let me take you out to dinner so I can continue to get to know you again,” Dean smiled, anxiously awaiting her response.

“I’d like that,” Y/N smiled bashfully.

“Just so we’re clear, I mean as a date,” Dean grinned.

“A date?” she questioned, “Dean, are you sure?”

“Yeah, I am, Princess. I meant it when I said I never stopped loving you. You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I wanna get to know you again. Try us again. So… what d’ya say? A fresh start?” Dean grinned at her bashful giggle before she lowered her eyes and looked at him through her lashes. His breath caught in his throat as he was taken back to their teenage years when she looked at him like that often.

“A fresh start would be perfect,” Y/N smiled as Dean’s face broke into a joyous grin.

“But,” she continued, and Dean’s smile faded slightly. “I think this has probably been enough excitement for you on your first night out of the hospital, so I’m gonna go home and let you rest,” Y/N smiled softly.

“Come on, sweetheart! I just got you back,” Dean protested, and she chuckled.

“Dean, you look like you’re gonna fall asleep in your seat!” Y/N reached her hand out to cup his cheek and smiled fondly as he leaned into her touch and closed his eyes.

“You’ve got my number now. You can call or text me anytime. I’m heading into four night shifts, so please don’t think I’m ignoring you if I don’t reply right away.”

Dean nodded in appreciation that she’d thought to tell him that. If he had texted or called her and she didn’t answer, he would overthink everything and convince himself that she’d changed her mind about starting over.

“Alright, you win,” he pulled back reluctantly. “I’ll call you in a few days, and maybe we can arrange that date?” Dean smirked, and she giggled.

“I thought we were waiting for you to be fully healed?” Y/N teased.

“Oh, trust me, sweetheart, I will be,” Dean replied.

“Still cocky, I see,” Y/N smirked and leaned forward, kissing Dean's cheek. Standing from the chair, she put her jacket on and slung her purse over her shoulder.

“No, don’t get up,” she protested as he moved to stand. “I can see myself out.”

“You will not. I’m walking you out,” Dean grunted as he stood, the pain in his chest throbbing after sitting idle for so long. One glance at Y/N had him roll his eyes at the ‘I told you so’ look on her face.

“Look, I was gonna have to get up anyway to lock the door behind you and go to bed. I might as well do it now and make sure you get to your car okay at the same time.” Dean opened the door for her and leaned against it.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that, can I?” Y/N chuckled.

“Nope,” Dean said, popping the p.

“Goodnight, Captain Winchester.”

“Goodnight, Nurse Singer.”

The next few weeks passed in the blink of an eye. To everyone’s surprise, Dean had done what the doctor told him and taken it easy until Dr Clark cleared him to return to work. Bobby had put him on light duties on his first shift back, which he’d hated at first, but about sixteen hours into a twenty-four-hour shift, he was grateful that he had it that little bit easier after being out of the game for four weeks.

Y/N had adjusted to life back in Lawrence well. She was in a good routine with work and had stopped taking as many overtime shifts as she had when she first came back. She filled her days off, reconnecting with family and friends and making plans with the new friends she’d made since her return.

They’d kept in regular contact, texting and calling every day. She’d been to his place a few more times in the past few weeks, always, she insisted, to help him around the house or to make sure he ate a decent home-cooked meal. Dean didn’t complain because he got to spend all this extra time with her.

Y/N’s impromptu visits were filled with remembering the old days and catching up with everything that had been and gone since they’d last seen each other. Their disastrous dating lives had them in tears of laughter, and the stories of her time before therapy had them in tears of despair.

They knew these conversations needed to be had, and if Y/N was honest, she’d much rather they have them before they tried their fresh start. If they waited until they were officially dating before having the difficult conversations and Dean changed his mind about wanting a second chance, wanting her, she knew she wouldn’t survive his rejection.

After several heart-to-heart conversations and everything Y/N had gone through in her first few years in Chicago aired to Dean, the relief she felt that he still wanted to go on a date with her took her by surprise. It made her realise just how much he, and this second chance, truly meant to her.

It was overwhelming because her entire future depended on things working out between them. Y/N meant what she said, if Dean didn’t want her, she couldn’t stay in Lawrence, not even as his friend, because it would kill her. There would always be doors open for her in Chicago, and she knew that, but she was done running.

Next Chapter >>

#fic rec #dean Winchester x reader

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

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Sorry this review is so delayed! I’ve got very behind but I promise I’ll catch up!

It was so good to see them finally address the elephant in the room and start talking about the more serious matters. The whole situation with the readers father just breaks my heart. No child should have to go through that and the reasons she didn’t ask for help, as she was scared she’d be taken away. To think that she was living in fear of the next beating but also being taken away is just heartbreaking and you did such a great job dealing with this awful subject. I don’t know whether I think seeing her father will help or not. I do look forward to seeing what you do though.

And then they address the two of them. Gah, all her concerns about how much they’ve changed are so valid but they’re both still helplessly in love and it’s clear the changes are going to be a positive in their relationship moving forward. I just hope they see that! Come on dean, be brave!

Amazing chapter as always, I love this story 💕

The One That Got Away - Chapter Ten

Warnings: tw: child abuse, tw: physical abuse, tw: verbal abuse, angst, heart-to-heart, language.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: There are TRIGGER WARNINGS in this part - please heed these, and if you think you’ll be affected by any of them, please do not read.

