#the boys x spn

[violetmina]

Surprise! This is a random inspiration bomb! Write whatever the picture makes you think of!

Thank you so much for this kick of inspiration. And thank you for being so patient. I tried to stick to Boys TV canon. But I was watching Supernatural when I first seen this message. And despite my best efforts, it turned into this weird, long-winded blurb of what I think would happen if these two worlds crossed. Not to mention, I do adore Butcher...but I really miss my king.

Word count: 3,965

Warnings: The Boys and SPN level of violence and gore, swearing, mentions of alcohol.

"The fuck am I doin'?"

The question has rolled about in his skull many times tonight but this is the first Butcher has said it out loud. He stares down into the hole he kneels beside, oddly aware of the dirt edged under his fingernails, the gravel kissing into his knees. The little box resting at the bottom is inconspicuous but it - and its contents - leave him feeling a shade of embarrassment. He questions if he should snatch it back, go home, sleep off this drunken haze, and forget about the damn thing.

But he can't. He knows he can't. It's been itching and gnawing at the corners of his brain, latched onto his mind for weeks. Since Becca had left him standing dazed and confused on that bridge. Since he had nearly thrown in the towel thereafter, leaving his aunt's home blasted to hell and more battle scars on him, and MM, and poor lad Hughie. Since he'd shaken off the rejection and the fresh hurt and went to that bar. Fuming for a plan, craving for anyway to finally bring his girl home…and then that poncy bastard appeared…

Then, too, the idea of one of the Boys finding the box - perhaps curious Frenchie, or too-observant MM - and the line of questioning that would follow makes him scowl. He can almost hear them. The scoffing, the jibes, and that god awful look of pity they'd follow after him. Cause he'd finally lost it, hadn't he? Poor Billy Butcher at the end of his rope, stern atheist grasping at the straws of desperate superstition?

He wipes harshly at a streak of dust on his lip, then spits the taste of grit and disgust out of his mouth. He staggers to his feet, tightening his grip on the shovel, growling, "Fuck 'em!" Even if this doesn't work, at least they won't find the evidence if he leaves it buried here now, and he can forget all about it with the Boys none the wiser. He throws dirt back into the hole, and soon it devours the box with its keepsakes; the black cat bone, the graveyard dirt, and a grainy photo of him. With a churn of his boot heel to tamp down the mound, the earth swallows it whole.

And he waits.

Butcher tosses the shovel in the general direction of his beater of a Cadillac, turning about slowly. He peers down each lane of the crossroads he occupies, eyes straining in the dark for any sign of movement. He's not really sure what he's supposed to be looking for. But he sees…nothing. The seconds pass, and with each one he feels more and more that he's the only living soul out here in the middle of fuckall-nowhere for miles.

He waits a few more seconds. Two…three…four…And Butcher's eyes close with a sigh, head bowing. What did he really expect? Embarrassment morphs into shame, salty and sticky like the sweat on the back of his neck, and too familiar than he would ever like to admit. He sees Becca's face in his mind, eyes still diamond-bright with tears, slapping him with the realization that he might be wasting such fucking precious time. Knuckles still bruised from recent brawls begin to itch with the need to pummel and bloody something. Someone, and only because there is no mirror before him.

"Done playing hard to get, are we, Billy?"

Butcher spins on his heel hard enough that he almost makes himself dizzy on the spot. He's greeted by the same smug face from the bar weeks ago. He's startled and so the snark comes out of him with ease and a curled lip. "If it ain't the invisible cunt."

The man before him appears close to a regular bloke. A bit of a puffed up ego, perhaps. But Butcher, being skilled in persuasion and airs, recognizes a crafted mask when he sees one. The pressed suit, dry-cleaned over coat and well-shined shoes fit the business persona well enough. But there's something that Butcher can't quite put his finger on, something he clocked that night at the bar that he can't name that bothers him. Right now, he realizes, it's the fact that there's no vehicle but his in the vicinity, definitely no cover for the man to step out from…Where the fuck did he come from?

"It's pronounced Crowley," the bastard answers. "But I'll settle for 'King' just as well. Or 'Sir', if you can manage it in your current charming state. Shall we cut the pleasantries and get to business?"

"How'd you find me?" Butcher muses aloud, half ignoring Crowley's words.

"You rang?" When Butcher continues to look perplexed, Crowley gives an annoyed wave at the dirt beneath his feet. He glances down at the earth. Then back up at Crowley with a sneer.

"You're a fucking supe."

"Please," he drawls with a tone of amusement. "Those little narcissistic cretins couldn't dream of holding a candle to me. If you're going to insult me, Billy, surely you can do better than that."

"So what? You just a fancy business type with a couple tricks then?"

"Indeed," Crowley smirks, slowly stepping towards Butcher. "And I know quite a few swell tricks."

In his battered youth, Butcher had quickly developed a strong instinct for survival, borderline primal, for knowing when things weren't right. His SAS days had fine tuned it. And in this moment it's firing on all cylinders. He hears the accent that mirrors his own, should be damn near friendly. But it feels wrong. Instinct tells him that this is no East End boy. And while the other dark-haired man is a bit shorter and stockier, Butcher senses that he couldn't toss this one about so easily. When Crowley's steps turn to begin to circle him, Butcher turns with him and he knows now the word instinct is yelling at him. Predator.

Memory from the bar seeps from his alcohol-tinged brain as Crowley stops to smile at him. "Thought you said one of your associates would answer?"

"Actually," Crowley replies, waving a finger in the air, "I said normally one of my underlings would answer. I'm all in the business of making dreams come true. But your dream? Your little dream, Billy, has conflicting interests with some of my outstanding contracts. So I want to handle this one personally."

"Oh, so not a supe. But you still work for Vought."

"Now that is insulting," Crowley sneers. "On the contrary, I own them."

Now that piques Butcher's interest hard. It also makes him suspicious, makes him wonder if he'd be better off trying to kill this smarmy bastard than go through with this deal. "So you're old Stan Edgar now?"

"Good old Edgar and I have a different arrangement. Great for business here on top side. Although he's got quite the potential when he eventually joins us, that I'm certain. Perhaps, too much…" 

Crowley shrugs, begins to circle Butcher again as he trails off the mention of the CEO. "I know what you want. Or rather I know two things that you want. The first of which is that big, glorious, star-spangled oaf. If things were different, I would gladly get the annoying prat off my hands by serving his head to you, well-done on a silver platter. I'd even throw in a fine glass of chianti, free of charge. Or whatever swill that tacky thing you call a shirt reeks of."

"But you can't give me Homelander," Butcher cuts in, voice thick with disdain at the answer that he's so fucking tired of hearing.

"Fraid not," Crowley replies. "Unfortunately, as he is, he is one of my prime sources for crossroad deals. Can't slaughter that cash cow just yet."

"Then you're wasting my time," Butcher growls.

"I can still give you the other thing," Crowley calls as Butcher begins to turn for his car. "That one's a piece of cake."

"Well if you own the rest of those spandex wearing cunts-"

"Not that, you idiot."

Butcher glares, brow furrowing in annoyance and confusion. Crowley sighs, apparently as exasperated with the situation. He quickly strides towards Butcher, unfazed when his fists clench at Crowley's approaching. "Good God, make me spell it out for you. A little incentive then?"

Before Butcher can reply, or pull back to strike, Crowley grabs one of his elbows. There's the sick sensation of his gut dropping as if to sink into the ground, while the rest of him feels too light, too foggy. It stops just as abruptly as if he's slammed back into his body, and a wave of nausea rolls thick in his belly clear into his throat. He blinks, he's not where he was, and it's not till his boot almost slips off the edge and into the rain gutter, he realizes he's on a fucking roof.

"Mind your step," Crowley smirks, yanking on the elbow still in his grip to bring Butcher upright.

Butcher glares at him, the possibility of what the other man claims to be beginning to sober Butcher up. Before he can dwell on it, his eyes catch the color of paint framing the window before them. He knows this shade of yellow. He knows the pine tree reaching towards them.

"Wait…"

"Well, go on!" Crowley lets go of his elbow to motion at the window. "Have a peek. Don't worry, nobody is gonna detect us. Even the cameras are deaf and blind." When Butcher still hesitates, Crowley gives a condescending look. "Really, Billy? With the list of atrocities you've done, a little voyeurism making you clutch your pearls?"

Butcher contemplates only for a second of attempting to shove him off the roof before he turns and peers through the glass. His heart taps against his sternum at the sight he finds in the bedroom before him. Curled tight there against the headboard-

"Becca."

His emotions are quickly clouded and turned murky when the lamp by her bed sparkles wet in her eyes, on her cheeks. He cannot see her mouth where she presses a pillow tight to her lips, clutched painfully to her chest. But he sees the picture beside her, instantly recognizes the faded Polaroid of them together in a place he now barely remembers but of a time he'd give anything to have back.

The moment it dawns on him that she's stifling her sobs, a knock at the door jerks them both with a start. A muffled "Mom?" and Becca scrambles to tuck the picture beneath her, wipe away the smears around her eyes. The door cracks open slowly and Butcher still can't hold back the twinge of contempt that stirs at the sight of the boy who treads in, Homelander's near carbon copy.

"Hey," she croons, voice soft and still a little watery as he stands beside the bed. "You okay, Ryan?"

"I'm ok, Mom. But…I heard you crying." His little hands fiddle with the coverlet. "And the last couple nights, too. I didn't mean to listen," he presses when her face falls. "Just…" His own voice gets thick, cracks, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no. Come here," she quickly answers, encouraging him up onto the bed for her to cradle him, run fingers through his hair. Conflict struggles in Butcher's chest, uncertain if he wishes the kid wasn't so unlike his father, so fucking sweet and sincere, or wishes that he had tried a little harder to get him the hell out of this godforsaken place.

"It's not you, sweetie. I'm just…" She takes a rattling breath, staring out the window, staring through him like he's a million miles away and not just a few feet and a bit of glass apart. "I'm missing someone. Someone very, very dear to me. Somebody I love."

"Can't they come see you? Maybe they miss you, too?" Ryan misses how her eyes screw shut and presses on, "Will I get to meet them?"

"I-" She gulps back hard. Then, "I wish you could. But I'm afraid that's not ever going to happen."

Just as Butcher thinks fuck this, fuck this place, fuck Vought, Crowley's voice reels him back to the present, mockingly sweet. "Touching. That's enough Lifetime channel for all our blood." And he ensnares Butcher's sleeve again.

"No, wait! Becca!"

It's already too late, the gut wrenching pulls at him before her name is past his lips. He stumbles on the gravel of the crossroads as Crowley releases him. He spins, murderous intent flaring in his eyes. "Take me back."

"No can do," Crowley says flatly, scratching at his beard absently. "No more free samples."

Butcher yanks out the sidearm tucked at the small of his back, aiming it square between the other man's eyes. He doesn't care how impulsive he's being, reckless.  "Wasn't fucking asking!"

"I don't bloody care!," Crowley snaps back. Before Butcher's trigger finger can even twitch, Crowley waves two fingers and the gun rips itself from his grasp, flying into the dark. Another flick and his knees slam to the earth hard enough to make his teeth click. They won't budge no matter how much he wills them to.

