#russell shaw drabble

[zepskies]

More of This

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: Welcoming Russell home, where he belongs.  

AN: Here it is - bonus drabble time!~ This can be a stand-alone, but it’s really a snippet missing from Lost Time in the Every Second Counts-verse. Using the GIF above from 2x02 specifically for the hair flip. It did things to me... 😮‍💨 (But there are NO spoilers for 2x02).

Shoutout to @impala-dreamer who helped inspire this in our @jacklesversebingo chat. 😂

Word Count: 900

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Smut and feels, small tinge of angst. Russell's hair. Tattoos. Everything really.

💜 Series Masterlist  

“Welcome home,” you whispered into his mouth.

All Russell could offer was a breathless sound, caught somewhere between an agreement and a groan of pleasure. He was being treated to a feast of the eyes as you rode him slow in the comfort and safety of your bed.

Your lips didn’t quite manage to connect with his in a kiss, with heavy breaths in between and a deliberate roll of your hips against his. He’d been letting you control the pace of him sheathing home with your every drawn-out thrust.

He was enjoying the show—your hair wild, your pupils blown wide with arousal, being able to palm at your breasts and tease your hardened nipples, kissing your flushed, dewy skin.

But you could feel him getting desperate. His hands moved down your body over soft curves, just for his fingers to squeeze into the flesh of your hips and ass, trying to ground himself in you. His eyes shut and his head fell back into the pillow. You bent down and fastened your lips to his neck, kissing and sucking hard there. He slid a hand up your back and buried it in your hair.

“Takin’ me so well, baby,” he said, his voice deep and rough, and a bit strained. “But you’re torturing me a little bit.”

You giggled breathlessly into his neck. Your tone was playful and coy when you replied, “What do you mean?”

You made a show of raising your hips, letting his hard length slide out of your wet heat all the way to the tip, before you slowly sunk back down. You shifted your hips along the way, until the thick head of him was nestled deep and pressing against your cervix. You both panted for breath. Even your arms were shaking while holding yourself above him.

“Yeah, think you’re trying to kill me,” Russell uttered. “Suppose there’s worse ways to go…”

“Fuck,” you muttered, releasing into a moan. The languid drag of his cock against your inner walls was good, but nowhere near enough at this point.

Maybe you were done teasing him, as well as yourself. Maybe you were done punishing him for taking one contract job after another, taking so long to get back, and making you worry about him and his safety. Your lips made their way back to his cheek, laying a sweeter kiss there.

“Okay.” You smiled against his skin. “How about you fuck me like it’s been three months, not three weeks. I wanna feel you come hot inside me—”

Russell wouldn’t even wait for you to finish the dirty whispers already setting his blood alight. His tattooed arm wrapped around your back and pulled you flush against his chest. He manhandled you seemingly without much effort, twisting you onto your back and having you laid out underneath him.

You let out a huff as your back met the mattress and made the springs squeak. Your head barely made it onto the pillow where his head had been, but your boyfriend wasted little time in grabbing your thighs and angling you just right, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist. (You didn’t need any encouragement.) He took you hard and deep, making sure he hit that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust.

You gasped and clung to his broad shoulders.

“Right there, sweetheart?” he said near your ear. His voice was rich and gravel. A shiver ran through your body, goaded along with every other sensation he was drawing out of you. You couldn’t even speak. Just a nod and a broken, desperate whimper. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip.

You were holding on for the rest of the ride. If nothing else, Russell had precision, and he was a master of his craft. And that was whatever he set his mind to.

His hand slipped between your bodies for a moment, his fingers searching, and finding, then massaging your swollen clit between thrusts. You cried out in his ear and damn near choked on your own breath, your nails biting into his shoulders. It didn’t take much longer for that tightening coil in your core to finally snap, your inner walls throbbing around his cock.

A curse and a ragged groan fell from his lips as his body locked up on him as well. You felt his body stiffen and the warmth of his release deep inside you. The sensation elicited another shiver down your spine.

You were on birth control, but it still made you feel a bit wild sometimes, whenever he came inside you. You relaxed underneath him with your knees bent, your thighs a soft cradle for his hips.

Russell kept himself upright with his forearms resting on either side of your head. His long hair had slid forward, the brown silky strands tickling your forehead as his panting breaths mingled with yours.

You attempted to brush some of his hair back behind his ears, but it fell forward again, tickling your nose. Russell allowed it on purpose, making you laugh lightly. He grinned in response, but he lowered further to capture your lips in a kiss. He didn’t mind this one being nice and slow.

Even when he parted from you, you still craved more of him. More of this.

You slipped a hand over his bearded cheek, an affectionate caress. A softer smile drew across his lips. He rested his forehead against yours, and he chuckled a little.

“It’s damn good to be home.”

AN: 🫣 Lol hope you enjoyed this one! ❤️‍🔥

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@samanddeaninatrenchcoat

[waynes-multiverse]

Dad Rock

Summary: Russell brings home a surprise, introducing his first love to his second one.

Part of The Exit Strategy

Pairing: Russell Shaw x wife!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, humor, husbands 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 629

Posted on Patreon March 1, 2025

A/N: Just a small drabble about these two kuckleheads. I've missed them already... Up to you to decide who comes first and who comes second here 😂

Main Masterlist || Russell Shaw Masterlist || Tag List

“Mmmm.”

You sipped on your coffee, the creases of your brow deepening a little more. There was a shift of your feet on the pavement and another tilt of your head. You curled your toes in your slippers and raised a flat palm to your forehead to shield your eyes from the blinding morning sun, your gaze flickering over Russell’s surprise again.

“Oh, c’mon!” Russell laughed softly, quirking a brow at your reaction. His hands gestured to the sleek, black car parked in the driveway once more. “Look at her! She’s a beauty! Perfect for little family road trips.”

“Around the block, maybe,” you scoffed under your breath and drank more coffee. There wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to help you deal with your husband. Maybe you should’ve made it Irish. “It’s only got two doors. How are the kids gonna get in?”

Russell shrugged casually. “It’s a convertible. We just roll down the top, throw ‘em in.”

“Does the backseat even have seatbelts?” You raised a brow, grasping the mug in your hands a little tighter.

Russell pursed his lips, giving a slight cock of his head. “I can grab a lashing strap at the hardware store.”

“You at the hardware store? Well, there go five hours of my life…” you quipped, snickering into your drink.

“That was one time!”

“When is this little family road trip taking place exactly? A year from now? Two?”

“They have a lot of stuff, alright?!”

“I’m guessing I don’t have to ask if this death trap has ISOFIX either,” you added, amusement lacing your voice.

“You’re exaggerating, sweetheart. The kids will be fine,” Russell insisted, brushing your concerns away with a chuckle.

Musingly, you gave a shrug. “Well, I guess the convertible is kind of nice,” you admitted, smiling.

“See? I knew you’d come around.” Your husband grinned a wide and satisfied smile.

“Yeah, I suppose it’s practical,” you agreed, biting the insides of your cheeks. “I mean, if we do get into an accident, at least the kids get flung out without a hindrance in their little ejection seats.”

Russell frowned, smacking his lips. His head bobbed. “Aaaaand I’m done talking with you now. I’m going back inside.”

“No, wait!” you called after your husband with a jittering laugh as he strolled toward the porch. “We haven’t even talked about our next family vacation yet! How about Ukraine? Or Gaza? You know, I heard the Fires of Mordor are super nice this time of year, too…”

“Alright, no second coffee for you,” Russell huffed playfully, holding the front door open for you as you trailed after him.

“Hey, maybe we can all go skydiving this afternoon,” you deadpanned your suggestion as you strolled past Russell inside the house. “But without parachutes. God knows safety is for uncool losers.”

“Okay, I hear ya. No kids in the Chevelle,” Russell relented with two placating palms, laughing. He then grabbed your hand and tugged you to him. He smiled at the familiar mischievous twinkle in your eyes, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “But how about we get a babysitter for tonight, and you and I take a little drive, huh? Put on a little Dad Rock, and I rock your world, sweetheart…”

You suppressed a bubble of laughter. “What exactly is Dad Rock?”

“You know, little Zeppelin, Eagles, Tom Petty, Springsteen…” Russell listed, his lips then curving into a cheeky smirk. “Look, I promise any questions you may have about that backseat, I’ll try my best to answer, sweetheart.”

You snorted another laugh, shaking your head at his antics. “Uh-huh, I’m sure you will. But granted, I like this idea a little more than the first one.”

Russell grinned so much his cheeks hurt. “Told you you’d love her!”