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Y/N and Dean danced delicately around the things they really should be discussing. They talked about their careers, the town gossip, and what they’d been up to for the past twelve years. She wiped down Dean’s kitchen, ignoring his protests, and now that the surfaces gleamed, Y/N felt the tension in the room rise. She couldn’t take much more of dodging the elephant in the room, it was driving her crazy, and she could feel her hackles rise the longer they stayed awkwardly quiet with each other.

It had never been like this between them before. Not even in the hospital had it been so electrically charged, and it terrified Y/N. She grabbed plates, cutlery, and pie and headed back to the dining table, where Dean quickly sliced and served them a piece of the sweet pastry treat.

“So, uh, Bobby told me about your dad. I’m sorry, Y/N/N,” Dean spoke, breaking through the thickening tension. And there it was, the first elephant in the room. Y/N shrugged with indifference before she carefully responded.

“It is what it is. That man must’ve gone through five bottles of Jack a week, maybe more, for the past twenty years. It was bound to happen,” she finished and took a mouthful of pie.

“Have you seen him yet?” Dean asked, and she shook her head. “You gonna?” he prodded gently. Y/N shrugged again as she chewed the pie, responding after she swallowed.

“I know I should, I’ll probably regret it if I don’t, but there’s nothing that can be gained by me going there. According to Bobby, he doesn’t remember anything, so an apology or an explanation for what he did isn’t coming, so why bother? It’s not like I’ll get any closure from it,” Y/N shoved another piece of the pie in her mouth, and Dean studied her expression a little more before speaking again.

“So, it’s unlikely he remembers what he did to you?” Dean clarified, and she nodded. “But you won’t know for sure if you don’t see him. It might give you some peace or closure seeing him again even if he doesn’t remember-”

“I remember, Dean,” Y/N said a little louder than she intended. “I remember everything that happened when I was a kid, and anything that happens or is said or not said in that room will stay with me for the rest of my life, and he’ll get to remain blissfully ignorant of all of it. How’s that for closure?” she huffed.

“I just need a little more time to figure out what will be easier for me to live with. Will I be able to live with things the way they are now and happily never see him again? Can I face him knowing he’ll never apologise? Not even remember what he did?”

“I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” Dean said as he took her hand.

“Can you tell Bobby that?” Y/N scoffed a sad laugh. “He won’t get off my case. ‘Speak to your father,’ ‘speak to Dean,’ like it’s not hard enough coming back here after being away for so long and knowing I hurt people. He just expects everything to be fine, and I’ll slip back into the folds, be accepted, and fit in like the past decade never happened. It’s daunting, and I don’t know if I made the right choice coming back here, and I’m scared…”

“Okay, alright, stop and breathe,” Dean said as he gripped her shoulders. “First off, it’s your decision what you do about your father, alright? You hit the nail on the head, Princess. You, and only you, know what’s best for you, so you need to tell Bobby to back off and leave you be,” he smiled softly as she laughed, glad he could ease her worries just a little.

“Second, never doubt that you don’t fit in here. You do. It’s your home. The family you have here will always be your family. Blood or not. That won’t ever change. Were people hurt that you left? Yes, absolutely. But were any of them as hurt as you? No. Not even close. They were hurt because they didn’t know the extent of what was happening and felt like they’d failed you in every way.”

“I never told anyone, Dean. Only you,” she frowned, a slight look of accusation crossing her features.

“And I never told anyone, I swear to you. But, Princess, it was no secret your father was an alcoholic. It didn’t go unnoticed that there was some level of neglect. That you had to look after the both of you much younger than any kid should have to,” Dean said as he placed his thumb and forefinger on her chin and pushed gently to force her to meet his gaze.

“The bruises, cuts, broken bones,” Dean continued, “were mostly hidden, but more than once, mom asked about a black eye or the fingerprint bruises on your arms. The black eyes I explained away as your clumsiness,” he smiled softly at her sad laugh. “The bruises as you were probably putting your dad to bed,” Dean swiped the tears from her cheek that had fallen.

“And then, Bobby and Mom got letters telling them everything, and the guilt and hurt they had because they didn’t help you-”

“When I started school,” Y/N interrupted, “my father sat me down and said that if I told anyone about the drinking and the hitting, he’d be taken away, and I’d never see him again. And because I didn’t have a mother, I’d be taken far away from Uncle Bobby and you guys and be put in a foster home. I’d never see anyone I loved ever again. It’s why I didn’t tell anyone. Except you. And why I was so insistent that you didn’t tell anyone. That’s on me, not them.”

“It’s not on you, Y/N. Not telling anyone was the decision of a frightened little girl stuck between protecting herself and protecting her father. She did what she thought was right and tried to protect both of them. All she had to do was hold on and keep pretending ‘til she was old enough to get the hell outta Dodge. Well, Lawrence, technically, but you get what I mean!” Dean smiled at the soft chuckle she gave him.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, or it’s too soon, tell me, and it’s dropped,” Dean said and licked his lips. “Mom wants to reach out to you. She misses you. I do, too,” he finished as he gently took her hands again.

“I’ll call her, and maybe we can arrange something when I come off night shift rotation next week,” Y/N said quietly. “I miss her too,” she smiled sadly. “But I miss you the most, and that scares me.”