"So petulant. And thick headed. You damn near act like a hunter," Crowley bites out. "But you're clearly not. Otherwise you wouldn't have called without a stitch of protection. No charms, no sigil, not even a 'no demons allowed' sign on your flesh."

Crowley squats on his heels to look Butcher square in the eye as Butcher bares his teeth at him, his hands now as paralyzed as his knees. "Allow me to enlighten you, Billy. If I felt like being particularly barbaric…" Crowley snatches a handful of Butcher's hair, enough to make him growl. Crowley gives a slow, serpent smile. "...I'd hijack this rugged meatsuit of yours, go back, give your lovely wife a visit. And then make you watch as her dear husband tears her beloved son asunder with his bare hands. And that's just for starters."

A cold wave washes over Butcher. If he wasn't sober yet, he is now. He knows a bluff when he hears it. There isn't a hint of one in either Crowley's rough voice or wicked eyes.

"You think you know violence?," Crowley now beams, releasing Butcher's locks with a laugh. "Lucky for your little darling, I'm feeling more civilized. So we'll go with something a little simpler."

A flourish of Crowley's wrist and a sickening wet crunch comes from Butcher's ribcage. He wants to scream but can't. He can't breathe. All that comes forth is splashes of red, silently bubbling over his lips, on his knees, the dirt. Then just as sudden it stops. The pain subsides, he chokes down air, then gags and hacks up something thick. Viscera.

"How's your lungs taste in your teeth?," the demon asks, as nonchalant as asking the weather. "We can do this all night. Or…" Here his voice grows softer, perched there at Butcher's shoulder. "You can make it stop. You can make her tears dry up. For once in your miserable life, you can fix it. Make it all go away."

Crowley rises to his feet as the invisible hold slides away from Butcher's limbs. He raises his hands to wipe the burgundy froth from his mouth, his beard, spitting up another glob of tissue before he can choke on it.

"It's a hell of a deal, Billy," the demon continues, circling round him yet again. "You can have your wife back. No Homelander or Vought breathing down your neck. No sniveling brat in the way. Sweet Becca won't even remember he existed. And you can sweep her off her feet to whatever paradise you can find. Ten glorious years to make up for all the ones they stole from you."

Butcher manages to shift up one foot. His head is reeling at the situation he's gotten himself into. And from the honeyed promises the demon offers. "The Boys?," he mumbles distantly.

"I can make them forget, too. They'll send you and your bride off on a second honeymoon, and then go about their little lives. Who needs supe hunting anyway?"

Crowley now leans down in Butcher's other ear. "You can have it all. And all you have to give in return is that measly, tattered, blackened thing that you call a soul. You said it yourself once." Then, almost a whisper, "What have you got to lose that you ain't already lost?"

Butcher recognizes the interrogation tactic. Battery, break them down in body and spirit. Then offer something sweet, a flicker of light in the abyss. But even though he sees it for what it is, he is not immune. It's Becca. Ten years with Becca that he has wanted for so long that he fucking aches with the need of it. And what's a soul matter if he doesn't even believe in it anyway?

"You got a pen in that suit, you cunt?," he rasps.

"That's not how this transaction works. We talked about this, remember?"

Butcher blinks incredulously up at Crowley as he moves to stand in front of him. "You fucking with me?"

"Not the slightest. We can be quite a stickler for tradition in hell," Crowley leers down at him. "Deals are sealed the old Roman way." He rocks back on his heels in amusement when Butcher seems to contemplate. "Oh c'mon, Billy. Don't tell me you're getting squeamish on me over a little lip service."

"Fuck you," he snarls. Then his mouth curls, half smirk, half grimace as he slowly rises to his feet. "I'll shove my tongue down your fucking throat if I have to."

"At least buy me dinner first, tiger. Your wife know you talk to men like that?" The leer remains but the demon's tone turns serious. "Do we have a deal?"

Every fiber in his being is telling him to leave. Telling him to turn back, even though he's certain, he knows it's already too late. In his mind's eye he can see Becca, he can see him wiping away the tears. Just the two of them. He can see her smile…

"We have a deal."