I swear I love the car, but I couldn't resist bringing in the mom perspective 😂🩵

Tag List:

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@americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

“No way. Not happening.” You smiled, batting your eyes at Russell. “No! I literally just got you out of there. I’m dropping you off at the nearest police station.”

“Or…they’re on the take and you’d be putting me in even more danger. Such a shame after you busted me out. I thought you said you had my back and all,” you said, faking a pout. He grumbled, spinning around. “You know I can help you find it…”

He frowned, crossing his arms adorably when he faced you.

“24 hours and then I send you home. Understand?”

“3 days. Sounds like plenty of time!” You hopped into the passenger seat, Russell muttering curses by the time you were closing the door.

[rizlowwritessortof]

'He’s too pretty to be so rugged and tough. Too sweet to be so damaged.' 

'He reels, blinking quickly to find reality between the cracks of his blossoming pornographic thoughts.'

COME. ON. Perfection.

LOVED this!!

Don't Mention It

A Tracker Story

Russell Shaw x GN!Reader

590 Words

SFW, Fluff, Kissy Kiss

Requested by @deans-spinster-witch

Cozy Drabbles '24 Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Light plays on his face highlighting every perfect line, every beautiful scar. Deep orange dances from the campfire and lights the flecks of gold in his green eyes and the strands of gray in his thick beard. Lifting a beer to his lips, he catches you staring out of the corner of his eye. Your stomach flips. Butterflies swarm and your cheeks burn.

The fire crackles and he smiles. 

“You warm enough over there?” he asks, voice deep and hushed. 

Nodding, you tug the old wool blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Kinda,” you confess. An unexpected shiver lights your spine and you shake with a laugh. “Maybe not.” 

Russell laughs softly and tips the bottle back, draining his third beer. He stands without an issue and grabs a nearby stick, jabbing it into the center of the fire. The logs shift and sparks fly. A wave of warmth strikes your face and you sigh happily. 

“Better?”

Opening your eyes, you find him above you, standing a little closer than before. He’s blocking the stars overhead but you don’t mind. You’d rather look at him anyway. 

“A bit, yeah.” 

Tossing the stick aside, he sits again, this time next to you on the fallen tree. His bowed legs spread and his knee brushes yours. They’re layers of denim between you but you swear you can feel a shock as if his skin is grazing yours. 

More butterflies. More burning. 

Russell clears his throat as if he’s been considering something deep and has finally made a decision. Without asking, he throws his arm around your shoulders and tugs you close. 

“This OK?” he asks, already settling in. 

Your voice is shaky and you hate the nerves coursing through your system. “Y-yeah. Thanks.” 

How strange to be snuggling up to the man who only hours ago was saving you from a vengeful madman out for blood. Stranger still to feel so safe in his arms, so protected. 

Somewhere in the distance, a branch falls. Animals move through the trees. Dry leaves fall and float on the wind. Time passes but nothing really matters. For a moment, everything is alright. 

“This is kinda nice,” he says suddenly, pulling you out of the peaceful trance of the flames. 

“It is. Especially after today.” 

He stiffens and pulls back to look you over. Concern floods his face and darkens his voice. “Shit. How’s your ankle?”

“It’s fine,” you say with a shrug. “Nothing’s broken.” 

His smile is kind and genuine. “Good.” 

His eyes never leave you and your chest swells. He’s too pretty to be so rugged and tough. Too sweet to be so damaged. 

The blanket falls from your shoulders as you lean in, following your desire for once in your life. 

He gasps in surprise, sucking in a quick breath as your lips hit his, but he soon melts into it. His plump lips part and he tips his head to the side while your tongue presses gently into his mouth. He hums and his hands hover over your hips, nervous to land, afraid the touch will move things too quickly. The slowness, the newness, the full need pulsing in your kiss is more than enough for the moment. He exhales against your cheek and you pull back with a shy grin. 

“Hi.” 

He reels, blinking quickly to find reality between the cracks of his blossoming pornographic thoughts. 

“Hey.” 

“Thanks for saving my life,” you whisper. 

Russell blushes, his cheeks on fire just as sure as his desire. He shrugs coyly. “Don’t mention it…”

[bluemerakis]

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ cream pie ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ munch .ᐟ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, reader somewhat oblivious to the obscene meaning of munch, tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of a sexual!cream pie, mild food play, finger-sucking, oral f receiving, pet names. pls lmk if i forgot any!

synopsis ─ dean’s always poked at you for being a slow-eater. likewise, you’ve always poked at him for being a fast-eater—going so far as to accuse him of an early death should he continue at that pace. so, on the night of his birthday, he decides to make a change to his eating habits, becoming deliberately slow in his meal’s devouring. only, that meal is you.

word count ~ 5.4k

──────────────────────

The doors to the diner announced the next newcomer with a shrill tinkle of bells, and by the nature of human curiosity—or a hunter’s paranoia—you found yourself glancing past Dean to witness a little girl ushered inside by an older woman.

You circulated a mouthful of fries as you watched the child bound over to the front counter, short, stubby finger outstretched to prod at a large print of the most obnoxiously decorated milkshake you’d ever seen—a mound of cream, candy and sprinkles that must’ve accounted for half the drink’s weight.

“Scoutin’ out for Sammy?” Dean asked suddenly—the words muffled by the burger he’d taken to devouring almost instantly after it’d arrived. Not even five minutes ago.

You forsook the view of the little girl to tune into the booth’s space, where the Winchester sat across from you with cheeks that had grown comically round. You couldn’t help but briefly stutter on your ground fries, perplexed by the plate that he’d wasted no time in clearing out. All that was left was the half-eaten burger currently clutched between his talons, where his lips closed in on to wrap around the bread-cocooned glory. The fries that had previously formed the burger’s first line of defence had not stood a damn chance.

With a thick swallow of your morsel, you cleared your throat to voice your concern—Dean’s question hurled out the current window of care. “Where the hell did all your food go, Dean? It literally just got here!” You reached across the table to take up your glass of water, downing a much needed sip that moistened the walls of your throat after the fries had brushed it dry on their downward journey.

Observing Dean, you almost felt like you were intruding on some intimate moment between himself and his burger, which he currently ogled from every angle in search of his next, perfect bite—yet to swallow down the last bite he’d taken. The appetite on this man was astounding. And so was the seemingly unlimited mouth space that he seemed to cram full squirrel-style, given any and every chance.

At your perplexed pry, the Winchester strayed from his guilty pleasure to grace you with a stupidly triumphant look, his vigorous chewing coming to a halt. “Just gave it a tour o’ my insides,” he mumbled grossly, eyes narrowing with smug amusement while he went out of his way to part his lips in a messy, food-kissed smile—just to get a rise out of you.

“Stop that!” You groaned, hand coming up in a defensive spread to shield yourself against the view of the chunky stew plastered along his teeth. “You’re disgusting,” you added with a meek giggle, chin perking slightly as you attempted to peer at him over the jagged horizon of your fingers.

You caught his Adam’s Apple bopping with a hefty swallow, the lump striding down the lean length of his neck, and it was a sight that made you feel safe enough to lower your hand once more. You watched him pass his tongue across both oil-kissed lips, savouring the essence with a pleasurable hum and smack of his mouth—like he’d never known the first thing about table manners. He passed the remainder of his burger to one hand, the other now freed to gesture in your direction.

“Hey!” he began—a clearer, more sophisticated sound. “I get my hands on somethin’ as delicious as this, I show her a good time,” he explained with a laughable seriousness. “You, of all people, should know this.”

You’d taken to plopping another fry into your mouth while he spoke, but at that last sentence, you dusted the lingering salt grains from your hands and made a hasty swallow before answering. “That you’re a munch?” You established innocently.

Dean perked at the observation you’d made many dinings prior—wore the title like a badge of honour. “Damn right I am, baby—and this was a damn preview,” he said with a charming wink, one that entertained his own, mental scheme.

“A preview of what?” You tested with a confused grin.

Dean’s glare turned the type of determined he usually reserved for an exhilarating hunt, his lips quirking with the utmost pleasure that you’d asked. “You, me, and your good friend down south—later tonight—” he began enlightening, but neglected to finish the sentence as he brought the last of his burger to his lips. Then, they crashed down onto the buns in an obnoxious motion—gluttonously garnering every inch into the compartment of his cheeks.

He began chewing with difficulty, at first, but no look of panic flashed across his features, despite your own worry that he might’ve started choking at any instant. Then, he rolled the empty burger wrapper between his palms, eyes droning into you with an unvoiced expectancy while his jaw circulated like a cow’s. You returned his stare with a cluelessness, taking a second to mull over his incomplete sentence—and it was then that his insinuation clicked into place.