Dean saw the water pool in her eyes and frowned. He’d thought she might be overly guarded tonight, having not seen each other in so long, and that it’d take longer for her to put her armour down. She did have shields up, he could see them, but his Y/N, his girl, was cautiously peeking over them, just waiting to bring them down completely.

“What scares you, Princess? Me?” he asked, following her lead and lowering his guard slightly.

“God, not you! Never you, Dean. I’m scared of this. Us. You invited me here, said we needed to talk, and yeah, we’re talking, but not really about what we need to talk about. There’s this…” Y/N trailed off, hands gesturing wildly, trying to find the right words. “Vibe… this tension that is slapping me in the face, and quite honestly, I can’t figure out if you wanna kiss me or yell at me. And that scares me because there was a time when I could read you, cut through all the bullshit and get straight to the point.

“And yeah,” she continued before he could respond. “That’s my fault. Because I left, and it’s been a long time, and we’ve probably grown apart. Changed beyond the other’s recognition,” she finished and ran her hands down her face in frustration.

Dean wasn’t sure what she was trying to say and couldn’t predict where this would go. Yes, they had both changed, but he wasn’t sure he’d changed as much as she had. He was proud of who she’d become. Everything from how she carried herself to how she spoke with more confidence than he’d ever heard from her astounded him. He couldn’t wait to get to know her all over again. The spark of physical attraction was still there for him. She was as beautiful as she’d always been. More beautiful. He also couldn’t deny that he thought her confidence was quite the turn on.

“Alright,” Dean said. “Let’s get the ball rolling. I read your letter. Mom gave it to me the day you met Jess. You thanked me for not asking you to stay?” he questioned.

“Yes. You probably saved both our lives that night,” Y/N smiled sadly.

“Princess…” Dean whispered, and she shook her head, cutting him off.

“You might not realise this, but I know you. I know you better than you know yourself. My father would’ve gone too far again, and you’d have killed him. And because you’re a good man, you’d have turned yourself in,” she said as she touched his cheek, caressing his jaw with her thumb.

Dean’s lips tightened, and he nodded once, confirming that was precisely what he’d have done.

“So, tell me, Dean,” Y/N said. “What are we doing here? What do you really want?”

Next Chapter >>

Tag list: @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @leigh70 @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27 @candy-coated-misery0731 @iprobablyshipit91 @twinkleinadiamondsky @mrsjenniferwinchester @spnwoman @snackles87 @perpetualabsurdity @hoboal87 @synmorite @nancymcl @trannydean @nic-kolas @jc-winchester @winchestergirl1720 @globetrotter28 @nelachu2423 @kayleighmeister @venicesem @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @suckitands33 @tristanrosspada-ackles @silentbutscreaming @lacilou @sandlee44 @kmc1989 @chriszgirl92 @ashbatz @k-slla @jamerlynn @kazsrm67 @waters-2567 @spnbaby-67

#fic rec #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x you

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

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Jensen "Good At Everything" Ackles

📽 @/livelyackles

#jensen good at everything ackles #jensen ackles #liverpool comic con 2023

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

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Hey I’m finally here to review! Sorry for the delay 💕

Oh I felt so sorry for dean. Not only is he going through the worse pain in his life, he’s presenting as an omega which he knows is going to get looked down on. He’s going to have to deal with his dads opinion on it at some point which knowing John, isn’t going to be good. And he’s looking after his brother too. He must just be completely overwhelmed. My heart broke when he kept making the negative comments about himself, but it’s exactly how he’d react.

It was good thinking of Sam to ring Bobby. I loved that he gave the best advice he could on the phone then was straight in the car to help them. I love it when his fatherly side shows through. He knows Dean is going to need all the support he can get.

I did have to laugh that deans feeling betrayed by his body but he’s not lost any of his commanding attitude, especially around Sam. It’s like he automatically sees himself as weak but proves he’s not.

But then you see the way the pharmacist treats him and you completely get why he’s already thinking so negatively. It’s like he’s a child and completely helpless. The way she talks over him to Sam and calls him an omega. So awful and yet, not unimaginable which makes it even more sad.

And I was so relieved Bobby came. We know he will help dean and give him the support he needs. Especially when John gets back 😢

You did a great job with this! Even though it was sad and made my heart break 💔

First Heat

Pairing: none

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer (briefly), John Winchester (mentioned)

Synopsis: 16yo Dean Winchester is presenting, and he's not having a fun time of it

Warnings: a tonne of swearing, a tiny moment of masturbation

This fulfills the "First Heat" square of my @spnaubingo and prompt 15 of @whumptober "I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself"

Supernatural writing masterlist

Dean had been in pain before. He’d been injured in hunts and training, gotten in fights at school, and gotten the belt from his Dad for a variety of earned and unearned transgressions. But nothing had ever hurt like this.

This was agony.

His insides felt like they were on fire. Like a white hot knife had been plunged into his belly and was being twisted to and fro.

Worse was the realisation of what this meant: he was presenting.

He was a fucking bitch Omega.

He whimpered quietly, trying not to wake Sam. He knew his brother would worry. He knew his brother would have very valid concerns about how their Dad would react.

He didn’t want to think about that.

He wanted the pain to be over.