The demon grins. He's unsure but Butcher thinks that for a split second, as Crowley grabs the back of his neck, that he sees a flash of smoke, redder than blood in his eyes. Then he purrs, "Atta boy, William."

~~~

In the polished, marble calm of his office on eighty-two, Stan Edgar traces his eyes over the New York skyline. His hands are folded neatly behind his back, face as stoic as ever. He doesn't move when he hears the crystal decanter behind him clink, or the swirl of alcohol into fine cut glass. Merely inquires to the dim in the room, "I take it that it's done?"

When he finally turns, the King of Hell smacks his lips with appreciation for the unoffered beverage. Crowley saunters towards the CEO, smirking, "Done. And done."

"So Butcher…?"

"Off to begin his tawdry happy-ever-after with his missus."

"And the boy?"

"In the tender, loving care of some of my nanny demons, stowed away in one of my personal hideaways. Until you provide him a new mother, of course. Do take care to keep your little insurance policy against Homelander better hidden this time. That's what he is, isn't he?"

"Of sorts," Edgar replies cooly. He moves past Crowley to pour a drink of his own. "I trust you wouldn't have been so naive as to undo all the work we've done for Ryan to have a mother by wiping his memory."

"Merely rearranged," the demon says between sips. "For the next ten years, he'll be of the belief that mummy dearest died in a tragic accident. The kinda spiel you and your marketing team will have Hallmark eating out of your hands."

"Only ten years. Not permanently?," Edgar asks with an arched brow.

"Up until the moment my hounds rip Butcher's bloody soul out of his chest. By then Ryan will be a strapping young man, all groomed and molded, rearing to take his father's place. As planned. And the true memory of Becca will matter little to him at that point." He smiles over the rim of his glass. "Consider it my own insurance policy. Of sorts."

Edgar stares. Crowley stares back, unfazed. After a beat Edgar nods. "And what of Rebecca's memory on that day?"

"You mean her psychosis? When she raves to the world of hellhounds, demons? Accusing the golden man himself of being an unspeakable brute? Poor, poor, mad woman."

The corner of Edgar's mouth tilts lightly upward. "It's certainly not my style. But you demons always did have a flair for the dramatic." He takes a long draw on his glass. He stops when Crowley stands toe to toe with him, the demon's expression humorless. Unreadable. "Don't tell me that you found that offensive? 'Sensitive' is not a word I associate with you or your ilk."

"More like…irked. Irritable. And up until recently, I found you to be a respectable business partner. But now? I find you particularly offensive, Stan."

"Me?," Edgar drawls. "Offensive to the King of Hell?"

"I gave you the opportunity of a lifetime," Crowley cuts quickly, voice low and sharp. "A bargain not entailing your soul. Because you're ruthless, smart. More far-sighted than I can say for most. And you're just damn good for business. But…" He points an accusative finger at Edgar. "...This bumbling incompetence from you and your half-wits has cost me."

"You dare accuse me of incompetence?"

"This mess, all this bullocks that your flying circus monkey started, should have been dealt with years ago. You, Vogelbaum, and that slag Stillwell had one simple job the moment Becca Butcher showed up on your doorstep; hide the kid with his mother, and deal with the husband."

Crowley shakes his head with a sneer. "But you couldn't handle even that, could you? Instead, for nearly a decade, a bloody, raging bootneck formed a vigilante crew, undermined this company, fed intel to the CIA by the ton, and took out several supes, including one of the Seven. And in so doing, like a trail of breadcrumbs, he led Homelander right to his bastard child."

Crowley leans in, shoulder to shoulder now with the CEO as he glares at the demon over his glasses. "Now here I am," he continues in a low snarl, "per your plea to wheel and deal with said bootneck. Doing collateral damage. All because you and your jackasses couldn't keep him from getting his murderous fingers on my fucking assets!"

The demon pins him with a pointed look, tone now dangerously calm. "You've got less than five years before the end of our contract. But if I have to come back in again and clean up your mess like I'm your daddy? Well…then you will find yourself in desperate measures when I renegotiate our terms. Strictly business, you understand."

Crowley drops his now empty glass on its display with a sharp clatter. Stan Edgar stands rigid, staring down the King of Hell in suffocating silence. Then, after a slow blink, he states, "The boy will not be found again. As well as the foster mother we hire. Immediately, of course. I have a list of candidates I prepared in the case of Rebecca's untimely death."

"Damn right you did," Crowley mutters. "Just remember. You keep your dogs on a leash, I won't have to unleash mine. Yet."

And Edgar is left staring into the empty space where Crowley had stood. He thumbs the glass in his hand pensively, spidery fingers tense from his ruminations. He raises it to his lips for a heavy swig, wondering which are worse; the petulant, obnoxious supes under him, or the demons that breathe down his neck? 

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Wearing His Clothes

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

AN: I haven't done one of these in a while! This one was requested by the lovely @luci-in-trenchcoats. 💜

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff, spiciness/implied smut

Headcanon: How Dean, Beau, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to you (getting caught) wearing his clothes.

Dean Winchester

Ugh, what a cocky SOB. 😆 (And yet, not the cockiest of them all.)

You've been doing it for weeks now, without comment from him.

But every time he sees you in one of his undershirts, getting ready for bed, it's always accompanied by a little once-over. A curve of his lips. A smirk, if you will.

He likes the look of you.

He likes that you're his.

And he likes the fact that you feel comfortable enough to steal his clothes.

He also likes welcoming you into bed next to him, with a hand running up your back, or venturing under whatever undershirt you've decided to slip on to feel the warmth of your skin.

"'S this mine?" he asks. You give him a quirking smile.

"You know it is," you say, with playful challenge.

Dean accepts that with a hum and leans in for a kiss as payment.

Sometimes that one stolen kiss leads to another, simmering with heat. And he’ll take great pleasure in taking back his shirt, casting it to the floor and rolling you underneath him on the bed.

But it doesn't stop at his undershirts. You steal his plaid ones if you want something to comfortably drown in when you're doing research, or just lounging in the bunker. The material is soft from several hundred washes. (The red and black one is one of your favorites.)

Rare though it is for him to wear hoodies, it's rarer still, because Dean can never even find one in his side of the dresser.

That's because you're keeping it hostage on your side, buried under your lingerie. (Even if he tried to find the hoodie, odds are he’ll get distracted.)

It gets to the point where he can hardly find anything of his.

His brows furrow as he rucks through his drawers for something clean to wear, while clad in only his most threadbare sweatpants.

"Damn it, woman. Where are my shirts?" he grouses.

You bite your lip and pretend to keep reading your book. You're already safe in bed, covered up to your chest by the blankets.

"I don't know. Have you done your laundry?" you ask, smiling to yourself. Dean catches you, with a suspicious brow raise.

He climbs into bed and snatches the covers away from you. You yelp at the suddenness and try to grab at them, but it's too late.

He discovers that you're wearing one of his newer shirts, which he had to buy to replace the ones he just can't seem to find.

"Are you kidding me? This is Theft in the First goddamn Degree!" he exclaims, even though he's close to laughing at the way you're already giggling. He manages to pin you underneath him on the bed, and he has half a mind to take this shirt back as well, by whatever means necessary.

And yes, tickling is one of those means.

"Sweetheart, for the love of God. Why do you keep taking my shit?" he asks, in a way that's half-serious in his frustration, but also half-teasing.

You shrug shamelessly, still smiling. You run your hands up his bare arms and shoulders, and back down his chest.

"I don't know. It's comfortable," you say. But your eyes lower as your face begins to warm with a blush. "Makes me feel safe...like you're always with me."

At that, the tension in Dean's shoulders eases. His smile can't help but soften around the edges as he looks down on you, now with fondness. After a while, he lets out a deep sigh.

"All right," he says.

You grin, because you know he's given up. You lean up for a kiss that successfully distracts him.

Dean still gets annoyed sometimes when he can't find a specific item of clothing in his drawer, but now, all he has to do is go over to your side of the dresser.

There he knows he'll eventually find what he's looking for.

Beau Arlen

Heh, in this episode of “Whose Hat is it Anyway”...

Beau's wardrobe reminds you of a cowboy in modern times.

Lots of browns and beiges, lots of slacks and buttoned-down shirts tucked in with an army of belts to choose from (even though the man only owns a few pairs of boots). Not to mention a slew of jackets that often pull the look together.

But being that he's new to Montana (specifically, Montana winters), you like to buy him sweaters. Cable-knits and soft ones in earth tones that you think bring out his eyes.

Beau accepts whatever you get him and graciously wears them. He trusts your judgment on what looks good on him, and he appreciates the way you think of him.

It's just one of those ways, however small, that you show that you care and that you're looking out for him.

One night while he's working late, however, you find yourself trying to reorganize the closet. The man is "organized chaos" at best, and you find one of his sweaters on the floor. It's a nice burgundy one that you bought him recently.

Ooh, so soft, you think, while feeling the fabric between your fingers.

You don't know what possesses you, but you decide to slip out of your pajamas and try it on yourself.

SO damn soft, you realize, as you practically drown in the sweater. It hangs about to mid-thigh.

Then you see one of his beige Stetsons hanging on the wall. A sneaking smile curves your lips, before you slip on his hat.

To complete the ensemble, you dig into the recesses of your closet and find a pair of your old cowboy boots. You go out into the bedroom and check yourself out in the mirror with a growing smirk.

"Hey there, darlin'," you try to impersonate your boyfriend's subtle Texan twang, and even his mannerisms by winking at yourself, tipping the hat forward.

You giggle at your own silliness in this moment, but alone in your own house, who freakin' cares? You should feel free to dance naked through the whole damn place if you feel like it.

So you spin on your heel and do a little twirl in your boots.

"Who's the sheriff now, huh?" You mime a pair of guns with your hands and shoot at your reflection. "Psh, psh!"

But that's when you catch sight of one Beau Arlen, leaning against the bedroom doorway with his arms crossed. An amused grin is plastered to his face.

You freeze in shock, still with your "gun hands" held up.

"Oh, don't stop the show on my account," Beau says slyly. He gestures at you. "Please, continue."

Your hot blush spreads from your cheeks and quickly begins to travel down your neck. "Uh...I was just...you know, cleaning the closet. You're very messy, you know!"

Beau snorts and draws closer. Those green eyes of his take in the full sight of you, down your bare thighs and cowboy boots, and back up to your embarrassed face. You bite your bottom lip on reflex.

"You know, I like what you got goin' on here," he says, waving a hand down your form. "But it's just...it's missing something."

He takes his badge with the gold star off his belt and pins it to your sweater.

"There you go. Perfect fit," he says, even as his hand slides up the slope of your back. You find yourself pulled further into his orbit as you try (and fail) to stamp down a smile.

"You're late, you know," you remind him. Beau bows his head and presses a kiss into your neck. You feel his smirk there.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff. Gonna arrest me, or let me off with a warning?" he teases. His other hand comes up to adjust the hat on your head. You smirk and cling to his arms over his dark brown jacket. It's one of his nicer ones.

"I think I can let you off," you play along. You lean up to skim your lips across his cheek, and closer to his ear. "But only for good behavior."

He has to chuckle then. "I can accept those terms..."

Beau's hands slip under your stolen sweater and begin to slide it up your body, inch by inch.

"Though I'm gonna need you to keep the boots on," he says lowly, just before he claims you with a searing kiss.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, here we go. 😅

As with most things, it's a point of pride for Ben.

He'd prefer you be too fucked out to move, let alone put on clothes after he's finished with you.

On the rare occasion that your body doesn't feel too much like warm molasses after a few hot rounds with your boyfriend, you like to at least grab one of his discarded shirts to cover yourself.

If he still has energy, he'll take that as a challenge. He'll try to slip his hands underneath whatever shirt you've found and divest you of it, so he can start devouring you again.

However. Ben does like seeing you in his clothes, in a possessive, claiming way.

There are days when you just want to be swallowed up in one of his large, comfortable shirts as you lounge about the house.

Ben sometimes watches you putter around, cleaning, working, cooking, reading, or watching TV in nothing but his clothes. He wonders if you're even wearing panties. You could be bare faced with a severe case of bed head, but his eyes will still occasionally follow you.

His expression doesn't reveal too much, but he likes it. (And because you know him, you know it too.)

Maybe he'll catch you as you pass by, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. You startle with a yelp, but then you grab onto his arms and smile.

"Can I help you, sir?" you tease.

"Think you can just walk by me, looking sexy as fuck?" he remarks. He steals a slow, thorough kiss. You cup his face and bring him back in for more, tenderly stroking his cheek.

"You know why I like wearing your stuff?" you ask. Your smile hints at teasing.

Ben arches a brow. "Why?"

"Because it keeps you looking," you reply. And you reach a hand around to slap his ass, for good measure.

Then you saunter away from him to get back to what you were doing.