Your cheeks flushed hot at that, the hands you’d nestled at either side of your plate drawing into fists. “I was talking about the food!” You said accusingly, his innuendo drawing a disbelieved laugh from your lips.

“Yeah, no, that ain’t what munch means, sweetheart,” Dean said smoothly, rocketing the crushed wrapper into the air before catching it and plopping it down onto his plate. His palms then came together in a scheming rub, eyes lowering to the menu beside his emptied plate. “Speakin’ of food,” he hummed thoughtfully, and you lifted your chin to get a better view of the options he was scanning through. Light meals.

You shook your head lightly, turning your attention back to your own plate. “You’re going to implode,” you remarked.

“Hey—drop the freakin’ fuss,” he grumbled indignantly. “‘Cause it just so happens that shit’s on the house for this birthday dude,” he added, hands coming up to gesture to himself almost proudly. “And I’ll be damed if I don’t do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

You flashed him a hopeless smile, but didn’t push him on his appetite any further. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Dean so unbothered and chirpy. As of now, life had been good—great, even. Bobby had offered to take care of this week’s hunts in order to free up Dean’s schedule, giving him the time to celebrate an event he hadn’t deemed worthy of a celebration for a long, long time. And Sam—ever the content third-wheel to you both—had taken the afternoon to kill time in his own Sam ways.

The deal you’d struck with the younger Winchester was that he get the morning to entertain Dean’s birthday, and you get the afternoon. The brothers were up at the crack of dawn to motor it over to some shooting range, where they’d completely obliterated the targets—earning dubious glances from the other, inexperienced hobbyists. You’d thought about asking why they’d opted for picking up a gun on their off-days, but Dean had returned with such a beaming smile that you’d swallowed the question entirely.

The only thing that mattered was that he was happy. Enjoying himself.

Eventually, Dean let out a decided exclamation, index finger coming down on the table to single out an option amongst the menu.

Your head lifted curiously. “What you got there?” You asked, plopping a fry into your mouth.

“The best thing to exist after cars,” he answered vaguely and with a playful waggle of his brows, his head then averting to do a sweep of the diner.

“With how easily amused you are, that could be narrowed down to an endless amount of shit,” you scoffed lightly.

“T-t-t,” he silenced with a finger in your direction, eyes still doing an intent scan of the space. When he managed to spot a waitress, it almost looked like his eyes could’ve slipped the keep of his sockets. His lips pierced to execute a perfect whistle, hand waving through the air to beckon her over—which she made haste on.

You turned your attention to the waitress as she pranced on over, fluster heavy in her rosy cheeks and sheepish smile as she glanced between yourself and Dean. “What can I get for you both?”

“One o’ these bad babies, please,” Dean requested with a show to the menu, hands then coming up in a thankful clasp as the waitress nodded lightly in response. “Sweet,” he murmured contently, his attention turning back to you. “Anythin’ for you?” He asked politely, but the hitch of his singular brow as he glanced between you and your stacked plate told you that he knew the answer.

“I’m good, thanks,” you told the waitress, who gave a small nod before scampering off. You turned back to Dean with a light shake of your head. “Oh, I know your heart hates you. You’re going to die an early death at this pace,” you scoffed, glancing down to where you began picking through your cooled fries in search of the crispy pieces.

“Yeah, whatever, happy deaths,” he answered lightly. “You gonna eat any o’ that?”

You glanced up to Dean’s famished eyes hounding the pot of edible gold still crowning your plate. “Yes, I’m gonna eat it!” You answered almost instantly. “I’m starving!”

“Well, you don’t look it,” he scoffed with a dramatic widening of his eyes—like he couldn’t believe you’d fault him for asking when your plate currently housed twice the calories of his. “Man, if my heart hates me, then your stomach hates you—teasin’ it like this with the one bite an hour ritual you’ve got goin’. You’re playin’ hard to get with the damn thing,” he huffed amusedly.

“It’s called savouring it,” you retorted with a light shake of your head. “You should try it some time.”

“Hey—I savour plenty, alright?” His brows perked pointedly, eyes lowering down your figure and straying to some view below the tabletop, where they lingered with a mischievous tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

You caught on immediately, apples of your cheeks rounding with a grin. “I can’t even with you,” you sighed dramatically; warmly.

Dean’s eyes lifted back to you, forming a wink that he’d come to reserve just for you. “And yet you do, anyways,” he chuckled, then straightened in his seat with some new resolve. “Alright, c’mon—start stuffin’ up on fries. For every bite you don’t finish, your ankle’s gettin’ ganked—” he paused to reinforce the threat by nudging the toe of his boot against yours, “—and then I’m eatin’ whatever’s left.”

“What are you—five?” You giggled, and then his boot came forward to deliver the first of its taps against your ankle. You let out a squeal despite its gentle nature, hand flying forward to scoop up a handful of fries with a grin heavy on your lips.

Dean’s arms crossed as he watched you with equal amusement. “It’s called buildin’ character,” he said. “Consider this your motivation to eat faster.”

“Maybe you should try eating slower!”

He tsked in response to that, then offered a tiny nod. “Yeah, alright, alright, I’ll try it sometime,” he entertained, jerking his chin at you. “C’mon, wrap it up and we’ll go half on that apple pie I ordered.”

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

On the drive back to the motel, Dean had rattled Baby’s entire infrastructure with some deafening rock, his jaws testing out new heights as he accentuated every tune with utmost enthusiasm. He’d glanced your way a couple of times to enlist you into his self-hosted concert, still blaring along to the music, but you’d only managed to pick up on a few phrases here and there through your time spent as an audience to his hunting playlists.

Whenever a song came on that you recognised, you’d chime in to harmonise with Dean in a word or two before dropping off and taking to watching him ensue into musical madness, a grin heavy on your lips. God, you loved him. You loved him so much. And you loved seeing him recognise how much of his free-will he could cash toward buying his own happiness, instead of worrying about everything and everybody else—especially on a day like today.

The drive back to the motel was a cheery one you’d mentally documented as a day to remember. When you’d eventually pulled up at the motel, Dean had laid the engine to rest with an intense glance in your direction—one that you’d come to recognise as something to question. Because if you didn’t, there was no telling what was on a mind as carefully guarded as his.

You met his gaze with light confusion, acknowledging the silence he’d coupled with his dramatic shift in demeanour. “Is everything okay?”

Much to your relief, Dean’s features grew soft, his lips spreading with a thankful smile. “Everythin’s perfect,” he soothed quickly, but no less gentle. “Just. . . thinkin’ ‘bout today—how you and Sammy went outta your way to make this day so freakin’ awesome. I appreciate it—I do,” he added with a light chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he drank you in with love-struck eyes.

You shifted across the seat until your leg was flush against Dean’s, your hand coming up to gently cradle his jaw. “First off,” you began, thumb stroking gentle lines over the apple of his cheek, and you felt the unbridled weight of him melting into your hold—because he’d always felt safe enough to entrust all of him to all of you. “When it comes to you, nothing will ever be out of the way. You’re worth the time—worth taking that moment to think about how we can celebrate the man who tries so hard to keep us all together. You’re always jumping at the opportunity to do things for everybody else, but tonight—on your night—I’m going to honour everything that you are. And reflect on how blessed the world is to have its very own Dean Winchester. How blessed I am.”

Dean’s eyes twinkled at that—like a starstruck fanboy—and you felt honoured to be the recipient of his admiration. His love.

“Secondly,” you continued. “This day is all about you—officially, and everything—there’s a birth certificate out there to prove it. But I want you to know that you’re the type of person worth celebrating every single day. And I do, quietly—with every glance I steal of you because I’m just so thankful that we exist at the same time. And even in a life that gets as shitty as ours, I’m glad that it’s you I get to share the small breaths of a break with—you that I’m laughing it up with over a burger and beer, you that I get to share a cuddle with each night that feels like it could fend off every worry, and you, in all that you are, reminding me every single day of what good looks like—and why this world is worth saving. You’re the face of all things precious and scare in this world, Dean.”

At those words, Dean cracked with a twitch of his lip, giving rise to a smile that was simultaneously hurt and healed. As he gazed into your eyes, you saw their beautiful, green depths begin to glimmer at the borders. At the first comprehension of his growing tears, he was quick to dip his head into concealment, jaw turning an inch to catch his lips onto the hand you’d cradled his cheek within.

There, in thick silence, he pressed a long and tender kiss to your palm—as though trying to brand himself with the taste, touch and scent of you. A gesture to remind you just how much of himself he’d devoted to loving you, living for you, and embracing everything that you meant to him in ways that didn’t always embody words.