He whimpered again.

Sam started to stir. Fuck. Stupid bloody motel room. Why couldn’t he live in a normal house and have his own goddamn bedroom at the age of goddamn 16 so his stupid 12yo brother wouldn’t hear him whimpering like a baby when he couldn’t control it any more? Why’d he have to go through this with an audience?!

“Dean?” Sam asked in a worried voice. His eyes grew wide as they focused on Dean’s bed. Dean knew he must paint a pretty picture: drenched in sweat, shaking like a leaf and probably grimacing through his pain.

“’m fine Sammy, go back to sleep,” he grumped at him.

“You’re an Omega,” Sam breathed. He must be able to smell him. Great.

“I’m still in charge, go back to sleep,” he hissed.

Sam started climbing out of his bed. Dean growled at him, but even to his ears it sounded about as terrifying as a newborn kitten purring. He was just in so much pain.

Sam reached out and gently touched his shoulder. Dean whimpered again.

“Umm, we have to get you some help.”

“I don’t need your help, I can handle things myself!”

Sam rolled his eyes. He headed over to the motel phone on the desk.

“What-” whine- “what are you doing?” Dean stammered. “Don’t call Dad!”

“I’m not, jeez, I’m not an idiot.” Sam picked up the receiver.

“Then what are you doing?”

“Calling Bobby.”

“Sam it’s the middle of the night and I’m fine anyway.” Dean’s panting just to get through the sentence did rather betray him, but he didn’t any Sam waking anyone up and telling them his shame.

Sam rolled his eyes again. Bloody 12yos. He started dialling.

“No, no,” Dean said, throwing off his covers. He tried stand up to go stop Sam, but he fell to his knees instead, crouched over. He whined loudly, unable to stop himself.

“Bobby?” he heard Sam say. “Dean’s, umm, Dean’s presenting. He’s... I think he’s... he’s... he’s in heat.”

Dean couldn’t hear Bobby’s side of the conversation, just Sam agreeing a lot. Finally Sam hung up the call.

“Ok, he said that the pharmacy will have something you can take to make the heat stop, and then you have to see a doctor to get suppressants so you don’t have as many heats.”

Dean grunted in response. Something to make it stop sounded great right now.

“Umm...” Sam was looking shifty. There must be something else.

“Spit it out.”

“He, umm,” Sam looked down, not looking anywhere near Dean, “he wants me to go get you a collar first so you can’t get claimed by an Alpha.”

Dean hissed.

“He said you have to come to the pharmacy or they won’t give me the medicine, but it’s too dangerous for an unclaimed Omega to just wander around without a collar... Especially in heat.”

Dean punched the bed next to him. Stupid fucking bitch body.

“But, umm, nowhere will be open yet. So he said to give you some painkillers and you might want to take a shower.” Dean appreciated that Bobby sent a coded message, didn’t tell his stupid kid brother to tell him to go jack himself off.

Sam helped Dean to stand and to stumble into the bathroom. He was still in so much pain he couldn’t stand straight. Sam offered to help him get in the shower but he growled at him and he backed away.

Sam shut the door behind him. Dean leant his forehead on the cool tiles. Fucking hell.

He panted with effort as he got his drenched boxers off, choosing to imagine they were wet solely from sweat.

He painfully manoeuvred himself into the shower stall. He paused to get his breath back before tackling the taps.

The water did feel good.

He gently touched his aching cock. It was so sensitive he felt like he nearly came from that alone. He felt a rush of slick run down from his ass. That was almost a massive turn-off.

He gently pumped himself, needing only a few strokes before he messily came all over the shower screen. He panted, feeling a little better. He felt strangely empty, but he tried to ignore the implications of that.

He stood under the stream a bit longer, enjoying the sensations. Finally, the water started to turn cold, so he shut it off. He staggered out and grabbed a towel, drying himself off.

He was half-hard again already. Fucking hell.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. Sam was sitting on the bed tapping his feet like he did when he was worried. He looked up quickly.

“Oi, bitch-” Crap, Dean thought. That nickname’s problematic now. “Chuck me some pants.”

Sam quickly grabbed him undies and jeans and passed them to him. He shut the door and struggled into them, panting from the effort. The relief he’d felt when he’d come was already starting to wear off.

He staggered out and made it to his bed before collapsing.

“Ok, umm, I’m going to go get you that, umm, thing...” Sam said, standing up.

“The fuck you are,” Dean growled.

“Dean, Bobby didn’t want you getting claimed by some psycho Alpha.”

“What fucking respectable establishment do you think is going to sell an Omega collar to a bloody child? You’ll have CPS on our asses in no time.”

“...Oh.”

“Let’s just go to the pharmacy and get the fucking drugs.”

“But Bobby said-”

“Fine, get Bobby back on the phone and I’ll tell him I’m not endangering you just so assholes don’t come near me. I can take care of myself.”

“I, umm, can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

Sam squirmed. “He’s, umm, he’s not at home anymore.”

Dean’s voice turned deeper, “What do you mean, he’s not at home anymore? Where the fuck is he?”

Sam looked down, never able to maintain eye contact when he knew he was saying something Dean wouldn’t like. “He’s on his way here...”

“He’s what?”