Or at least, you try to.

Ben grabs your hand and pulls you back towards him, back into the cage of his arms, where he falls back into the trap you've so often laid. And he finishes what you started.

AN: Well, then. 😂 I hope you guys enjoy this! Who had your favorite reaction: Dean, Beau, or Ben? 😘

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[onlyasimp4-2dbitches]

Me if I had a dime for every time I got down bad for a middle-aged alcoholic man who had an abusive father and younger brother who died whose death they blamed themselves for and then later in life met a supernatural kid whose father was a blonde sociopath who killed their loved one but they had to take in I'd have two dimes.

I'd have two dimes which isn't a lot- but weird that it happened twice.

[4ever-feral]

My two favorite boys 🥰🥹

[mxltifxnd0m]

smother it ː s. winchester

summary: sam has to patch you up, but the problem lies within the fact the two of you despise each another

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader [can be read as gn/afab reader]

word count: 4.7K

warnings: 18+, no use of 'y/n', slight enemies to lovers, mentions of wounds and stitches, bickering, curse words, some smut [fem receiving oral], and fluff

a/n: first kinda smut for sam so PLEASE MINORS DNI!! for my sake and your own! I will be checking blogs who interact with this one-shot for minors and I will be blocking you if you do. i have SFW works for sam, so please go and check those ones out instead!

without further ado, please enjoy the oneshot and reblog and comment your thots 😏

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

From the moment you met Sam Winchester, he managed to get under your skin like no other.

You had met the Winchesters while hunting a siren, which, at the time, you didn't know what you were hunting. You were stumped with the evidence that you had found. But you had bumped into Dean while in the morgue, both posing as FBI agents and realizing that the other was a hunter soon after the coroner left the room. You had some idea who this hunter was, but when he finally dropped the FBI shtick and introduced himself as Dean Winchester, it confirmed your suspicions that you had when you asked Bobby for some help on this hunt and said he sent "one of the best" your way.

You were surprised at how well you got along with Dean, having heard some choice words that Bobby has described the Winchesters as a particular kind of character (his words, not yours). But you were not prepared to be met with hostility from the "infamous" Sam Winchester when Dean brought you back to their motel room.

Sam visibly bristled when you entered the room, which you chalked up as the fact that you were a stranger intruding in on a private space, which you wholly understood; you would have reacted in the same way. But when Dean clarified that you were the hunter they were sent to help with, Sam rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath.

You were a bit confused by the cold shoulder that Sam was giving you, and apparently so was Dean, having seen him give his brother a weird look after he interrupted you for the third time when trying to figure out what you guys were hunting. You bit your tongue each time he did, but the third time was enough, and you asked him what the hell his problem was with you. You genuinely wanted to know since you had been nothing but kind to him.

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's obviously a siren, but you wouldn't know that given that you're new at this." He said, completely disregarding your question, and he continued on with explaining his theory on what the monster the three of you were hunting was.

You stared at Sam, nostrils flared, and anger filled your veins at the fact he thought you were new at hunting. You were brought up to hunt from a very young age and had been for a very long time, so the fact that he thought you were an inexperienced hunter boiled your blood. You had heard about the Winchesters and their reputation growing up, knowing their prowess for hunting was high, but you never expected someone like Sam, who looked like a gentle giant at first glance, to be such a dick.

"Thank you for that boy genius. Do you ever actually get to kill the thing, or is your nose too busy to be stuck in a book and that's why you let your brother do the heavy lifting?" You retorted, looking at him with a cocked brow.

You saw Sam's jaw clench and eyes flash with irritation at your words. He went to respond, but Dean quickly intervened and tried to de-escalate the situation at hand. He practically sent you and Sam to timeout, having told you to go back to your room to cool off while he talked to Sam alone.

You pressed your lips together and tried not to stomp out of the room like a toddler having a tantrum. You left the room, slamming their door shut and went back to your room. You were muttering angrily to yourself as you walked back to your room. You can't believe that Sam had insulted your ability to hunt. He hadn't even seen you hunt before. You'd never expected Sam to be this much of an ass to you (you honestly thought it would be Dean to act this way from what you heard from Bobby).

Dean eventually came for you in your room and told you to come back. Once you were back in their room, Dean sat you down across Sam and lectured the two of you. He made you promise that you or Sam wouldn't take jabs at one another or try to provoke the other into an argument. So, like two disgruntled children, you both promised Dean that you guys wouldn't do any of that until after the hunt was over and you had killed the siren.

But once you killed that siren, you immediately left, not wanting to stay in the presence of Sam Winchester any longer than you had to. But as fate would have it, you guys would always seem to cross paths with you on hunts. Dean would always find you and invite you to hunt with them, and before you could even think about saying no, he'd pull a puppy dog look at you, and pout. Which, without fail, you would always say yes to.

Hunting with Sam was torture. He'd always nitpick the way you went about research and would take any chance to correct you about the lore behind particular creatures that you were hunting. Sam loved being insufferable toward you, and you could tell it brought him so much joy when you would have to storm away from him; otherwise, you would have broken his nose with a swift punch to his face.

You knew you hated Sam Winchester, and you knew for a fact that he had the same feelings toward you. You also despised the fact that you found him attractive. Sam was tall, almost too tall, had shaggy brown hair that he pulled off effortlessly, hazel eyes that seemed to be an endless pool of blues, greens, browns, and golds, and smug smirks he would send you when he was right about some obscure lore were deadly combinations for you.

You wished that you weren't drawn to him, but you saw the kind smiles and the soft eyes that never were directed at you, but he had when he talked to the victims on hunts. You even saw the dimples that he had when he'd smile at the stupid banter that he and Dean would have when the three of you were at a bar celebrating a job well done and Sam had loosened up with a couple of drinks in him.

"Stop squirming," Sam ordered you with a grumble, a frown on his face as he wiped the blood away from the gash on your back. His words brought you back to the present.

You glared at him through the mirror of the cramped motel bathroom the two of you were in. He took most of the space with his broad frame, standing behind you as your hands gripped the edge of the porcelain countertop, cleaning the wound you had gotten when the ghoul you were hunting threw you through a glass table and glass ended up cutting up your back. You would have cleaned it yourself, but it was in a spot where you needed to be a contortionist if you wanted to clean it yourself.

You would have asked Dean for help, but as soon as he cleaned up from the hunt, he left the motel to go to the nearest bar while you waited for Sam to be done with the shower. You wished you didn't have to share the room with the boys on this hunt, but when you arrived at the motel, there were no vacancies, so you had to bunk with the Winchesters.

You winced as Sam suddenly stuck the needle into your skin. The glass that sliced into your back was deep enough to where it needed stitches. You swore you saw something flicker in his eyes as his gaze looked up from your back, and you hissed slightly at the feeling before he focused on the task at hand. You were regretting ever saying yes to helping Dean.

"You need to be less reckless, I don't want to be the one patching you constantly." Sam mumbled as he threaded the needle through your skin.

You huffed angrily. "Yeah sure, next time I'll ask the ghoul to gently throw me through a glass table." You snapped at him.

You hissed through your teeth as you felt Sam tug on a stitch, making it tighter than it needed to be and sending a sting of pain through your back. You glared at him harder through the mirror as you saw the corner of his lip twitch significantly.

"Sorry, did that hurt?" He asked, his tone feigning innocence as he finished stitching up your wound. Sam tied off the stitch and sniped the thread, quickly grabbing some gauze and medical tape to cover your freshly sewn skin together. Once he was done, you grabbed the hem of the tank top you were wearing and pulled it down. Then, you reached for the first aid kit lying on top of the toilet seat.

"I can do the rest. You're released from your duties now." You tell Sam sarcastically as you eye the cut that was near your hairline.

As you were looking through the first aid kit to grab some ointment before you cleaned the cut, you felt Sam move out of the bathroom, the room feeling less suffocating as he did, but you didn't notice his eyes on you the entire time until he leaned against the doorway. Unfortunately for you, he stayed there with his gaze stuck on you.

You glanced to see his broad figure take up the entire doorway and scowled. "You can leave now, join your brother at the bar, I don't need your help anymore."

Sam didn't move an inch at your words. "Why do you hate me?" He asked instead of listening to you.

Your lips thinned into a straight line as you closed the first aid kid with more force than you intended, and a sharp laugh left your lips.

"Really? You're asking me this now? If anyone should be asking this question, it should be me."

You saw Sam shrugging out the corner of your eye. "Just curious, it's clear that you don't like me."

"That's rich coming from the man who has been nothing but hostile towards me the moment I set foot in the same room as him." You quickly tried to clean the cut on your forehead. Luckily, it wasn't as bad as it looked, and you swiftly cleaned it and placed a butterfly bandage on it.

"It's not like you were the most friendly either."

You turned to face Sam, a fiery look in your eyes. "Only because I tried to be nice to you, but you were nothing but a dick to me." You wanted nothing more but to slap Sam's stupidly handsome face.

Sam started to smirk, clearly enjoying getting you riled up. "Is that so?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. Sam's question felt demeaning.

"Oh for Christ's sake. I'm not doing this with you right now." You all but growled through gritted teeth. You pushed past Sam, hitting his shoulder hard as you made your way out of the bathroom and gathered your things. You've had it with Sam, and if he was going to play this game with you, you would just leave and never interact with the Winchesters again.

You tried putting on your jacket but cringed in pain when you felt your stitches pull, and a warm hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"You're gonna rip the stitches if you keep that up," Sam said in an uncharacteristically soft voice, which made you frown. You shrugged off his hand and turned around to see his eyebrows pinched. You hated that all you wanted to do was smooth out the wrinkles that formed in the middle.

You shook your head to get rid of that thought. "Oh, fuck off, Sam. Don't act like you care. If it wasn't for Dean being there, you would have probably left me there to bleed out."

Sam flinched at your harsh words, his face hardening before softening again as his hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out but fought against it.

"Look, I'm sorry for how I treated you." He licked his bottom lip. "I-you. I do care about you."

You looked at him with disbelief. "Really? Wow, could've fooled me." You sent him a sarcastic smile before turning back around, intending to leave the room. You couldn't care less about your stuff at the moment.

"Hey!" Sam called out for you and grabbed your arm to stop you from leaving. His grip on your arm was firm but not painful. You stopped in your tracks before closing your eyes and your tense shoulders relaxing at his touch.

"Sam." You intended for your voice to come out firm, but instead, it came out hoarse, almost tired.

Sam gently pulled you back towards him, and you let him turn you around so he could see him. Your eyes were still closed as you faced him, his grip on your arm slowly moving up and resting on your shoulder, his other hand moving to rest on your other shoulder.

You eventually opened your eyes to find Sam studying your face. His eyes were like a green haze. The warm lighting of the room made the flecks of brown and gold scattered throughout his eyes more prominent, threatening to take over the green.

Sam said your name softly as his thumbs started to swipe against your bare skin. "I do care about you, more than you know."

You scoffed. "Well, you have a shit way of showing it." His flawed logic was making the anger you felt earlier begin to rise again.

"I know, I know," Sam took a deep breath before speaking again. "When I saw you come into the room, you made me feel things I hadn't felt in a long time. So I thought if I was cold towards you, they would go away or at least hide what I actually felt toward you."

Irritation swelled in your chest.

"So, you decided to take the playground approach? Newsflash, Sam, you're an adult, and being a dick to someone won't make them like you. If you really wanted to make someone like you, you would be yourself or have the decency to be nice to them." You glared up at Sam as you ranted.

Sam smiled. That man started to smile, and it did nothing to quell the anger bubbling underneath your skin.

"What the hell are you smiling at Winchester?"

He shook his head, clearly trying to shove down his amusement. But his dimples threatened to appear as he cleared his throat and arranged his face into a more neutral expression before speaking.

"Look, I am sorry for how I treated you. I know we aren't kids, and I shouldn't have acted like a child toward you, but sometimes you make me feel like a stupid kid with a crush." Sam's hands squeezed your shoulders before they moved down your hands and held them.