You sat there for a few seconds, watching as he became one with you—choosing you as his safety confines while he worked to sort through the feelings he’d never been apt at acknowledging this gently; vulnerably. Eventually, he stirred from your hold, but not to forsake it entirely, his hands outstretching to frame you tenderly at the neck.

“God, I love you,” he whispered with a shuddered breath, the tears he’d tried to quell with a moment of silence proving to be stubborn. But they came as gentle streams, providing just enough moisture to cast a soft sheen amongst his cheeks. “I love you so damn much,” he reinforced—the sound gruff, raw and passionate—and then his lips were pressed against yours with a hunger that felt desperately pushy and shy all at once.

You reciprocated the kiss with equal devotion, hands coming up to wrap around his wrists as you steadied yourself within his passionate grip. His thumbs rubbed gentle lines down the ledge of your jaw as his kiss continued to deepen—not particularly lustful, but just a very physical, passionate vow of loyalty. A show that he was yours, and all yours.

For a while, your lips remained entangled in a fervent dance, the world all around you dissolving into nothingness. What was out there didn’t matter, anyway, not when your whole world was right here, right beside you.

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

Back in the motel, you and Dean had slunk inside with the intent to not wake up Sam—only to find that when you’d flicked on the lights, the younger brother was nowhere in sight. For a second, you both stood in dumbfounded silence, heads swinging to scan the modest space that he couldn’t have possibly been hidden away in—not with the height on him.

Then Dean let out a soft noise of realisation as he left your side to stroll into the kitchen, hand outstretched to pluck a note from the fridge’s barren door. He brought it toward him with a focused furrow of his brows, eyes scanning over the information before he let slip a smug chuckle.

You wandered over to Dean curiously, and just then, he turned to you with the note waving about. “Sammy’s slipped out for the night—called a cab and said us naughty teens could have the place to ourselves,” he explained with a heavy, cheeky undertone as he glanced you over.

You drew up beside him with a smile to entertain his implications, arms coming up in a cross. “Oh, yeah? Guess we better make the most of it, then,” you murmured, leaning yourself against the counter bordering the fridge.

Dean wandered close enough for the fabric of his jacket to graze your arms, head lowering to yours in a painfully slow manner. “Hm. . . what’d ya have in mind?” He asked before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then to the bridge of your nose.

Your nose scrunched playfully beneath his lips, eyes screwing shut at his very welcomed trespass. “I think—” you began, but were quickly silenced by the press of his lips against yours. After a few, greedy kisses with a point to prove, he pulled away to let you finish. “I think,” you repeated with a breathless laugh, eyes falling open once more. “You get the gist of it.”

“Think I damn well do,” he grinned, coming in for round two, but you stopped him with a finger to the lips.

“Not so fast, Casanova,” you steadied with a smile, making a point to tap his lips before pulling away. “I’ve got a little surprise for you, first.”

“What—it ain’t this?” Dean said ruefully, gesturing to all of you. “C’mon, man, quit teasin’ me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” you giggled before pushing yourself off the counter to round him in favour of the fridge. “I made you something.”

He hummed interestedly. “Well, colour me intrigued,” he drawled, turning to face you as he leaned himself against the counter to watch after your every move.

You opened the fridge and briefly ducked inside, rounding onto the point of your toes to grab the mystery meal off the top shelf. Beside you, Dean uttered a whistle of admiration, and you scoffed at his apparent leering. You lowered yourself with the prize in hand, shifting it to a one-sided grip as your free hand moved closed the door.

Dean studied the dish with interest as you strode over to him and placed it onto the counter. A part of you felt a sense of annoyance as you reflected back to the diner, where he’d gone and ordered himself two slices of pie despite your protest. You hadn’t wanted him to have his fill of it before tonight, where the dessert pie you’d baked him had been waiting for its time to shine.

Slowly, you pulled back the wrapping to reveal the dish—a dainty cream pie.

Dean took a moment to flutter his lashes, his lips forming a thoughtful pout—like he was trying to find the right words to decline your offer. You’d been afraid of this very reaction after he’d eaten enough pie for the next month. “More pie?” he remarked with an almost pained expression.

You let out a loose scoff, tossing the wrapping onto the counter. “I told you not to order another slice of pie at the diner!” You exclaimed, head shaking lightly.

“Yeah, but I just thought you were hasslin’ me over the eatin’ thing—not because you went and baked an entire one,” Dean laughed before moving to take a swipe at the topped cream. You watched as he crowned the pad of his index finger with a considerable cluster, then brought it up to his lips for a taste. After swallowing the smooth sweetness, he smacked his lips appreciatively. “But this tastes freakin’ amazing,” he praised with a warm grin. “Thanks, baby, I’ll savour it as much as the diner’s pie.”

“You’ll do that and more,” you shot back with a pretence of annoyance, but you couldn’t fend off the grin peaking through. “Cause it was hard work making this thing!”

He cocked a brow smugly. “Really? ‘Cause when last we hit the sheets, I seem to remember doin’ it in five minutes,” he said pointedly, teeth flashing a lewd grin as he gave an obnoxious wink.

Your jaw dangled at his shameless obscenity—alluding to a few nights ago where you’d begged him for a quickie, and had him finish inside of you. “Dean!” You exclaimed, hand coming forward to swat his arm lightly. “Think you’re a funny man, yeah?”

“I think I’m hilarious,” he replied charmingly, hand diving down to take another swipe at the cream. Just then, he brought it up to your face to slather the side of your cheek, which made your mouth curl around a gasp as you seized up on the spot.

“Asshole!” You sniped with no real anger, hand coming up to wipe some of the cream from your face, but Dean caught you at the wrist before you could eradicate the stickiness entirely.

“Fun-ass,” he corrected cheekily, gaze holding yours as he leaned himself down to wrap his lips around your index finger. You felt his tongue swirl around it to gather the cream, and even once he’d sucked it clean of all tangible sweetness, he kept up the wet whirlpool.

“Dean,” you laughed weakly. “Stop.”

Eventually, he freed your finger from his lips with a jarring pop, his chin wagging subtly with the pride of his action. “What?” He asked innocently, releasing your hand. “I’m just findin’ ways to make eatin’ this pie more excitin’.”

“Very innovative,” you giggled. “And messy.”

“Darlin’, don’t you worry—when I make a mess, I clean it up right after,” he remarked.

Suddenly, you became keenly aware of the cream still slathering your cheek. “Oh, is that so?” You retorted. “Because the records aren’t exactly reflecting right now.”

Dean’s hands came up in a gesture of his defence. “Hey, give me a chance,” he chuckled, then moved to wrap a hand around the nape of your neck. There, his fingers fanned the hair draping your neck, and he pulled you into his frame as his jaw made a dive toward your face.

You felt the warmth of his tongue drag a gentle trail up the curve of your cheek before drawing back to repeat the motion. You squirmed against the humid wetness, hands coming up to his chest as you let out a strained giggle. “That tickles, you weirdo!”

Eventually, he pulled back to face you, and the view of him was silly enough to send you into another giddy fit. The bridge of his nose was dotted with cream, and the trail dissipated along the curve of his glistening lips only to reappear within the divot of his chin.

“You look ridiculous!” You remarked with a warm laugh, finger lifting to wipe some of the cream off the button of his nose and present it to him.

“Yeah, well, you taste delicious,” he mocked childishly, linking his finger with yours to wipe the cream from the tip before plopping it into his mouth. He jerked his chin to the counter behind you, wiping his hands together. “Could ya pass me a paper towel, please? Behind you.”

Just then, an idea sparked to mind—shameless, and a little dirty, but fun. “Don’t bother,” you replied, and Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. Just then, you turned toward the pie, hand coming forward to scoop up an impressive amount of cream.

Behind you, Dean let out a soft huff, like he’d had an idea of what game you were about to play. Turning back to him, you hovered your cream-laden hand out in front of you, your other chaste one slipping beneath the hem of your tank to lift it up the expanse of your stomach. You terminated the stripping beneath the curve of your breasts, revealing enough of your abdomen to spur the Winchester on.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he breathed, his eyes unashamedly lowering down your exposed stomach before darting back to the cream cradled within your palm.

Without a word to spare, you began spreading a slow and messy trail across your stomach—starting at the divot between the curves of your breasts.

“Oh, I think I like where this is goin’,” Dean chuckled absentmindedly, lower lip drawn into a bite as he watched you paint the sticky trail down the length of your stomach—where you stopped just shy of your short’s hem.