“He’s coming to help! He’s worried about you! He doesn’t think you’ll be able to get into a doctor without a guardian and he also doesn’t think Dad’s going to, umm, take it well... and we don’t know when he’ll be back anyway...”

“Right, well, we are going to the fucking pharmacy where I am going to fucking punch anyone who so much as looks at me like I can’t fucking buy fucking pills by my fucking self, got it?!”

“You could wear Dad’s collared shirt... Might be better than nothing,” Sam said hesitantly.

Dean huffed out a deep breath. “Fine,” he growled. Sam scampered over to Dad’s bag of extra clothes and pulled it out. Dean growled again but put it on.

He whimpered as he tried to do up his shoes, but shot a glare at Sam before he could offer to do them for him. The knife in his guts was back, but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with.

Dean swayed and clutched his belly as he stood up. Sam crossed to him quickly and held his upper arm, despite Dean’s glaring look. Reluctantly, Dean let Sam help him to the door. Sam grabbed the room key and locked it behind them. Dean held out his hand to take the key. Sam looked like he was going to argue, but he seemed to think better of it and handed it over. Dean was dammed if he was going to let a stupid thing like being an Omega stop him being the responsible one.

They staggered down the road, Dean needing frequent rest breaks. The pain was growing and growing. Both brothers were on high alert for any Alphas walking past, but it was still quite early in the morning. They made it to the pharmacy safely.

Then they had to wait outside for 15 minutes until it opened. Dean whimpered frequently, despite his best efforts not to.

Finally, finally, the door opened. Sam helped Dean up from the ground and into the shop. “My brother needs help,” he called, earning him a growl from Dean.

The pharmacist hastened over. “First heat?” she asked, a sympathetic look on her face.

“Ye-yeah,” Dean grunted.

“Is there something you can give him?” Sam asked anxiously.

“Where’s your guardian?”

“Our Dad went out of town for the night, I called his hotel and he’s on his way back but it’s a long drive,” Sam lied earnestly. “Wanted to get my brother some help first.”

“He left you alone?” she asked sharply.

“It was only one night, and my brother’s 16. He can look after us for only one night. We didn’t know he’d present.”

She pursed her lips but seemed to buy Sam’s lie about how long John had been gone.

“Right, well, we’re really supposed to have a guardian’s permission. Especially for an Omega, it’s not like he’s presenting as an Alpha,” she chuckled. Dean had to stop himself from growling at her casual sexism, that wasn’t going to get him what he wanted.

She considered. “Your father’s on his way back?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam answered.

“Alright, I’ll give you the first dose but I’m keeping the rest of the box. You bring your father here with the Omega when he gets back and we’ll give the rest of it.” Sam squeezed Dean’s arm in warning. Dean groaned in pain to cover his anger at her words.

“Thank you so much,” Sam gushed. She walked behind the counter and returned a minute later with a tablet which she held out to Sam. If Dean hadn’t been in so much pain he would’ve given her a piece of his mind about how she had already decided his twelve-year-old brother was somehow his guardian by proxy. Instead, after a slight pause where Sam was confused about what she was doing, he took it and then handed it to Dean.

“Do you, umm, do you have any Omega collars too?” Sam asked hesitantly. Dean growled.

“Yes, of course. Heavens, I should have suggested that!” She bustled off.

“I am not wearing a collar!” Dean hissed to Sam.

“Bobby said-” Sam whispered back.

“I will tell Bobby where he can shove his stupid-”

The pharmacist returned. “Here you go,” she said, approaching Dean with the collar open as if she was going to attach it to him. He hissed and put his arms in front of him in a defensive pose, although the fact he still couldn’t stand up straight did rather ruin the effect.

“Come now, little Omega, there’s no need to be like that.” She deftly manoeuvred around Dean’s weakened arms, and his shocked expression, and clicked the collar around his neck. “There you go, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Now no naughty Alphas can claim you.”

Sam quickly grabbed Dean’s arms, turned him around and walked with him to the exit, calling out his thanks. He was, rightly, worried that Dean would attack the woman. Dean hissed and spat whilst the Beta just waved pleasantly back at him. Fuck her.

They began the slow hobble back to the motel, Dean clawing at the collar. “Just leave it alone until we get home, you may as well have the protection now that we have it,” Sam said.

Dean kept clawing, but he was in so much pain and struggling to think and walk that he was ineffective.

Finally, they made it back to the motel room. Sam batted Dean’s hands away and quickly removed the collar. Dean gratefully collapsed on to his bed, curling into a ball and whimpering. He hoped the drugs would kick in soon, before he started crying like a baby in front of Sam.

He finally started to feel a tiny bit better, but also uncomfortable. He tossed and turned, hissing whenever the position he moved to turned out to be more painful than he’d expected. He couldn’t stop his whining, either.

He looked over at the other bed, seeing Sam’s wide eyes staring at him in worry.

“It’s alright, kiddo,” Dean said through gritted teeth, “You’re shooting up so fast you’re definitely going to be an Alpha. You won’t have to go through this.” Dean didn’t mention that he himself was tall and had assumed he’d be an Alpha, or at least a Beta.

“I’m not worried about me, Dean, I’m worried about you!”

“I’m fine,” Dean hissed. Sam rolled his eyes.