You pursed your lips to bite back a smile that wanted to appear on your face. You felt your stomach flutter at Sam's admission as you looked down at your connected hands, his hands engulfing yours as his thumbs rubbed circles into the tops of them.

"You know, for someone so intelligent, you can be really dumb." You said as you inched closer to Sam.

Sam let out a chuckle at your words, a red hue on his cheeks growing as he smiled sheepishly down at you. You couldn't help but let a smile appear on your face at the sound of his amusement.

"Yeah, I know. I just really like you, and you make me feel stupid sometimes." Sam sighed as he stared down at you.

"Well, you're in luck because I seem to like your dumb ass too." You let go of one of his hands to cup his cheek.

Sam leaned into your touch. "Really?" His eyes lit up like he was a kid in a candy shop.

You rolled your eyes at the giant in front of you and pinched his cheek playfully. "No," You deadpan. "Although, your brother on the other hand…" You grinned sarcastically at him.

Sam took his turn to roll his eyes at you, and before you could tell him you were kidding, he let go of your hand, grabbed the nape of your neck, and pulled you into a passionate kiss.

You almost yelped into his mouth from how fast Sam moved. His other hand moved to your waist as your hand that wasn't cupping his cheek went to rest on his shoulder. Sam moved the two backward until he sat down on the edge of the bed, lifted you, and placed you on his lap.

Desire filled your veins as Sam's lips moved against yours fervently. A small moan fell from your lips as Sam nipped at your bottom lip and took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, groaning lowly when your tongue slid against his.

It was as if you were both finally on the same wavelength because, in moments, his tongue was already exploring the inside of your mouth. His hands slide down to your sides, where he caresses your body with both his hands. You both seemed to be completely lost in this kiss, as you both forgot about anything else around you, like time and space.

His lips eventually left yours, feeling out of breath as he dotted kisses across your jaw and down your neck. His hands moved to the hem of your tanktop and slid it up, slowly exposing more and more of your skin until it was entirely off, leaving you in your bra in front of him. Sam managed to rip his lips from your neck to drink in your body, his hazel eyes dark with desire.

"You're so beautiful." He breathed out as his hands moved up your back, almost covering the entire length of it from how big his hands were. Sam reaches for the clasp of your bra but stops when he brushes over the bandage on your back. Sam pulled back slightly, looking at you with a slight frown on his face.

You wanted to do nothing but kiss it away, so you did. Your lips touched Sam's softly as your hands reached for the hem of his shirt. He let you take it off of him, only breaking from the kiss to get it over his head.

You drank in Sam's bare torso. Taking in every inch of him. His tattoo stands out against his tanned skin, his muscles expanding and contracting as he breathes heavily. Sam was like a marble statue that came to life.

The motel room was silent, save for your and Sam's heavy breathing as you stared at each other. Sam's hand was still resting on the part of your back that was bandaged.

"You sure you're up for this right now?" Sam asked with concern, lacing his tone.

You smiled at him and nodded. "I might implode if you stop right now."

Sam laughed at your words, his dimples appearing as he smiled widely at you. "Oh, wow. Implode huh?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise as his smile turned into a flirty smirk.

You nodded, a serious expression on your face as you rested your forehead on his. "Yep, we wouldn't want that happening now would we?" A sultry smile on your face as you teased his lips with little pecks.

Sam's hands moved back to your waist and squeezed. "No we wouldn't." He answered before he caught your lips between his. Your hands moved from his bare shoulders to the nape of his neck, and you started to tug at the longer strands of hair, making him groan into the kiss.

Sam's hands moved up your back and unclasped your bra, almost tearing the straps off as he tugged them from your arms and threw the bra somewhere in the room. His lips left yours to trail down your neck and chest, and you leaned back, exposing your chest to him more. And you let out a soft moan, feeling him nip at your smooth skin and taking one of your nipples in his mouth, licking and sucking at it.

The hands that were wound in his head began to tug at his hair harder as he moved from one breast to the other. He let out a low growl against you, sending vibrations down your spine and into the heat that was pooling in your core.

One of Sam's hands moved down your body and to the front of your pants, and the button on your jeans popped open with a flick of his fingers. His hand slowly made its way past your underwear, and he pulled away from your chest with a groan when he felt how wet you were.

"This all for me?" Sam asked with a salacious grin on his face as two of his fingers swiped through your slit, coating his fingers and moving up to rub at your clit. You whimpered as you nodded, your hips rutting against his hand, and you could feel yourself getting wetter as he rubbed at your clit faster.

Sam abruptly stopped, pulled his hand away, and tugged at your pants urgently. You managed to get out of your pants and underwear with the help of his insistent hands, and once they were off, he grabbed your hips and fell backward on the bed, pulling you up until your naked core was level with his face.

"Sam!" You yelped, surprised at his strength and sudden manhandling.

"I don't want to hurt your back, but I really need to taste you," Sam said as he looked at your cunt hungrily.

"You sure?" You looked down at him hesitantly.

Sam's eyes softened as he looked up at you, his thumbs drawing circles on your thighs. "We can stop right here if you want."

You bit down on your bottom lip before shaking your head. "Just don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," He reassured you before smirking. "Besides, I wouldn't mind going out like this. 'S better than the alternative."

You laughed at Sam's words, putting you at ease, and you nodded at him to go ahead.

"I'll need words pretty girl." Sam squeezed your thighs.

You felt a heat bloom on your face and in your core at his words as you brushed back Sam's bangs from his forehead.

"Sam, please I need you." You all but whined.

"You have me." Sam said before pulling you on top of his face, burying his head between your thighs as his tongue began to lick and suck at your clit.

Moans began to escape your lips as your hips began to rut into his face, his tongue now lapping at your entrance as his nose nudged against your sensitive nub. You could feel the knot in your lower belly get tighter and tighter as Sam moved back to suck at your clit, and two of his fingers prodded at your entrance before slipping with little resistance. You felt so full with his fingers inside you. Sam's fingers quickly found your g-spot and began to rub at it, making you arch your back almost painfully at the intense pleasure Sam was giving you.

"Fuck! Sam I-I'm close."

At your words, Sam seemed to grow even hungrier for you to come. You tugged at his hair hard and rutted against his face faster before he sucked at your clit hard and pressed against your g-spot, making you fall over the edge as stars danced behind your eyes and you clenched around his fingers.

You could feel the vibration of Sam's low groan in your cunt as he tasted you, lapping at you until you were too sensitive. You climbed off of him with shakey legs and collapsed beside him; a layer of sweat coated the entirety of your naked body as you tried to catch your breath. Sam pressed soft kisses to your shoulder and collarbone as he waited for you to calm down.

Once you had calmed down, Sam caught your lips in a soft kiss.

"You okay?" He mumbled against your lips.

"More than." You smiled against his lips before you kissed him deeply. Sam slowly moved to hover over you. One of your hands moved from the bed to the waistband of the pants that Sam was wearing and inched downward until it cupped the bulge that was very prominent in his sweatpants.

Sam's groan was muffled by your lips, but before you could even think about taking off Sam's belt, the motel room door swung open and hit the wall with a slam. You and Sam quickly separated, and bless Sam, he pulled the covers over you to shield Dean's eyes from your naked form as he stood at the foot of the bed.

"Woah!" You heard Dean exclaim, and you looked over to see him walking back outside and closing the door.

"Finally! You could have cut the sexual tension between the two of you with a knife. But make sure to put a sock on the doorknob next time," Dean said through the closed door of the motel. You and Sam looked at each other, both of you flustered by the fact that Dean walked in on you guys.

"I'll be in the Impala tonight. Sammy, make sure you use protection!" He called through the door and promptly walked away from the door.

You stared at Sam before breaking out into a fit of laughter. Sam started to chuckle as he heard you laughing. A warmth bloomed in his chest when he saw your body shake. You laughed a bit too hard, and you felt a sharp pain come from your back. Sam saw you winced and walked over to you with worry in his eyes.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" His eyes flicked up and down your body quickly.

You shook your head, "No, just my back, I might have pulled a stitch or something."

"Let me check." Sam gestured for you to turn around.

You took off the covers and rolled onto your stomach to let Sam check your stitches. You felt him pull back the bandage before replacing it again.

"You didn't tear anything, but it's probably not a good idea to continue with what we were doing before Dean barged in."

You huffed a laugh as you turned back to face Sam. "You mean before you were about to fuck me?"

Sam flushed red at your words but threw his head back to laugh. The sound made you grin before you joined in; his giggles were infectious.

"Yeah, before that." He nodded and responded when he calmed down, the occasional chuckle escaping his lips.

You sighed dramatically. "If you insist." You knew it wasn't a good idea to have sex with him when your back was out of commission, but it didn't mean that you wanted to jump his bones; you really did.

Sam smiled before patting your thigh and getting up from the bed to grab the shirt he was wearing earlier that night and toss it to you. You caught it, and you couldn't help but smile as you put it on his shirt. You were engulfed by Sam's smell. The notes of citrus, mint, mahogany, and his musk made you melt inside.

The two of you got underneath the covers of the bed, and Sam was quick to tuck you into his side. You threw your leg over his hips as you used his bicep as a pillow. You let out a contented sigh as you settled in Sam's embrace.

Sam looked over at you, used his free hand to tilt your chin towards him, and kissed you gently. "Goodnight." He murmured against your lips.

"Night Sammy." You whispered before giving him one last lingering kiss and tucking your head in the crook of his neck. The events of the day hit you, and with the warmth of Sam's bare chest, the exhaustion consumed you. The last thing you could remember before you entered your dreamscape was Sam kissing your forehead softly before pulling you closer to him.

[slut-for-evans-stan]

Mission Accomplished

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader

Word count: 3.4k+

Summary: Ben and you can't stay in the same room without wanting to rip each other's hearts out. The Boys, tired of dealing with you, decide to take matters into their own hands by tricking you two into completing your most crucial mission yet— resolving your problems. One thing leads to another and you discover that there was an easier, much more enjoyable method to resolve everything between you all along. (I'm sorry I suck at summaries.)

Warnings: SMUT!!!! (18+), Enemies to Lovers, Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy, Dirty talk, oral (m+f rec), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it fellas), hate fucking!? (kind of), rough sex, swearing, choking, squirting, creampie.

a/n: this is my very first time writing smut. Not proofread, please pardon me for errors if any! I tried my best :')

I'd really appreciate if you could like, comment and/or reblog, it'll make me really happy <3

Being a Supe with extraordinary powers didn't mean you were ready to exploit people for clout, with how things were at Vought. So when Starlight and Hughie learnt that you declined Ashley's offer to have you join the Seven, they convinced you to join hands with The Boys to ensure that the arrogant liars claiming to be "Saviours of the World" got what they deserved. Despite feeling a bit unwelcome at first due to Butcher's distant behaviour, you quickly settled in and felt accepted, and connected to everyone in the team, everyone except the newest member to join forces with you all to help in taking down Homelander and others; Soldier Boy.

In the dimly lit room, stood Soldier Boy in his silk robe, a cigarette in one hand, one leg on the bed, the other supporting his weight on the floor; his back facing the door. Upon hearing a soft knock, he turned around with a smug grin on his face. He began,

"Well, hello there gorgeous! You've sure kept me waiting long enough for someone who made eager promises to choke on my dick."

Unamused, and somewhat disgusted by his comment, you shot him a stern look,

"I'm not here for your entertainment, I need to run a few tests on you. So it'll be nice if you'll please spare a few minutes before you run off to get your dick wet. We need to be sure that you're not going to explode and kill us all."

Soldier Boy's smirk echoed through his room as he eyed you with an amazed expression. Undeterred, he sauntered over to you, leaning in and mistaking your seriousness for a mere challenge.

"Sure. Whatever it is, let's get it over with. Maybe after this, you and I could-"

You cut him off with an icy glare

"Save the charm for someone who cares. I don't have time for this bullshit, we've a mission coming up."

From your very first meeting that started with a misunderstanding, it would've been an understatement to say that Soldier Boy annoyed every living cell in your body. You were both constantly arguing and bickering about something or the other, always at each other's throats.

Soldier Boy's deep, intimidating voice echoed through the room, your comment having hit a nerve.

"You know what, you're insufferable."

"At least I'm not stuck up." he shot back.

What should've been a meeting to discuss the upcoming mission, turned into yet another baseless argument between the two of you. Making your teammates uncomfortable with every passing moment. Hughie, Frankie, Kimiko and others exchanged uneasy glances as the tension thickened. You continued,