Once you’d planted a generous path of cream, you brought your hand up to your lips to lick the last of it from existence, other hand still anchoring your shirt in its unobstructive place. “Rules of the game,” you began with a grin, Dean reciprocating one far more exhilarated. “Leave no mess behind—should be easy for you, he who always cleans up after himself,” you poked lightly.

“Easy?” He tutted cockily. “I’m gonna nail this out the freakin’ park. And then nail somethin’ else,” he added with a wink.

“Okay, mr. Big Talk, enough of the chitchat,” you laughed, free hand beckoning him forward.

Dean obliged with an eager, yes, ma’am, before inching his way toward you, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead, then at the crook of your neck before he pulled back to gaze you in the eye.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured with an adoring smile.

“Happy freakin’ birthday to me, indeed,” Dean breathed in astonishment, taking a moment to lower his eyes along the candy trail that paved way to his personal jackpot down under before glancing back up at you. Then, with a determined smirk playing at his lips, he ducked from your view.

His hands took up firm grip at your waist, anchoring himself there as his lips took to your cream-kissed skin like the famished jaws of a zombie. Your head lolled back at the sensation of his tongue swirling along your skin, your free hand coming forward to plant itself within the jagged field of his hair. There, your fingers curled around unruly wisps—as if needing to ground yourself against the skilled tongue currently deconstructing your every sense—and your lips parted with a soft moan.

Dean, as if spurred on by that singular, sweet sound, added teeth into the mix, nipping lightly at the surfaces he’d licked clean before continuing to lower himself down your stomach. His grip at your waist became firmer—more desperate—and as if he couldn’t restrain himself any longer, his fingers grazed down your sides to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear. There, he tugged ruthlessly, successfully managing to pull the items down and over the curves of your hips and thighs.

You aided his efforts to strip you with a shimmy of your legs, allowing the clothing to plop to the ground. Shortly after, Dean’s fingers made a return to your waist, his tongue doing one, last greedy sweep of your navel to terminate the creamy line. He pulled back to gaze up at you—nose, mouth and chin slathered with the remnants of your game—but his pupils were blown wide with arousal, his teeth bared in a grin that told you he wanted to taste more of you.

“Jesus, baby, you’re gonna ruin me,” he uttered gruffly, breathlessly, and then without waiting for your input, he dipped into the yearning warmth nestled in the nook of your thighs, where his nose struck your clit with all the right force.

Like a starved and thirsty man deprived of everything essential to life, his tongue swept through your folds with the intent to garner every last inch of you. You let out a loud moan at that, hip collapsing slightly into the support of the counter, but Dean’s hands—anchored at your hips—tightened to remind you of his reliability, pulling you back onto the support of his mouth. There, his grip lowered to your thighs, squeezing lightly before they tightened mercilessly with the intent to grind himself deeper into your warmth.

Tears began to well at your eyes as the stimulation consumed you, head snapping back and eyes screwing shut to get lost in the abyss of Dean’s making. You felt, and heard, every flick and swirl of his tongue around your clit—the sound obscenely audible as wet fluttering—and it was enough to deduce you to a stew of mindless praises.

“Fuck, Dean, fuck,” you breathed—whimpered, tightening your hold within his hair until you were tugging meanly at his scalp. But he didn’t mind it—if anything, it elicited his own grunts of pleasure, which reverberated into your folds and added to the tension you felt building within your core.

He drew your swollen clit into a whirlpool, spinning it round and round his exploitative tongue with a moan of enjoyment. You could have listened to him utter that sound a hundred times over, and it jabbed at your core to know that Dean would never fail to find joy in pleasuring you.

“Fuck, baby, so wet, ‘nd so fuckin’ good,” he murmured against you, the words slurred by his discontent to disrupt the contact—and pace. He made a dive toward your dripping entrance, gathering the amalgamation of saliva and arousal attempting to slip away unnoticed, before he briefly slipped into your entrance.

You let out a broken gasp at that foul move, hips stuttering further into his jaw, but he steadied you upright with an accomplished chuckle to rattle you from within. His tongue retreated to drag back up your folds, re-establishing its rightful place running laps around your clit.

“S’alright, baby, I got you,” he murmured into you, adding fuel to the fire you felt about to erupt within you.

“I’m gonna come,” you muttered breathlessly, thighs clamping around his hold.

Dean gave a hum of approval at that, but kept up his slow and steady pace, only intensifying the stimulation with the pressure of his tongue.

The bundle within you began to grow and grow at your centre, tightening into an inexplicable mass that you craved to let go of. “Fuck,” you spat, eyes clamping shut as you chased your high. “Dean—don’t stop,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

“Ain’t ever stoppin’, baby,” he mumbled, hands squeezing your thigh pointedly.

“Can you. . . go faster,” you stuttered out, eyes faltering open and chin dipping to glance at him. “Please, I need it,” you whined softly.

Dean didn’t stray from his work to glance at you, and his pace didn’t budge, either. “Can’t,” he declined. “Gotta eat slower, remember?” There was a teasing flick across your clit, and you couldn’t help but let out a disbelieved laugh, eyes falling shut once more as you melted into his controlled pace.

“Asshole.”

“Fun-ass.”

──────────────────────

a/n ─ happy birthday to pookie!!! and this is a birthday gift bc dean’s a simple man—he’s a munch. fuck birthday presents & fuck birthday cake, this fucker just wants to devour you. best birthday song? the filth outta your mouth when his tongue’s surfing your clit. said who? me. dean told me. in my wet dreams last night. as a bonus for shits & giggles

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @titsout4jackles @ultravi0lence14 @angelicjackles @starzify @honeyryewhiskey @deansbeer @figthoughts @floralscented @walkslikesummeractslikerain @deansbbyx @whisperingdaze @maddie0101 @lieutenantchaos @spn-reader @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @misatxox

want to become part of the taglist for any future dean winchester works?

other works ─ supernatural masterlist

© bluemerakis ─ do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[jjmbbg]

"Duty Calls"

cw: beau arlen x fem!reader, unprotected anal sex (no hat, no party), no use of lube (please don't), fingering, hair pulling, use of 'sir' and 'good girl'.

(pics from pinterest)

Beau he was carefully reading the file of a case he was working on, his emerald gaze fixed on the suspect's criminal record when he heard a soft knock on the glass of his door. He raised his gaze and looked at the door when the creaking of the door opening made its presence felt, smiling softly as you appeared through it, smiling back at him.

"Hey, handsome, you busy?" you asked, closing the door behind you.

"A little, but I think putting aside work for a couple of minutes won't hurt. C'mere, gorgeous" he closed the file and tossed it on his desk, calling you with a two-finger gesture. "What are you doing here, mhm?"

"I went to the grocery shop, and decided to stop by and see you" you smiled walking towards his desk and leaned on the edge of his desk. "Lot of work, huh?"

"A little bit much" he chuckled, his husky voice causing a chill to deliberately run down your spine. His eyes ranked your body slowly, taking in your pretty flowered dress, the one he gave you at Christmas, and right into your bare legs. His hand caressed gently your knee, sliding over your thigh, a wicked grin forming across his lips. "Y'know, sweetheart, I've been pretty busy these last few hours..." Arlen trailed off, hand hovering the hem of your dress.

The sheriff moved his chair, turning the wheels, until he found himself in front of you, now both hands on your legs, spreading them easily —and without opposition from you. His fingertips dancing along your skin, making you sigh softly.

"You know the blinds are open, right?" you whispered, licking your lower lip amused, feeling a warm sensation in your lower belly.

"Let them see" he whispered back, pulling the chair closer and pulling your dress up to your waist, smiling as he could see your pink panties and the wet spot in the center of them. "Look at yourself," he mused, one finger trailing the hem of the wet fabric. "already wet? I've barely touched you, sweetheart"

"Beau-" you started to talk, voice choked, but a rough squeeze on your thighs made you shut.

"No, sweetheart" Beau mumbled, spreading out more your legs, caressing gently the exposed skin, making you whine. "You know that's not my name here, not when I have you open like this"

You sighed heavily, hands gripping the edge of the wooden desk. "Sir, please... touch me" it was a soft pleading, breathy.

"Good girl" he praised you, moving aside your panties and slidinh two fingers knuckle-deep inside of your wet pussy without any warning. You clenched your walls around his fingers, enjoying the delicious sensation of him splitting you open with his digits. "Taking my fingers so well, huh? You always take 'em perfectly, don't you?"

You whined once more, knuckles white as you gripped tighter the desk, eyes rolling out of pleasure, head falling backwards and lips parted, letting out soft moans as Beau moved his fingers inside of you. He pressed his other hand was pressed against your mouth, muffling your tiny little sounds.