Eventually, the pain and sweating eased a little more. It felt more manageable, less like he was going to burn up and die. But he was still immensely relieved when there was a loud banging on the door, Sam opening it up to reveal Bobby on the threshold.

Dean stood up to greet Bobby, not wanting to be seen as an invalid. Bobby pulled him into a hug. Dean actually fucking whimpered like a needy bitch. “It’s alright, ya idjit,” Bobby murmured. “It’s going to be alright.”

Dean Winchester tag list:

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@lyarr24

@waynes-multiverse

@deans-spinster-witch

Everything Supernatural tag list:

@leigh70

@malindacath

@ellie-andthemachine

@iprobablyshipit91

@123passwort

@kazsrm67

@nerdymuffinbonkcloud

#fic rec #omega!dean winchester

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iprobablyshipit91 · 6 months

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So when you mentioned you were going to make solider boy cry I was really wondering how you were going to achieve it without having too sad of an ending because we both hate those so much.

It started so cute, Ben being grouchy but you know it’s all for snow really because when doesn’t he give the reader what she wants? Their teasing and adorable little moments though, I could sit and read these two just being adorable all day, I love it.

And then you went and ruined it 😂

“He heard the whistle of the bullet before he saw it.” I mean lucky he can do that and literally protect her as a human shield but considering the point of this story, I was very worried. I love that bens only concern is for the reader though. How far he’s come in your story is still something amazing.

I love that the reader didn’t go down without a fight. She’s not that kind of person. Being outnumbered though really wasn’t going to give her an advantage though but of course Ben had finally got back to her.

I’ll give Reyes credit where it’s due, he is very ballsy to talk to solider boy like that, especially whilst holding a gun to his girl.

But the way ben didn’t negotiate or anything about what Reyes wanted. Whatever it took for his girl to be safe he would pay.

And then she was shot. Like, to make Ben cry this is what I thought but surely she can’t die? Especially as I know there was more to the story. My mind was whirring with possibilities of how he was going to save her. The way she fell though and he caught her and they held each other, hell, I was tearing up 😢 and of course he goes for his blood, once again just not thinking of anything else than saving her, but it was too late.

“He held you, impossibly tight. Tighter than he’d ever held you, because he was alone in the alley…because he was alone again.” God this line hurt. As did this one “His breaths were sharp and stifled as pain tore inside. A pain worse than anything the Russian's could've inflicted on him.”

I have to admit, I’m glad it was just a dream. I knew something had to happen but this was good. It never happened but we got to see a glimpse of bens worst nightmare. I love that the reader was reassuring and allowed him to take what he needed. I also don’t blame him cancelling the trip. After a dream like that I think I would too.

Amazing addition to the BMD verse. I adore these two and this verse and would read a thousand stories of them if you were willing to write them. Great job! 💕

Hello. I was wondering if you could write an imagine in the BMD-verse (been following it for a while now; love, love, love it, by the way!) where Ben cries?

Like something really bad happens in general or to the Reader, and he losses it? I mean, personally, I have never known this man to cry, and I would love to see you conjure up something that could possibly elicite that reaction from him.

But no pressure - will definitely understand if you don't want to write it!

Oooh, so you really wanna kill me, huh? 🫠😭😭

Lol it's okay, thank you for loving Break Me Down!! It's one of my favorite story verses that I've been able to create on here. ❤️❤️

This request was difficult for me on multiple levels, but I think I was able to pull it off? (I'll let you be the judge.) This is set in the BMD-verse, shortly after "Love Actually."

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Word Count: 2,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst, show-level violence, hurt/comfort, "twist" ending (you'll want to read until the end, trust me).

Imagine: Ben loses you.

Ben restrained another sigh when he realized you were no longer walking next to him.

He turned and saw you stopping in another damn kiosk, this time looking at a selection of Pashmina scarves. As if you didn’t have enough clothes.

“We’re not here for a damn shopping spree,” he called after you.

He ignored the people who glanced at him as they walked past, a couple of them even shooting him an annoyed look.

One didn’t just stop in the middle of a busy sidewalk in New York City, but as with most societal protocols, Ben couldn't really give a fuck.

He almost started tapping his foot. Instead, he crossed his arms as he glared in your general direction. You were smiling and chatting with the woman selling her wares as you finished the transaction.

Ben at least could admire the view of you bent over in those tight jeans and ankle boots. You also wore the dark green winter coat he bought you last month, lined with faux fur to keep you warm.

When you eventually came back to him, you shot him an amused smile. You held a new scarf in shades of green and blue, to match your coat. But you also held out a new pair of leather gloves for him.

“Here you go, Grumpy. I didn't forget about you,” you teased. He raised a wry brow at you and took the gloves. He inspected them with a half-critical eye.

“And how much did these cost, five cents?”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking. He caught up with you and slipped the gloves into his pocket.

“My hands don’t get cold anyway,” he reminded you. And you often complained that his body heat was like a radiator, especially at night. Although, you hadn’t been complaining since the winter turned frigid this February.

“All right, whatever. Just don’t say I never get you anything,” you quipped. “Besides, you know you love to accessorize.”

A smirk pulled at Ben’s lips. The gloves were a half-assed gift, but he still wore the watch you got him for Christmas proudly on his wrist. That was a nice silver Rolex.

“All I know is, we’d better not be late for this damn meeting,” he said. “I don’t wanna hear Mallory’s fucking mouth.”