"I can't believe I've to be stuck with an unbearable asshole as you. Butcher I think I'm gonna skip this mission. Don't want us to end up in another mess like the last time."

At this point, it seemed like you were both minutes away from strangling each other. Soldier boy chuckled,

"Why, you're so intimidated by a real hero you want to hide away like a pussy?"

Eyebrows raised, you retorted, "Real hero!? More like a reckless liability. I've seen toddlers with better impulse control."

Sensing a storm brewing, Hughie spoke with a shaky voice, attempting to intervene and diffuse the situation. "Can we focus, guys? We have a mission-"

Your gaze never wavered from the supe. "I'll focus when he stops acting like he's better than everyone else. He is not the only one with superpowers here, he might be strong but he doesn't scare or intimidate me in the slightest."

Rolling his eyes, Soldier Boy muttered, "I wouldn't need to if you could follow a plan for once in your life."

Butcher commented shutting you all up "Oi. Enough! No one is backing out. You two should go fuck it out or something, whatever issues you stupid cunts have with each other. Don't need any fuck ups in the mission."

The tension spilled into the supposed battlefield, your bickering a dangerous undertone to the chaos around you. Clashing on missions, your mutual disdain fielding your actions, each vying to outdo the other. Yet beneath the surface, a spark lingered, an undeniable attraction that you both, despised and desired, but neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

On a particularly precarious mission, your incessant bickering almost jeopardized the entire operation.

Amidst the mayhem, you found yourself pinned down by one of the opponents, wounded and unable to use your powers, and Soldier boy reluctantly came to your rescue.

You grunted, "I didn't need your help."

He shot back, "Don't get used to it. I'm saving the mission, not your sorry ass."

Watching the scene unfold from a distance, your teammates exchanged knowing looks. After the mission, they decided they'd have enough, and decided to take matters into their own hands, realising that the unresolved tension between you two threatened not just personal dynamics but the success of missions itself.

On Butcher's suggestion, the team tricked the two of you into thinking there was another mission but instead locking you up in a safe house together,

"Sort this out, or we'll all end up as collateral damage."

warned Hughie before haphazardly shutting the door and leaving, forcing you to confront your issues, facing a choice: either talk and resolve the conflict or risk tearing each other apart. Silence filled the room. However, it was short lived.

Taking a deep breath, you plopped on the sofa across from where he sat and spoke as calmly as you could.

"Great, those little shits tricked us."

Soldier Boy scowled, "This is ridiculous. I don't need couple's therapy, I need a way out of here. I'm gonna beat the shit out of these fucknuts."

This made you roll your eyes and cross your arms. "Maybe if you weren't so intolerable, we wouldn't be stuck in this situation in the first place."

As another argument filled the space, the air in the small living room of the safe house shifted. Soldier Boy's tone somewhat softened, revealing a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"You think I enjoy being like this? Constantly on edge, wondering if I'll turn into a goddamn weapon."

You sighed, your defenses momentarily crumbling.

"I didn't sign up for this either, you know. Being a supe's babysitter wasn't in my job description."

As you bickered, underlying desire simmered beneath the surface. Soldier Boy's gaze lingered a moment too long, making a very visible flush rise in your cheeks.

A smug grin playing on his lips, as he said,

"You can't resist me, can you? Admit it, there's something between us, more serious than all this bickering. You know, I think you want me-"

You cut him off, but your voice wavered. "Keep dreaming, I still can't stand you." This remark gave rise to another banter.

"Don't get over yourself. I was only pulling your leg. You're insufferable."

Accusations started flying like daggers, each word cutting deeper than the last. You walked into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge, making your way back into the living room, catching him intently staring at you. Frustration morphed into a heated exchange of longing glances.

Tension crackled in the air, and just when it seemed the room might implode, his expression shifted.

He got up from the sofa, walking over to you, cornering you till your back hit the wall. He leaned in, his eyes darkening with a growing desire, his voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial tone.

"You know what? Maybe you're right. I can't stand you, because everytime I look at you, this is all I want to do."

You arched an eyebrow, caught off guard. "Wait, what?" But before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed against yours in a passionate kiss, making the beer bottle fall from your hands, effectively silencing any protests. You caught hold of the shirt he was wearing, kissing him back with equal fervour, savoring the moment as if it was a dream that would end all too soon. All your pent up anger and frustration showed up as the two of you desperately tore at each other clothes, never once breaking the kiss. A battle of tongues. He only pulled back for a second, with a sly grin on his face, his eyes dark, pupils dilated with glimmers of lust.

"There, no need to argue when we can do this instead. We should've figured this out sooner." Rubbing you over your panties with two of his fingers, he groaned.

"You're such a slut. So wet already and I haven't even touched you. You want to get railed till you can't walk, don't you?"

Before you had a chance to say anything, he reclaimed your lips in a hunger fuelled kiss. The room once filled with tension, now crackled with a different kind of energy. Pieces of both your clothings flew across the room. Soldier boy lifted you up and carried you to the small table in the kitchen and set you down hurriedly. The two of you continued to kiss while he rid you both of the remaining pieces of clothing. He kissed you like a mad man, biting and marking every inch of your skin he could in his desperate need to be close to you. Starting from your neck, moving to your tits, taking one nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting it while palming and squeezing the other roughly, then switching and doing the same to the other one. He moved back up to place another rough kiss to your lips, both of you moaning and biting each other's tongues and lips, intoxicated with the feeling of being so close. With an animalistic growl he parted, giving you a look so intense, it could scare the bravest of people.

"When you feel the need to scream, moan my name. Scream it as loud as you can."

With that he roughly nudged your legs apart as wide as they could go and dived right in, eating you out like man starved, licking and sucking your most sensitive parts like it was his last meal. You pulled his hair, legs shaking and trembling with pleasure. His gruff beard giving you a delicious burn, that would heal in no time. He started flicking your clit with his tongue and entered two of his fingers inside you, moving them in and out rapidly. When he added two more fingers, you lost it. Screaming his name and cumming all over his face, your legs wrapped around his head, making it impossible for him to move away.

"Fuck. Ben. I can't-"

you tried pulling away but he didn't stop even then, holding you down with his arms, making you cum two more times before finally deciding to let go. You were dazed in pleasure, but still wanted more. Jumping down the table, and on your knees, you made eye contact with him as you slowly took his long, thick and veiny cock in your hand, stroking him and giving a few kitten licks from the base to the tip and sucking off the beads of precum, moaning at the salty taste, making him groan. You then looked up at him, taking him as far as you could before pulling back again and asking him to fuck your face. He hesitated for a second but his resolve crumbled as soon as you opened your mouth, showing him you were waiting for him. He grabbed your head with both his hands and pushed himself into your mouth, roughly thrusting in and out again and again, moaning your name, cussing like a maniac. You could tell he was close, and then he held your head as close as possible, making you gag a little, his eyes closing, his head thrown back, as ropes of his cum shot down your throat.

In ragged breaths, he said "Be a good little slut and swallow it all."

As you did, you opened your mouth with your tongue out, showing no remnants of his release. He chuckled, pulling you up by your arms, surprising you with a softness in his gaze as he asked

"You sure you want to go further? If you don't, we'll stop right here and pretend this never happened-" you cut him off with an aggressive kiss "Fuck me as hard as you can. I won't break. Take all your frustrations out on me."

With that he smirked and rapidly turned you around, bending your back and shoving your face on the table with his hand, setting it for support right by your head. He entered you with one brutal thrust, making the both of you moan and groan loudly, not giving you a second to adjust as he started ramming his cock into you, hard and deep, his hips moving at an inhuman speed.

"That's it. This is what you wanted right? Now take it. I don't think I'm ever going to let you go after this. You feel so good. Gonna make you my personal little fuck toy. Such a perfect fit."

Hearing all the filth leave his mouth made you clench around him, making him throw his head back in pleasure, never once letting his pace falter.

"Ah you love this. I can tell by the way your tight pussy's choking my dick."

At this point, all rational thoughts had left your brain and all you could do was moan and revel in the pleasure he was giving you. One thing you knew for sure was that he had ruined everyone else for you. After a few moments he moved the hand on your back between your legs to rub your clit and you started screaming in pleasure, feeling yourself flying close to the edge. As soon as Ben realised how close you were, he pulled out and turned you around, lifting you on the table and onto your back, swiftly entering you again.

"I know you're close. I wanna see your face when you cum all over me."

He moved his hand back between your legs to rub your clit in circles, while his other hand moved to your neck, choking you, as he went back to thrusting at his original, rough pace. This new angle somehow making him go deeper than before, hitting that one spot that made you see stars.

"Fuck. I don't think I can last long either."

To that, you finally managed to say

"Cum with me."

which sounded more like a moan than a sentence. You both looked into each other's eyes, moaning, grabbing each other, raking your nails all over his gorgeous, broad shoulders, not breaking the eye contact once. After a particularly hard thrust, you felt a funny sensation, one that you have rarely ever felt, only while pleasing yourself and before you knew, you screamed and started squirting your release, coming undone while Ben kept thrusting into you.

"Oh yes. Fuck. That's so hot baby. Cum all over me. I don't think I'll ever get enough of the look on your face right now. I think I've finally managed to shut you up, fucked your brains out. Fuck I'm cumming."

His thrusts grew frantic, and much harder than before, kissing you roughly, your teeth clashing, and he finally slammed his hips into yours one last time, holding your hips so tight, you were sure you would bruise for atleast a few hours, despite your super healing abilities. Groaning and grunting in his deep voice as thick ropes of his cum filled you to the brim, triggering yet another release out of you, making you squirt even more. He collapsed on top of you, careful that he wasn't crushing you with his weight.

The two of you stayed like that, entangled with each other for a few minutes, trying to catch your breath, before he slowly pulled out of you, making you both wince at the sudden loss. As he walked to the living room, "That was it" you thought, a one time rendezvous with Soldier Boy that might have either helped you two or made things worse. He sauntered back in with a towel in hand, towards the sink to wet it, also filling up a glass of water and quietly walking to you, cleaning you up without a word, handing the glass for you to drink. Taking it from him, you looked at him mumbled a soft "thank you", getting down the table, you nudged him to walk out with you, sitting down on the couch and covering yourself with a blanket, while he picked up his surprisingly untorn boxers, putting them on and sitting next to you, making you turn to face him. You both understood you needed to talk about what had just happened.

The shared realisation that the animosity between you two that had led to this impulsively passionate encounter, had somewhere blurred the lines between desire and hate.

Ben began to say "Look, about earlier... I didn't mean half the things I said."

You replied "What? You didn't mean it when you said you want to kiss me and do other filthy things to me everytime you see me?"

Taken aback, with a raised eyebrow and confused express Ben said, "Oh no, no lies there. I've wanted you from the moment I saw you."

You cut him off saying "I know, I was just pulling your leg. I've felt the same way about you. Your reputation preceded you and it made me crazy knowing I still wanted you."

He replied, "I think we let our tempers get the best of us." sighing, he continued "I care about you more than I let on."

Which made you sigh in response. "Then why do you never act like it? Making me think of you as a douche who loves berating me?"

Ben ran his fingers through his hair. "I guess I feel scared. Scared of how much of a hold you have had on me from the very beginning. It made me feel like a fool at times, I thought the only way I could supress these feelings were by acting like an asshole towards you. I'm really sorry."

Your gaze softened, "I'm really sorry too, my behaviour towards you hasn't been any better either." You continued, "I thought we were destined to be enemies. I don't hate you, I never did. I just wanted you to see the person I am beyond the righteous supe everyone else sees."

Ben slowly took your hands in his, making you look into his eyes. "Now I see you more than I ever thought I would. Maybe.. maybe there's something more here."

You replied, "Maybe there is. What happens now?"

To which he said "We talk. Like normal people. No more running away or avoiding things and arguing for no reason. We figure out where we stand, one step at a time, together."

You smiled, nodding your head. "Agreed. No more hiding how we feel. Besides, I guess I like this way of solving our issues much more." Which made him chuckle and pull you into his arms, staring at you intently, pressing his lips to yours.