"Nah uh, don't make any sounds, babygirl" he cooed you, pumping his skilled fingers in and out of your soaked pussy, the squelch of your arousal making him groan, feeling his jeans growing tighter. "Fuck, that's it"

He muttered, pulling out his fingers of your heat making you moan softly, grabbing your hips and turning you around, pushing you against the furniture to finish lifting your dress, lowering your panties towards your ankles and finally exposing yourself. His hands grabbed the firm yet soft globes, parting them to expose your tightest hole, grinning to himself, he let go of them, moving his hands to get rid of his jeans and boxers.

"You gonna take me well in this tight little ass? I bet you will, you always do" Beau smirked, enjoying the view from behind you. He smacked one of your asscheeks, seeing it jiggle. "Or am I wrong, babygirl?"

"You're right, sir" you whimpered, wiggling your ass seeking for him to touch you more, to fuck you. "Please, please, I want you"

"Please what? You want me? How, huh? What do you want me to do? Use your words like a good girl, because you're a good girl, right? You wouldn't lie to the sheriff"

He grabbed his hard-rock cock on his hand giving it a few pumps before spreading again your buttcheeks, pressing the flushed tip against your hole, smearing his pre-cum on your rim, pushing just the tip inside. He pulled back, then pushed again, and pulled back and pushed once more, letting your asshole adjust to his cock.

"You're so tight, baby. You always are" he grumbled against your ear, his hands keeping your hips in place as he started to pound into your ass, hearing you whine in a mix of discomfort and pleasure. "You're doing it amazing, sweetheart, just relax for me, okay?"

You nodded, leaning forward, moaning and breathing heavily, thus relaxing your muscles. Beau groaned, moving one hand to your head, grabbing your hair into a makeshift messy ponytail, pulling your head back. Your eyes rolled back, your nails digging into the wood of the desk, pleasure taking the best of you, begging in whispers for more and more.

"There we go, sweetheart. You're doing it so good" Arlen growled, keeping firm yet gentle thrusts, your asscheeks swallowing his length. "My good girl. Keep quiet, we don't want anyone else to hear your pretty sounds"

You chuckled, biting you lower lip and enjoying his thick cock splitting your ass open, filling you in ways only Beau knew how to, he was the only one who knew how to make you feel like this.

"Fuck, fuck. Feeling so good, sir, so, so good" you babbled. The edge of the desk bruising your hips, the sound of the wood dragging against the ground with each thrust making you moan once more. "I'm close, sir, so close. Please, don't stop"

Beau groaned again, burying himself balls-deep into your tight ass, pulling your hair once more before letting it go. He placed a hand on yours, intertwining fingers to remember you silently how much he loves you.

"Cum for me, baby, don't hold anything back. I know how bad you wanna cum" he ordered, pounding harder and harder. "I'm gonna cum inside of you, fill you up and leave you dripping of my cum"

It only took a few more thrusts to make you finish, biting your lower lip harder enough to taste the the copper in your mouth. And then, oh good Lord, Beau's warm seed filled your channel it made you shiver.

"Mhm, the best distraction I could ever had" he mumbled, nipping your earlobe, pulling out of you, smiling watching the trail of cum drip from your asshole. He took care of pulling your panties back into place and lowering your dress, then he combed your hair and kissed you on the lips. "Go home, I'll reward you tonight, alright?"

"Sounds perfect to me" you replied softly, patting his chest, looking forward to tonight.

[winchestergirl2]

March Reading Recs 2025

To show some love and appreciation to all the amazing writers here on tumblr, who take the time to give us all these incredible stories (for free), allowing us to escape into these worlds. Here are all the fantastic fics I've read this month. 💖

Many of these fics and blogs are 18+ only, and NSFW please heed the author's individual fic warnings and requests regarding no minors. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

Reading Recs Masterlist

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

Between The City & the Stars Part 4 | Part 5 @zepskies

Authors Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

If I Stay Part 1 | Part 2 | @zepskies

Authors Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

Safeguard (drabble) @maddie0101

Authors summary: After a bad nightmare, you seek comfort in Dean’s arms.

Sam Winchester

Safe with you @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery

( ☕️ ) - Mornings: Were Made For You - Sam Winchester @keoriwnch

Authors Summary: Sam Winchester is an annoyingly perfect morning person, and you are not. Waking up without him next to you is already a struggle, but when he tries to coax you out of bed with coffee and soft kisses, you realize maybe mornings aren’t so bad��at least, not when they start with him.

Tracker

Russell Shaw

Rivers & Roads Away @impala-dreamer

Big Sky

Beau Arlen

Hope in Broken Places Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | @jessjad

Authors Summary: Moving to and living in Montana had once been a necessary thing for Beau. But three years later now he loved it. His daughter by his side, some new friends he had made. Only problem was that Beau, an alpha in his mid-fourties, starts to feel the effects of not being mated. Will he become feral or is fate on his side one last time?

When Control Slips @agirlwithdemonblood

Authors Summary: Beau Arlen struggles with his unspoken feelings for his younger deputy, leading to a dangerous outburst that threatens their undercover operation and forces him to confront what he’s been hiding all along.

Paperwork @unsuperingyournatural

Here @unsuperingyournatural

Dawsons Creek

CJ Braxton

Sweet Talks & Sales Pitches @wendichester

Authors Summary. cj tries to convince you to join the stand

Smallville

Jason Teague

Coach Teague | Part 2 | @wendichester

Authors Summary: There's a new coach in town and suddenly football has become interesting!

[disappearinginq]

Revenge + Tracker?

I got lazy and didn't actually work the prompt into the actual words, but I think I can get away with it. There's no actual rules to this, right? More like....guidelines.

“Imagine my surprise to find out my man Russell,” the man spat on the ground at Colter’s feet when he said his brother’s name, “had a kid brother.”

Colter debated something snide, but the man was on a roll, and honestly, Colter had no idea why he was here until now.

“A younger brother who is only slightly less difficult to find.” The man pulled Colter’s stolen phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and found Russell’s number. “Say hi.”

Colter said nothing.

Until the man fired the gun into his left thigh.

“Do I have your attention now, Shaw?”

[pamwritessometimes]

Dig That Crazy Santa Claus

Russell Shaw x reader

A Tuesday's Gone Christmas drabble

Summary: Your daughter may have uncovered her dad's greatest secret ever.

Warnings: none

A/N: Surprise, haha! I couldn’t resist — I had to write a little drabble about their first Christmas together. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you!

Wordcount: 810

The house was dressed for the holidays in all its mismatched glory. The tree leaned a bit too far to the left, decked with candy canes and glittery, uneven ornaments. But it was perfect, because this was your first Christmas as a family of three, and you had gone all out: stockings hung by the fireplace, wreaths everywhere, and enough gingerbread to open your own shop. 

Yet, instead of the excited squeals you’d been expecting from a five-year-old, there was… silence.

Emma sat on the couch, arms crossed and lips pursed in a pout that could rival the Grinch.

“What’s wrong, bug?” Russell asked after noticing her little frown. His tone was light, but his brow was furrowed with concern. “You look like someone just canceled Christmas.”

“No one canceled anything” Emma mumbled, staring daggers at the floor.

You and Russell exchanged puzzled looks. Emma wasn’t usually subtle when upset. She was more of a dramatic-foot-stomping, full-volume protest kind of kid. This… this was new.

“Sweetheart” you tried, sitting down beside her and gently brushing her hair back. “Whatever’s bothering you, you can tell us. Did Misha eat your gingerbread man? Did Daddy burn the cinnamon rolls again?”

Russell shot you a playful glare but stayed focused on the scowling little girl. But Emma’s pout just deepened and gave you no reply.

“Okay, we’re going to need reinforcements” Russell muttered, plopping down on her other side. “Em, I’ll trade you a cookie for the truth… two cookies.”

Emma huffed but didn’t take the bait.

“Three cookies” Russell tried, wiggling his brows.

Nothing.

“Alright, we’re getting desperate here” he sighed. “I can give you four cookies, but that’s my final–’

She glared at him, her cheeks puffing with frustration. Finally, she burst out, cutting him off, “I saw Santa’s clothes!”

Both you and Russell blinked in unison.

“Santa’s clothes?” you repeated.

“In your room! Hanging with Daddy’s stuff!” Emma exclaimed, her voice quivering with the sheer weight of her discovery. “You’ve been lying to me! Santa’s not real!”

Russell’s eyes widened, and then, like a true master of improvisation, he leaned back with a dramatic gasp. “Emma Grace, do you know what you’ve just done?”