The two of you had made a day of coming into the city, hitting a nice brunch spot and ice skating at Rockefeller center before your date had been rudely interrupted—by a call for a new mission.

Grace Mallory had been a bit cryptic on the phone, but it had something to do with the mess Ben left of the drug cartels in South America. After they got back to the States, Ben left that “business” behind…he just hadn’t thought of how that would shake out in Colombia.

So now, you two were headed to the Supe Affairs building. You slipped your arm around his, while his hands were in his pockets. You looked up at him with a smile.

“Try to enjoy the little things, Ben,” you told him. “We had mimosas and some bougie ass lobster tails with our eggs this morning. I skated circles around you on the ice. And now we’re going to get some work done.”

“On our day off,” he retorted.

“To be fair, you made the mess, Mr. Kingpin,” you pointed out. “We’ve just gotta clean it up…as usual.”

“Hey," he eyed you. But you both knew the warning had little heat behind it.

He still reached for your cheek and brushed his thumb across it. He felt how cold your face was, and he stopped for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk. Neither of you cared when pedestrians gave you dirty looks as they passed by.

Maybe you were right though. Maybe he should take stock of the small moments. Ben held your face with both hands and caressed some warmth back into your skin.

Your smile softened, and your eyes closed when his lips found their way to your forehead. He then took the newly bought scarf out of your hand and wrapped it comfortably around your neck.

“What a gentleman,” you said, with a small grin.

Ben smirked down at you…until his face fell.

He heard the whistle of the bullet before he saw it.

It took him another second to move, grabbing you and shielding you with his entire body when it hit his back. The bullet itself bounced harmlessly off his skin, but the inner compartment of Novichok exploded like a small smoke bomb. The smell was too familiar to him to be anything else.

Ben coughed and was forced to push you away from him before the gas reached you. You yelped and almost tripped on your feet, but you scrambled back against the wall of a drycleaners. Your wide eyes met his as his knees buckled; the gas had clouded around his head.

“Run!” he shouted through fits of coughing.

You hesitated, for just a second. But when another bullet ricocheted into the wall behind you, near your head, you ducked and had to take off running.

You wove through the busy sidewalk, pushing people out of your way as you went. Whoever was after him this time, you had a feeling these were the people Ben had pissed off in Colombia.

Fuck! You sprinted past an alleyway and saw the hand coming for your arm, but even when you turned, there was another man, dressed a black military-style uniform with his face covered by a black mask, waiting to grab you from behind.

It was muscle memory. You released an elbow into the man’s neck, a punch straight into his teeth and nose, then kicked his knee out with the heel of your boot.

You grabbed your gun from under your jacket and would've shot him, except the next man wheelhouse kicked it out of your hand. You stepped back on instinct, ducking the following punch, and the rest of his arm to run in the opposite direction.

The first man pointed a large automatic gun straight in your face. You gasped and put your hands up. With a quick glance in either direction, you realized that they’d cornered you.

Your hands were pulled behind your back by someone else. That’s when they started dragging you toward a black SUV parked in the corner.

Except that car was soon destroyed, by an old Honda Civic being shoved into it. The SUV's hood constantined like an accordion.

You looked up with wide eyes, and there stood Ben, at the crossroads of the alley. He was furious.

“Soldier Boy,” greeted the man who once again held the automatic gun poised at you. He pulled down his mask, revealing the tan face of a middle-aged man.

He moved over to you and grabbed your arm from his subordinate. He raised the gun to your back. With one press of his finger, your insides could become Swiss cheese.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to take in even breaths. You focused on Ben. His green eyes met yours, and briefly you caught the worry behind them before his steely gaze moved back to the man who held you.

“Pretty ballsy, Reyes,” Ben said. His voice was a drawl, more controlled than he felt. “You really thought this was gonna go down that easy?”

Reyes scoffed. “You’re the ballsy one. Taking off with all that product you stole.”

“You’ll have to take up with the CIA on that one,” Ben replied. “They confiscated all the smack from my place. Probably reselling it to a few hobos down the street. You’re welcome to check under the bridge over there.”

He gestured in the direction of the Hudson River.

Reyes shrugged. The sound of a gun’s safety being clipped back resounded through the alley. You felt the vibration of it on your back. Your eyes closed for a moment.

“Bad news for her,” he said.

"Hey," Ben snapped. "There's no fucking need for that."

"I think I'll decide what we need," said Reyes. Your lips pursed as the gun dug into your back. "Maybe it's your bitch's insides at your feet."

Ben slowly raised a placating hand. Though his gait was still relaxed and arrogant, as always, you knew it was a well-crafted act. To hide his anger. His fear. To seem in control of himself, and to reinforce the intimidating presence he still was, even unarmed.

“Listen. If it’s money you want, we can work it out,” Ben replied.

His eyes once again found yours. He could see you were holding your breath. You were good at hiding it, but he knew you were scared. He wanted to tell you that he had this handled. That everything would be all right.

He focused on Reyes again. The other man considered the supe with a tilt of his head. He sucked his teeth and spit on the ground, out of the corner of his mouth. It was mixed with a bit of blood from when you'd punched him in the teeth.

“Okay, my friend,” said Reyes. “Let’s work this out. Pull out your phone.”