Back at the Flatiron building, Hughie sat at his table across from Frenchie, fidgeting with his cup. "I'm worried. What do you think? Will they make up or kill each other?"

Butcher entered the room, a smirk plastered over his face "I'm pretty sure they are fucking like rabbits back there." And boy, was he right.

The two of you went multiple rounds, thanks to your super stamina, christening every possible surface of the safe house. From the couch, to the bedroom and the floor, and the shower too. You had both awoken a hunger, only the other could satiate.

"Now that we're not at each other's throats for the wrong reasons, I think maybe, we'd make a good team after all."

Said Ben, holding you close, running smooth circles on along your arms, with the two of you lying on the bed, tired and basking in the afterglow. You smiled, turning to face him. "We'll have to see about that, you might just be right. For now, I can't believe I'm saying this but I need sleep, we both do. You've worn me out completely."

He chuckled, tightening his arms around you, placing a soft kiss to your forehead and lips, and the two of you drifted off to sleep, feeling content in each other's embrace.

It was a start of a connection and understanding that arose from the most unexpected places, even amidst the chaos of a world filled with superhumans and the fight for good. Fiery exchanges and whispered confessions bringing in an unexpected depth to your dynamic, proving that there can be a fragile, pure connection between two polar opposites. Serendipity, often painted as an unusual force, interweaves with fate, guiding people towards love where they're least expecting to find it.

Your story a testament to the unpredicted twists of the heart, proving that even the fiercest adversaries can find redemption in each other's arms.

a/n: Finished watching Season 3 of 'The Boys' just a few days ago and let me just put this out here, Jensen as Soldier Boy is one of the best things to ever happen to this world. Oh! the things I'd let this man do to me-

Been planning this fic for a week now, I really hope y'all enjoyed reading as much as I did writing this.

I'd really appreciate if you'd comment any thoughts, improvements, suggestions or requests that you have! Thank you ^_^

Credits: Banner by @mykento

post divider by @saradika

[angel-fruitcake]

so like. why did i never hear about Jensen and Danneel moving their production company last year to Amazon, with whom Eric Kripke has been working for years? and how the deal covers both producing and acting while the previous WB deal only covered producing?? and then take into account the fact that Amazon has let Kripke get away with absolutely insane (AND VERY GAY) shit on the Boys?? hello???

i can't believe i didn't know this until today. i am now 100% convinced that if there is a Supernatural revival, it will be both Eric Kripke and Jensen Ackles overseeing it, and it will be under Amazon.

both of those factors combined means, in my [clown] opinion, a chance of Destiel actually happening. i need 2025 to hurry up and get here so Jensen can make his "rather strong announcement" [<<question at 21:55] that he hinted at in March.

[jackles010378]

Confessions of the night...

Dean winchester x Y/n

No warnings, just pure fluff 💚

When it's Sam's turn to hook up and bring a women back to the motel room, you find dean sleeping in his car and invite him to sleep in your room.

Dean sat in the Impala, his mind racing with a mix of emotions. He had never been one to shy away from a good time, but this time was different. Usually, it was him who brought girls back to their motel room, but tonight it had been Sam who had hooked up. And it left him feeling a bit out of place.

After successfully getting rid of a wendigo, Dean, Sam and y/n went to the bar nearest the motel to let of a little steam. Y/n called an early night and left the boys at the bar. Dean wanted to walk y/n back to the motel but she told him to stay with Sammy and have fun.

Dean had caught the eye of a few women in the bar, but none had peaked his interest. What he didn't expect to see was Sammy playing tonsil hockey with a pretty brunette on his way back from the toilet. He stood frozen for a second but then had a proud look on his face as he thought to himself 'that's my boy'. Dean pulled his jacket off the back of the chair he'd been sitting in, momentarily interrupting the make out session between his brother and the girl sitting on his lap. He slid the room key over to Sammy saying "don't do anything I wouldn't" with a wink and a smirk.

As Sam and the girl disappeared into the motel room, Dean made up his mind to sleep in the Impala. Taking a swig from his trusty flask, he settled into the backseat, hoping the familiar scent of leather and oil would soothe his restless thoughts.

Meanwhile, Y/N, was making her way to the ice machine. Dressed in a t-shirt (that she had stolen from Dean) and shorts, she was surprised to see Dean sitting in the Impala in the dimly lit parking lot, she wondered if he and Sammy had had a fight after she had left them at the bar. She could sense his unease and decided to approach him.

"Hey, Dean," Y/N called out softly. Dean looked up, surprised to see her there. Y/N gestured towards her room. "You look like you could use a decent night's sleep. Why don't you come crash in my room? I promise I won't bite."

Dean hesitated for a moment, but the offer was too tempting to resist. He followed Y/N to her room, taking in her easy smile and the warmth that radiated from her. Settling in on the spare bed, y/n handing him a beer, Dean found himself opening up to Y/N in a way he rarely did with others.

As the night wore on, the two of them talked about everything under the sun - from hunting to childhood memories. Dean found himself drawn to Y/N's easy laughter and the genuine interest she showed in him. And before long, he found himself confessing his fears and doubts about their dangerous way of life.

Y/N listened intently, her eyes full of understanding and compassion. She reached out and took Dean's hand in hers, she moved over to sit by his side, the feeling of her by his side sent a rush of warmth through him. In that moment, Dean knew he had found someone who saw past the tough exterior he presented to the world.

As the night turned to early morning, Dean and Y/N found themselves inching closer together. Their shared confessions had forged a deep bond between them, one that neither wanted to let go of. And as the first light of dawn peeked through the window, Dean leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Y/N's lips. "So much for sleeping huh" y/n said as they broke away from each other, foreheads resting upon each other.

The kiss was soft and fleeting, but it spoke volumes of the emotions swirling between them. Dean pulled back, his heart hammering in his chest as he searched Y/N's eyes for any sign of regret. But all he saw was warmth and affection, mirrored in her gaze "took you long enough winchester" y/n said with a smirk on her face.

In that moment, Dean knew he had found something real and worth fighting for. And as he held Y/N close, he let go of his doubts and fears, embracing the possibility of a new beginning. Sam might have been the one to bring a girl back to the motel room, but tonight, it was Dean who found something truly special with Y/N.

Taglist:

@nescavaneckdaily @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @angelbabyyy99 @cheynovak @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33

[ml080504]

i love how both of these is jensen ackles

in one he looks like he is about to call me and my mother a cunt for simply existing and in the other he looks like he is about to turn into a golden retriever puppy and ask for cuddles

[mattzerella-sticks]

"Who are you?"

"We're you, but on Netflix. And ghosts."

[lila-lou]

✨ His only exception - Pt. 1/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Soldier boy being too rough

Word Count: 1394

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

You were currently lying on your stomach on the sofa, completely engrossed in your phone.

It's been a year already.

12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another.

Of course, the job in the field, as you always affectionately called it, was extremely dangerous, but damn interesting and exciting. Until today, you didn't know why Butcher wanted you on his team so badly, but after a few unsuccessful attempts to get him to talk, you finally gave up. You weren't particularly talented when it came to fighting or stuff like that. You also had no idea about technology. Of course, you knew the quickest way to track down and locate Supes, but the other 11 girls on your team knew that too. So, you didn't know why you were chosen, but now you didn't care. Finally something exciting happened in your life and you were more than grateful for that.

Your love life on the other hand, was still a complete disaster. You're 20 years old and still single as fuck. It wasn't that you didn't have chances, certainly not, it was more that you wanted a man who could flash you. You wanted magic. A crackling and burning when he looks at you. But so far, all the men you've met have been the exact opposite. And if your mother taught you anything, it's to never settle for less.

So, here you were. In shorts and a crop top in the living room of your shared apartment.

Since the Team around Butcher has expanded with you, the Team got a new apartment. Not particularly luxurious, but not completely crappy either.

However, since the heating in your room is currently broken, you had to make do with the couch in the living room. While everyone else was already asleep, you scrolled through Instagram, checking out what your old coworkers were up to and what lies the media was currently spreading.

"Why aren't you sleeping, doll face?".

It was Soldier Boy's rough voice that startled you. When you turned your head to the side, you could see his eyes glued to your bare legs. But typical, he didn't care that you caught him staring. He plopped down on the sofa next to your feet and took a sip from his whiskey bottle without averting his gaze. There was nothing you could do as the blush rose to your face. You cleared your throat before sitting up.

“I don’t know”, you mumbled before looking at him for a second. “Somehow I’m not tired”, you added, looking away again. It was impossible to hold his gaze for much more. Despite the fact that you were the only person Soldier Boy was nice to, nice by his standards, you found him extremely intimidating. Even now, as he sat there, almost like a normal person in his gray sweatpants and black hoodie, he radiated this strong superiority.

When it became clear that there was no way Soldier Boy could be locked up again and Butcher could use all the help he could get against Homelander, he convinced Soldier Boy to rejoin his team.

Nobody knew how the hell he did it, but he did.

Butcher had recruited you and Soldier Boy almost at the same time. You were both the ‚new guys’ so to speak. Maybe that's why you got along somewhat.

“Well, I know fucking ton of ways to make you tired, Sweetheart”, he winked at you, making you roll your eyes. “Are you going to stop trying at some point?”, you mumbled, reaching for your Ben & Jerry’s on the table. “As soon as I can finally spread those pretty legs of yours”, he grinned cheekily.

You didn't think much of it. Ben was Ben and fucked everything that came his way. You knew that by now. Well, everyone on the team knew that. It wasn't even two weeks before Butcher banned him from bringing women home. The sounds those girls did, sounded like something out of a porno and kept everyone awake for two weeks.

“You’re disgusting,” you remarked quietly before putting the first spoonful in your mouth.

“Whatever”, he took another sip.

"Why are you still awake?", you asked. "I've slept enough", he replied almost bitterly. “Besides…if Everyone is sleeping, I hear your every little movement. Every tap on your phone. Every fucking breath you take… Try sleeping like that”, he murmured.

“Sorry”, you mumbled.

“Yeah, whatever doll face”.

You spent the next 60 minutes staying quiet and watching TV. In between, Ben couldn't help but mutter derogatory comments about women from commercials or the actual Movie you watched and its plot. At some point your nerves were on edge and you couldn't help but let out an annoyed groan.

“Do you have a fucking problem over there?”, Ben mumbled, looking over at you.

"You're repeating yourself! ‘Everything used to be better’ – that’s annoying”, you imitated him.

Without meaning to, you started a discussion. Neither of you was angry or aggressive, but both of you wanted to be right and keep the other quiet. However, the discussion quickly became heated. After a few minutes, the mood changed completely. Ben absolutely wasn't having neither your attitude nor your - in his eyes - disrespectful behavior towards him. Soldier Boy. Americas fucking first hero.

You could see Ben tense up. He got up from the couch and stood in front of you, building himself up. He clearly was about to snap.

“Know what the fucking best part was? Nobody was a fucking cocktease like you! No woman would dared to dance around with such tight little panties in front of me and just not let me fuck ‘em!”.

You just sat there and looked up at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

"Ben, I...". With your eyes still on him, you searched for the right words, but you hadn't found any. All these months you thought Ben was just kidding. You never took his lewd comments, compliments or his staring seriously, quite the opposite. By now you thought it was just one of his traits. He held your gaze with his arms crossed. He raised an eyebrow expectantly. His fingertips tapped his upper arm. Knowing that he wouldn't rest until you gave him an answer that was acceptable to him, you tried your best.

“I didn't think you'd mind. I… I´m not your type at all? I thought you`re into older women”. You now looked at him a little confused.

“Oh, don’t act fucking dumb now! I know women like you. Act all innocent at first, make men horny and then don't let anyone touch you! This is actually a lot worse than a slut admitting she's a slut!”, he spat.

Unfortunately, your hand was faster than your brain as you lashed out, hitting him on the cheek.

Your breath hitched as you saw Ben raise both eyebrows in surprise before his jaw twitched in anger.

"Shit! Ben… I…”.

You couldn't stutter any longer because Ben was already pushing you firmly against the wall by your upper arms.

Thousand thoughts ran through his head and they all revolved around you.

Ever since he first saw you, he was torn. Soldier Boy didn't know if he wanted to kill you, fuck you, torture or fucking marry you. He couldn't understand his own feelings. He didn't know what the fuck he felt. Even now his fantasies fluctuated like hell.