Uh-oh. He broke out the full name.

“What?” she asked, her pout faltering slightly.

“You’ve stumbled upon the biggest secret in the whole world.”

Her frown faltered, curiosity creeping into her expression.

“What secret?”

Russell leaned in close, lowering his voice like they were co-conspirators. “What I’m about to tell you is top-secret. You can’t tell anyone, not even your little school friends, ‘kay?”

Emma nodded solemnly, her earlier betrayal temporarily forgotten.

Russell leaned a bit closer, and whispered, “The truth is… I am Santa.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open. “No, you’re not!”

“Think about it” Russell said, tapping her temple. “Have you ever seen Santa and me in the same room?”

Emma squinted suspiciously. “...No.”

“And how do you think all those presents get here every year? Magic? Nah, it’s hard work, bug. I’ve got a sleigh parked in a top-secret location, and those reindeer? They’re on a strict carrot diet.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh at his earnest delivery.

“But… you don’t have white beard!” Emma challenged, crossing her arms.

“Ah” Russell said, stroking his dark stubbled chin. “That’s my disguise. Can’t have people recognizing me at the grocery store, can I? Imagine the chaos.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she was intrigued now, her earlier anger melting into suspicion laced with wonder.

“If you’re Santa…” she started. ”Why do you live here and not at the North Pole?”

“Budget cuts” he said solemnly, earning a stifled laugh from you. “And between us, your mom’s cookies? Way better than the elves’. They get jealous, but I don’t care.”

That finally got a giggle out of her. “You’re just making this up!”

“Am I?” he countered, raising a brow. “Now, you cannot tell anyone, not even your friends. If word gets out, it’ll blow my cover. Deal?”

Emma hesitated, then slowly extended her pinky. Russell hooked his pinky with hers, sealing the pact.

“So… you’re really Santa?” she whispered, eyes sparkling with childlike excitement now.

“The one and only.” Russell nodded gravely.

Later that evening, as she cuddled up between the two of you in front of the fireplace, a mug of hot cocoa in front of her on the coffee table, Emma glanced up at Russell.

“If you’re Santa, can I ride in your sleigh someday?”

He grinned, ruffling her hair. “Sorry, kid. Only bad ones stay up that late. And you don’t wanna get on the naughty list, do ya?”

She shook her head and snuggled closer to him.

As Emma drifted off to sleep, her head resting against Russell’s arm, you leaned over with a soft smile. “Santa, huh?”

Russell shrugged, looking entirely pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m a man of many hats. And apparently, one big red suit.”

I hope you enjoyed this little holiday treat, haha! Wishing you all a wonderful day and the happiest of holidays, loves!

xx Pam

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never @roseblue373

[zepskies]

BUBBLY

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: On your first vacation together, you and Russell take advantage of the hotel hot tub.

AN: This can be a stand-alone drabble, but it’s really set after More of This and Lost Time in the Every Second Counts-verse.

Originally released on Patreon: 2-25-25

Word Count: 800

Tags/Warnings: Fluff and feels…tinge of angst?

“Careful!” you giggled, trying to keep chlorine water from getting in your (third) glass of champagne.

Russell was less tipsy than you, but his cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. The hot tub water splashed when he vaulted himself back in. In one hand he held above his head, he carried a tray piled with assorted mini quiche, finger sandwiches, and his personal favorite, some mini buffalo chicken empanadas. When he lowered the plate between you, your eyes widened at the haul. 

“Oh my God,” you said in a hushed whisper. “Did you steal that from the buffet?”

“Steal is a strong word. I prefer the term secured,” Russell whispered back. “Procured. Liberated, if you will.”

You bit your lip, but couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for the quiche. You still shot him a warning look. “The hotel’s going to liberate us from our suite if…”

The reproach died on your tongue as you watched him pull out an entire (opened) bottle of champagne from under his shirt. You gasped.

That’s why his other arm was bent like a chicken wing, you realized.

“Jesus, Russ,” you whisper yelled. You looked around discreetly to make sure no one was paying attention to you two on the far end of the pool site. But you were begrudgingly impressed. By that self-satisfied grin on his face, so was he.

“We could’ve just paid for another bottle,” you pointed out, even as you let him refill your glass, a smile playing on your lips.

“Now where’s your sense of adventure,” he teased. “Besides, this shit is way overpriced.”

He set the plate on the edge of the hot tub and stripped off his shirt again. He’d only put it back on to attempt his little foodie heist. After he submerged himself half under the water and into the seated spot beside you, he slipped an arm around your shoulders to guide you against his side. You went willingly, releasing a sigh. You rested your head on his shoulder.

“Here’s to us, sweetheart,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Six months down.”

Your heart swelled with loving affection, along with your smile.

“Six months,” you echoed, clinking your glass with his. Half a year you had been with this man, and you two were finally on a nice weekend away together. The thought made you set down your glass.

You turned towards him and reached up for his cheek. His brows rose in question, but you just smiled and guided him down for a kiss. It was gentle, just a slow meeting of lips. Your thumb caressed his jawline, prickling a bit on his beard.

Russell set his glass on the edge of the hot tub so he could pull you tighter against him. His free hand slipped into your hair as he dove in for a deeper kiss. He tasted bubbly champagne on your tongue. He caught the faded scent of coconut lotion on your skin. His fingers slipped under the strings of your bikini.

You broke from his lips slightly and hissed in pain. “Careful, baby. Think I got sunburned.”

Russell hummed in sympathy. “Mmm, sorry. Let me see.”

He hugged you to his bare chest and swept your wet hair aside so he could take a peek at your back.

“Ooh yeah, you’re well cooked. Think I’m gonna eat you up with some butter,” he joked. “Maybe some chimichurri sauce. You know me. I’m a zesty kinda guy.”

Scoffing, you pinched his side in retaliation. He flinched with a laugh. You actually got him in the one place he was ticklish.

“All right, no need to play dirty,” he said. He gathered you tighter in his arms, so you couldn’t move yours. You laughed and struggled to get out of his hold. Your hands pressed against his chest, but it was no use.

“Russ!”

“Nope. This is penance. You’re gonna stay right where I want you.”

He had you trapped. And if you were a good girl about it, maybe he’d feed you an empanada. 

Russell’s amusement softened into fondness. Part of him still couldn’t believe he’d been able to make it work with you for this long.

Just three more months, he’d promised you, and he’d be done taking contract jobs for Horizon. He’d be out, and he’d start working on his brewery. He’d start truly setting down roots with you in Laramie, building something that would stick.

For once in his life, Russell was optimistic about his civilian future.

If only he knew what was coming.

AN: 🤭 Yes, I do plan to continue this, don't worry lol. I don't have it written yet, but it's aaaaall up here. 🫡

Special thanks to Michelle - @luci-in-trenchcoats - for giving me tons of Tracker spoilers from the books that helped me shape the idea for "what's coming" next. 💜

Join My Patreon 🌟 For early access to new stories, bonus content, first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Every Second Counts Series Masterlist 

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist 

Russell Shaw Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @roseblue373 @rizlowwritessortof @brianochka

@branj19 @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @lamentationsofalonelypotato @chevroletdean

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak

[waynes-multiverse]

The Exit Strategy – Series Masterlist

Series Summary: Russell is ready to hang it all up and retire, open up a brewery, and enjoy the rest of his civilian life. However, there's one important thing missing before he can take the big plunge. Luckily, he knows just the right person to help him find it.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, hurt/comfort, angst, humor, fluff, some spice, and a lot of surprises 😅

A/N: So excited to finally dive into this character! Been working on this for legit five months 😆 And while I was writing part 2 of this, I actually started working on a prequel, too. So, let this little mini adventure serve as a taste-test of what's to come. A lot of references in there are actually little hints to stories we'll revisit in The Classified Files 🤓

Thought this would be a nice little Christmas present for y'all 🎄❤️

Main Masterlist || Russell Shaw Masterlist || Tag List

Part 1: This Is Not a Pipe

Part 2: This Is a Russell Mission

Part 3: This Is a Heart-To-Heart

Part 4: This Is Not an Exit

Part 5: This Is a Start

|| SERIES COMPLETE ||

One-Shots & Drabbles:

Dad Rock Russell brings home a surprise, introducing his first love to his second one.

[mahi-wayy]

𝐉𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧...!