Ben made slow movements in grabbing his phone from his pocket. They all stepped further into the alley to avoid prying eyes and discussed the transfer of funds, and how much was fair. Ben claimed he was giving him a deal with his first offer.

Reyes demanded three times that amount. Ben raised his brows...but he complied. The money transferred from his bank account.

“Okay, we’re fucking done,” Ben snarked. He gestured at you with his eyes. “Let her go.”

In his mind, he was already contemplating how thoroughly he'd rip Reyes apart for this. After you were safe. He'd have a first class ticket to Medellin by tonight, ready to Colombian-necktie this cocksucker.

Reyes sighed through his nose. There was still about ten feet between him and Ben. He didn't seem to think it was enough. He took the gun off your back and backed up with you a few steps. Eventually, he released your arm.

“Come ‘ere, sweetheart,” Ben reached a hand out, beckoning for you. You met his gaze once again, and let out a subtle breath.

You took three hesitant steps forward.

And the gunshots echoed horribly through the alley.

As it turned out, Reyes always had an escape plan. You were merely the distraction.

It proved effective, as Ben’s protest rang out as soon as the bullets fired. He raced forward and caught you as you stumbled, but his hands soon became coated in your blood; it fled from your back in thin rivulets.

You gasped and clung to his arms. His ears rang with the sound, along with tires squealing and shouts and police sirens. All he could focus on was the color draining from your face.

Both of your breaths came out ragged as he slid with you down to his knees. He brushed your hair away from your face, even as his blood-covered hand stained your cheek. Your pained eyes drew up to his face. You tried to speak, but you didn't have the strength.

“I hear the sirens. They’re coming for you, take you to the hospital,” he promised. His voice was rough, but his throat was tight. His eyes scanned over you. “All you need is my blood and…Christ. Fuck it all.”

He laid you down on the dirty asphalt and hurriedly yanked up his coat sleeve until it ripped. It exposed his arm. He was about to drag a blunt nail across his own skin to bleed into you.

“Ben.” Your fingers twitched against his knee.

When he looked at your face, there was no longer life in your eyes.

His own were wide, almost uncomprehending. His breathing was harsh as empty hands fell to his thighs. His head felt heavy, though his ears were still ringing.

He drew enough strength in his hand to wipe the blood from your cold cheek…but your face was beginning to blur.

Or not, he realized, as the sting in his eyes took him by surprise.

In a fit of mania, he gathered you back up in his arms and ignored the wetness covering your back. He held you, impossibly tight. Tighter than he’d ever held you, because he was alone in the alley…because he was alone again.

And it was his own fault.

His eyes squeezed shut against the burn, but it was futile. Everything was. His breaths were sharp and stifled as pain tore inside. A pain worse than anything the Russian's could've inflicted on him.

His lips pressed against your forehead, trembling there. The first drops of wetness rolled down his cheek. He couldn't stop it from happening, but then again. He guessed he truly was a failure, after all.

You made the mess…

His first tears had been spent at his mother’s funeral, when he stood alone at her gravestone.

His last ones would fall and die with you.

“Ben,” your voice was soft but insistent.

He finally woke with a start. A sharp inhale through his nose.

He had been sleeping on his side. Before he even truly registered where he was, in the safety of his bedroom, he turned his head toward you.

His eyes found your face in the dark, over his shoulder. Your hair was frizzy from sleep. The strap of your nightgown had fallen off one shoulder. Your face looked bleary and tired, but you frowned in concern.

“You okay, baby?” you asked. Your hand soothed across the dewy skin on his arm.

Ben’s throat constricted. He was starting to remember bits and pieces of the dream…the nightmare. He rubbed at his eyes, then dragged a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said at last.

“Hmm.” Your gaze narrowed at him. “You sure?”

Ben had only enough energy in him to nod in response. His heart was still racing. Maybe you sensed that, because you leaned onto his arm and dropped a hand down his chest. You kissed his bare shoulder with soft lips, and he couldn’t help himself.

He raised a hand to cup the back of your head. He let out a long, relieved sigh through his nose, closing his eyes. Then he turned onto his back and brought you closer, with an arm slipping around your frame and pulling you against his chest. You made a sound of surprise, but you went willingly.

You brushed the sweaty strands of hair away from his face and pressed a kiss against his neck, to his jaw, his cheek and above his brow. He accepted it all and tried to calm his breathing with the feeling of your touch, and the smell of your flowery soap that lingered on your skin.

With a hand still cupping your head, he guided your lips to his. He claimed you slowly, but with purpose. You answered him by tilting your head, deepening the kiss for a moment.

You parted from him just as slowly. You knew everything wasn’t okay, but you also knew it wasn’t the time to push him for an answer.

Maybe in the morning, you thought. …I’ll make pancakes. Haven't done that in a while. And he’s always happier with something sweet.

You rested contentedly against his warm chest and let his heartbeat, gradually slowing back into a steady rhythm, lull you back to sleep.

Ben tangled his fingers into your hair. He laid one more kiss on the top of your head.

And for damn sure, he was going to cancel that trip into the city tomorrow.

AN: I know, I know. The "it was all a dream" thing is super cheesy, but I couldn't leave it on heartbreak. I just don't have it in me with these two. 🥲❤️‍🩹

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

#fic rec #solider boy x reader

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