↠jensen ackles

• dean winchester

eating you out ( drabble )

mark of cain!reader

brown!reader series

• beau arlen

can you see right through me?

headcanons

football!reader

• russell shaw

• soldier boy

I heard from a friend of a friend

like the way it fits ( drabble )

brown!reader series

• alec mcdowell

• tom hanniger

↠ jared padalecki

• sam winchester

brown!reader series

• cordell walker

cordell being a mean-ish munch

Taglist : @bluemerakis @deansbeer @daylighted @soldiersgirl @littlesoulshine @titsout4jackles @yawnzshit @h8aaz let me know if you wanna join the taglist!!

[impala-dreamer]

You can find all of my cozy drabbles from 2024 here as they appear on tumblr and beyond...

Don't Mention It (Russell Shaw x GN!Reader) SFW

Embraceable You (Bucky Barnes x Reader) SFW

Peace and Quiet & No One Else Around (Glen Powell x Reader) NSFW

Warmth (Dean Winchester x Reader) SFW

His Sweetest Dream (Benny Lafitte x Reader) SFW

Life Changing (Dean Winchester x Reader) SFW

[bluemerakis]

⋆˚࿔ °･⌇ SOLDIER BOY HEADCANNONS .ᐟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

want to become part of the taglist for any future soldier boy works?

other works ─ the boys masterlist

© bluemerakis ─ do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[jjmbbg]

"Such a good girl"

cw: russell shaw x fem!reader, domestic little intro, oral sex (m!receiving), hair pulling, slight degradation, pubic hair ?? (in case someone whines about it lol)

(pics from pinterest)

Russell always has rough days, going around doing his own thing, helping people, sometimes annoying his not-so-little brother and such. Deal with the bills and such is also a problem —or rather, a pain in the ass.

But at least you were there to ease all of his problems. A light touch on his hand, a kiss on the cheek or your pretty ass on his lap were enough to make all his tensions fade away, at least momentarily.

Today, more than ever, he needed what only you knew how to give him. He dropped the keys of his car on the hall table, hanging his jacket on the coat rack by the door. With a heavy sigh, he walked into the living room, seeing you sitting on the couch with a steaming cup of green tea in your hands.

"Is that my t-shirt?" he asked you, walking towards you and sitting next to you. Then, he gathered you carefully on his arms and made you sit on his lap, kissing your cheek briefly.

"Yeah" you replied, adjusting yourself on his lap, taking a sip of your tea, then you brought the cup to Russell's lips.

"Y'know I ain't a tea fan" he chuckled, caressing your thigh with his calloused hand, leaving a tingly feeling on your skin.

"I'm in your lap, the least you can do is drink some of my tea" you protested, smiling as he gave in and took a sip of it, making a face of disgust. "It has sugar"

"I see"

Russell turned his head towards the TV, wondering what the hell were you watching, but all he saw was just naked people, then a little bit of violence and stuff.

"What's this?" he decided to ask, but when you murmured you didn't know he chuckled. "That's what was on TV, huh?"

You two stayed like that for a while, you sipping your tea, comforting him from his rough day with a small talk and a few kisses. He kept a hand on your thigh, drawing lazy patterns on your bare skin. At some point, you turned your head and looked at him affectionately, your hand leaving the cup on the coffee table and you turned at him to look at his face better.

Silently, your finger traced gently the lines of his face, the outline of his features: forehead, nose, lips and his beard. He smiled at you, leaning to give you a small kiss, his beard tickling your lips and chin, making you smile. Then you gave him another small kiss, and he gave another one.

But what was just little pecks, turned into hungry kisses, his hands cupping your face roughly, lips and teeth crashing into the heated dance of the kiss. He broke apart the kiss, both of you gasping for air. With choked in pleasure, he whispered, his hot breath fanning your face

"On your knees, sweetheart"

A thrill ran down your spine, it wasn't a question but an order. You felt yourself throb in your panties as you got on your knees between his thighs, your hands reaching the button and zipper of his jeans, undoing them and sliding them along his boxers to his ankles. His thick, hard cock sprang free, standing at attention, making you lick your lips in anticipation.

"Go on, baby. I know you want it. Put it deep in that pretty mouth of yours" Russell instructed, seeing you eagerly lean on his crotch, lips hovering the hard-rock length. "Don't be shy, honey. We know you wanna be my little cocksleve, or am I wrong?"

You nodded, your hands reaching out, fingers wrapping around the base of Russell's shaft. It's hot and hard, pulsing against your palm. Eagerly, you parted your soft, pink lips opening your mouth. You extended your tongue, giving the tip a teasing lick, moaning at the salty-sweetness of his pre-cum. You looked up through your lashes, straight at his face, and smiled coyly.

"I'll make you feel good, Russ" you said to him, almost a soft purr from your throat.

Then, you leaned further and wrapped your lips around the head of Russell's pink cock, sealing your mouth on it, your lips forming a tight seal as you started to slid it deeper into your mouth. You can feel the hard length gliding over your tongue, filling your warm mouth in the way you loved like crazy. Your throat relaxed, taking Russell even deeper and feelinf the head hitting the back of your throat, and you swallowed around it, the muscles of your throat fluttering and massaging the sensitive flesh.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, humming in approval. He didn't pushed your head and didn't guide you, he just kept his hand there, enjoying the feel of your warm mouth bobbing up and down.

"That's my good little slut, huh? You're doing it so fucking well" he growled lowly, his hand twitching with the urge to push your head down and make you choke on him, but he held back.* "Don't stop. Mhm, just like that, babygirl"

You moaned against his cock, a mix of drool and his pre-cum sliding down your throat as you pumped his dick with your mouth. You took him deep, your nose brushing against the wiry hair at the base of his shaft. The musky scent of his arousal fills your nostrils, making your head spin with desire, making your cunt dampening your panties.

"Fuck, you're doing it amazing, honey. You were made to take my cock in that pretty mouth" he groaned, fingers tightening in your hair. "My good little girl, taking me so well like a slut, gagging on me"

Your tongue swirled around the head, tracing the thick vein on the underside, teasing the sensitive spot just below the crown. His moans and the slurpy sound of your mouth made his cock twitch with need of release, the sight of your cheeks hollowing... God, he was gonna bust right here and there if you kept using your mouth like that.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you don't let up. You want his hot seed flooding your mouth, swallow every last drop of his cum.

You glanced up at Russell, his cock deep in your abused throat. The heat of his green gaze sends shivers down your body, redoubling your efforts, determined to make him come undone. You want to be the reason for his pleasure, the cause of his ectasy.

"Yeah, keep sucking me like that. I'm so close, baby" his voice was thick with pleasure, his lips parted letting his precious moans and head on the backrest of the couch, enjoying the way your mouth engulfed him, the wet heat enveloping his dick like a vice. "Take it all, baby. Love to see you choking on my cock"

Then again, Russell listened to the slurping sounds filling the room, mingling with his harsh breaths and your muffled moans and his choked ones. It was filthy, it was good, so fucking good.

His balls drew up tight as your tongue worked over and over the sensitive spot under the head. The pressure building, the coil pleasure winding tighter and tighter in his gut.

"Gonna cum," he warned, voice strained. "Gonna fucking come down your tight throat, and you're gonna swallow it like the good little slut you are"

You nodded as you bobbed your head up and down, moaning on his length, wanting him to finish in your mouth, needing him to. You shut your eyes close tightly as Russell held your head against his throbbing cock, a hoarse cry from the deep of his throat as he flooded your mouth and throat. His orgasm ripping through him like a tidal wave.

Russell's body shuddered with the force of his release, his grip on your hair almost painful. He rode out the waves of pleasure, grinding against your face until he was spent, until he had nothing left to give.

You slipped his cock out from your mouth with a wet pop, a thread of saliva and cum still joining you two. He smiled at you as you swallowed his cum and hummed with need, rubbing your thighs each other, seeking some kind of relief.

"Looks like someone needs a little bit of touch, huh?" Russell teased you, pulling you into his lap. "Huh? What's this?" he teased, palming your clothed pussy, feeling the dampness of your panties. "Uh oh, looks like we have some problem here"

And with a guttural force, he teared off your panties.

"Russell!" you yelped amused and surprised, feeling his fingers sank into you.

"We ain't done yet"

[xoxomilesteller]

Masterlist

Beau Arlen

beau arlen head canons road head one time won’t hurt (professor!beau) handcuffs (p2 to road head) you can be the boss (younger gnd!reader) it’s not such a bad thing (stepdad!beau) daddy’s girl (father figure!beau) motivation (p2 to professor!beau)

Drabbles

sucking his fingers

CJ Braxton

#icanteven (fwb!reader)

Jensen Ackles

on my list but haven’t dont anything yet!

Russell Shaw

coming soon (trust)

Soldier Boy

sb finds your tumblr page just between us (playboy bunny!reader)

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