You were only human. With the blink of an eye he could squash you like a puny fly. But then he would never be able to look into those beautiful (y/e/c) eyes again. He would never be able to hear your voice again. He had dreamed so often of you lying beneath him, completely exhausted, shaking and moaning. Screaming his name in sheer desperate.

Just like that his intrusive thoughts won. Without any warning, he smashed his lips into yours, followed by his body.

———————————

A/N: I was wondering if anyone would like me to make this into a multi-part story. Pls let me know 🥰

Part 2

[zepskies]

Headcanon: When You're Having His Child...

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

AN: This one is requested by @cevansbaby-dove, and is kind of a continuation of this imagine: When you have morning sickness.

Tags/Warnings: Potential fluff overload.

HC: How Dean, Beau, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would act while you're in labor.

Dean Winchester

Oh, sweet man...

Dean does the thing where he pretends he has his shit together.

He's really trying, for your sake, for his own, and to save face around Sam and Eileen and Jody and everyone else in the hospital waiting room.

They can see it, and he knows it: he's freaking the hell out.

When he's in the room with you, he's either helping you, holding your hand, waiting for you to be dilated enough to start the whole "having a baby" process, or pacing around on those bowlegs, occasionally dragging a hand over his mouth in that telltale nervous gesture.

"Babe, come 'ere," you say with strain. That last contraction really took it out of you. "You're making me even more nervous than I already am."

Dean goes to you and smooths a hand over your hair.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. How're you holding up?"

Tears well up in your eyes, but you try to breathe through it. You're overwhelmed, you're in pain, and you've been in labor for several hours already.

"We're ready for this, right?" you ask, squeezing his hand. He sits on the edge of your bed and makes sure you look him in the eyes.

"We're about to find out," he says, with a bit of teasing. But his gaze is steady when he brings your hand up to his lips. "You don't gotta worry about anything. I'm gonna be with you, come whatever, okay?"

You smile, because you don't just believe him. You know.

Because after years of fighting together, surviving together, living together, you know that this is just one more adventure you get to go on with him by your side.

Now, Dean would rather not see all the gritty details of the birth, but he stays in the delivery room, letting you squeeze the shit out of his hand. He's not going to leave your side. He's wiping sweat from your brow and encouraging you, being whatever kind of support you need.

After the baby's born and the nurses bring her back all cleaned up, Dean holds his daughter for the first time.

He has tears in his eyes. For a long moment, he doesn't even blink. He stares down at that small, perfect face. Already he sees some of your features in her.

He can't put into words how he feels. It's overwhelming in his chest. But one thing is certain...

Dean's never been more grateful to be alive than in this moment.

He blinks, and the first of his tears fall. He brings her to you, sitting down carefully on the edge of your bed again so you can hold her. You're beyond exhaustion, sweaty, and weeping, but one thing is certain...

You've never been more grateful for Dean than in this moment.

You turn to him, giving him a small smile. He returns it, and he leans in to give you a gentle kiss.

"Do you have a name picked out yet?" one of the nurses asks.

You and Dean share a look: his imploring, yours knowing.

"We're not naming her Baby," you warn him.

"Aw, come on."

Beau Arlen

Round 2! 🫡

Beau runs the gambit from excited, to anxious, to freaking the hell out, and back to excited.

This is "Round 2" for him. His second child. But he's had reservations about being an "older" father to a new baby. (He's pushing 50 at this point. No matter how much he keeps in shape, he still feels his age in his bowlegged knees.)

You've assured him that plenty of men have children at his age.

Regardless of his insecurities though, you know he's still over the moon. Beau has always wanted more kids, deep down, and now thanks to you, he's getting his wish.

He's the man who's "prepared for anything."

When your water broke, he already had your to-go bag ready with everything you might need.

But he continues to ask you questions from the moment he's got you out the door to the drive over to the hospital, and even in the lobby.

"You thirsty? You comfortable like that? How's the pain? Just breathe, baby. I gotcha. Watch your step now. You hungry? We've got protein bars in the bag, unless you're cravin' something else. First things first, let's check in. Oh, I hope we can getcha in a private room. Let's see--oh damn, they sure are packed today, huh? Okay, how're you holdin' up? How's the pain, level of 1 to 10? Yep, got it, hold my hand. Just breathe through it. I gotcha."

Bless him. The man means well, but he's driving you freakin' crazy.

"Beau, I know. If you don't take a breath, I'm gonna pop you in the damn nose."

He tries not to smile at your grumpiness. "...Okay, I hear ya. Let's just get you into your room."

He rarely leaves your side during the entire labor, just to get you anything you might actually need. The radio at his belt occasionally goes off for work, but he apologizes, having forgotten to turn it off. He put Jenny in charge while he's gone.

"Let's just hope the precinct's still standing when I get back," he jokes. He finally turns off the radio and takes it off his belt, to your relief. And he returns his undivided attention to you.

Beau witnessed the birth of his daughter Emily, so he's no stranger to being in the delivery room. He even ventures past the curtain when your son is born, breathing air into his little lungs and letting out a powerful cry.

Beau laughs with tears in his eyes. "That's my boy."

When the nurses place him into your arms first, Beau supports your hold and brushes your sweaty hair back from your face. "Good job, honey. Good job."

"I know," you tease weakly.

Beau chuckles. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead and looks down at the small bundle in your arms and his.

"We have a son," Beau says. His eyes are red and shining. "I have a son."

"You have a son," you nod. You look over at him and lean in for a kiss. He obliges you, and rests his forehead against yours afterwards.

Life is meant for moments like this, he thinks.

He's damn grateful it's with you.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Readers of Strong as Blood in the BMD-verse will recognize some of this HC...

This day has been a long time coming, for both of you.

He smells like cigar smoke when he comes back into your recovery room. For which you have no doubt, Ben had been puffing away with Butcher and M.M. outside the hospital. 

Ben was with you for most of the lead up to the birth, but you actually agreed that having him in the delivery room wasn't a good idea. He never did well with you in pain, and with his temper, he might just scare the shit out of the doctor and nurses.

He strides toward you though, when he enters the room. He lays a hand on your head and another on the baby's tuft of brown, downy hair.

"We have a daughter," you tell him, with a watery smile.

Part of him still twinges with disappointment. He didn't react well when he found out you weren't carrying a boy, his future son.

(You'd given him enough hell that he never brought up the subject again.)

But that all fades away when he looks down at his daughter's face.

He carefully sits on the edge of your bed, but he's suspended in time. His chest tightens in a way he's never experienced before.

It's almost like pain, but not. Not at all.

He brushes a thumb along the baby's soft cheek. He's almost hesitant to touch her, knowing how fragile she is.

"Beautiful, like her mother," he says at last. And he means it.

He earns your smile.

"Flatterer," you accuse. You know you look as wrecked as you feel. Somehow, none of that matter's whenever you look at your child's face.

You look over at Ben with a shining smile. His lips twitch. He leans in and meets your lips with a kiss, slow and deep and intimate in this quiet little room.

“You okay?” he asks you, after he pulls away. “Got everything you need?”

He’s become even more protective, of course, but also more attentive to you. Especially in the last few months of your pregnancy, seeing how uncomfortable you've become.

It warms you every time, when you consider how rough, how stoic, and how damn-near emotionally repressed he can be.

It seems that fatherhood is beginning to soften him, even before he begins. You quirk a smile at the thought, and at his question.

“Imagine pushing a super melon out of your dick. That’s how I’m doing,” you say cheekily.

He snorts a bit loudly at that, and you shush him, as if it wasn’t your fault he was laughing. He expects nothing less from you.

“But I’m okay,” you answer his second question. “All I need right now is you.”

Ben considers you, a slightly gentler smile curving his lips, and he nods.

“All right,” he says. In this moment, he realizes that his entire world is in this room.

He’d never admit it, but it's a terrifying thought, for a man who once had everything and nothing.

You unknowingly stop the path of his thoughts when you ask him, "Want to hold her for a while?"

Ben perks up at attention. He's a bit uncertain on how exactly to hold the baby, but he can't lose face and tell you that. So he just accepts the bundle when you place her in his arms.

As he looks down at a small face that already has some of his features, he inhales a faltering breath.

It's the first time you ever see true tears in his eyes, despite how much he resists. One manages to draw a path down his cheek. 

“You know, you’re blessed to have my genes, sweetheart,” he says. It elicits a knowing scoff out of you. “But you’re also lucky as hell to have your mom.”

Ben looks up and finds the predictable well of tears forming in your eyes. His smirk softens around the edges.

“She’s the best damn woman you’re ever gonna meet,” he says.

AN: All right, I'll stop. 😭 I hope you enjoy this one, fluff overload and all! Who was your favorite this time: Dean, Beau, or Ben? 💜

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[cheynovak]

Dean: Babe have you seen my... what is that.

Y/N: It's a mask.

Dean: Yeah, I can see that... what's it for?

Y/N: Halloween, I'm zorro.

Dean: ...

Dean: You talked to Crowley, didn’t you?

Y/N walks past Dean with a mischievous grin, pausing at his shoulder. *Pats his cheek twice*

Y/N: Maybe...

[mxltifxnd0m]

heat wave ࿔ s. winchester

summary: heat waves suck in the bunker

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader

word count: 1.7K

warnings: no use of y/n, not beta'd, fluff, complaining about heat, nudity, suggestive content, one or two dirty jokes

a/n: i made a post about complaining about this heat wave that is happening in my area and decided to write about it. this was intended to be a blurb but it spiraled out of my control LMAO

(also i haven't posted this frequently in like... ever LOL. so please say thank you to sam winchester for being my muse)

please reblog and lmk your thoughts and opinions!! i wanna hear what you guys thought about the fic!

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

You hated the heat. Nope. Scratch that you loathed the heat. Despite growing up in hotter climates, you never grew to like the heat. You can tolerate it, but you've always preferred the colder months, where you can layer all you want and get warm and cozy.  

But with summer, there was so much you could wear until you were almost naked.  

The bunker could only do much to keep out the heat during the summer and keep the heat in when winter rolled around. An unexpected heat wave hit Lebanon, and since the bunker didn't have any AC or windows, it was practically hell on earth in the bunker.

Sam and Dean were out on a hunt, and you were stuck in the bunker due to having a nasty run-in with a witch that left you concussed and bruised ribs. They said the hunt was a quick salt and burn a state over, so they would be back in a few days. But in the few days they were gone, the heat became almost unbearable.

You spent the past few days stripped down to a bra and the shortest PJ shorts you had. You would have strolled around the bunker naked, but you were a little paranoid that Sam and Dean would come home early, and you didn't want to give Dean a free show. The amount of water that you had drunk could be considered criminal, but you managed to sweat most of it.

You even went out and bought multiple box fans for the library, war room, kitchen, and your bedroom (To hell with your boyfriend and Dean's bedroom. They could buy a fan for themselves.) because you could barely stand the stifling heat that managed to worm its way into the bunker.

The heat had gotten to the point where you were sprawled out on your back, starfish styled on the cool tiles of the shower room. This was your only saving grace in this place (and taking cold showers right before you went to sleep). When the tiles below you would get warm and sticky, you would just shuffle (drag) your body slightly to another patch of cold tiles.

You were so focused on cooling down your hot body that you didn't hear Sam calling for you when he couldn't find you in your room. He and Dean eventually found you on the shower floor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean's voice echoed off of the shower room walls.

"Finding reprieve from this god-awful heat." You sat up on your elbows to see Sam and Dean standing in the doorway, uncaring of your state of undress. Being a hunter and getting injured in inconvenient places had left you topless in front of the boys plenty of times and vice versa, so it left no room for modesty.

"This bunker doesn't have any AC or windows, and this heat wave has been terrible. You guys need to fix that." You said before sliding back down and moving to a patch of cool tile.

Sam's chuckling made you smile despite the heat. "Considering this bunker was built in the 30s, they didn't exactly have to worry about heat waves or AC."

Your smile dropped as you scowled at Sam's words. "I hate global warming. Also, how are the two of you not sweating your balls off yet?" You had noticed that they were wearing their flannels.

"We just got back and spent the past 10 minutes trying to find you. Safe to say we haven't spent much time in the bunker to feel the heat."

"Well, you're about to Deanie-boy, be prepared to strip." You went to take a sip of water from the bottle you had brought with you, only to find that it was empty.

"You would love to see that wouldn't you."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before." You said before getting up from the floor with a slight groan.

"Besides, I'd prefer to see a strip tease from a different Winchester." You winked at Sam as you walked in between the boys, giving his ass a quick tap as you left the shower room and headed toward the kitchen to refill your water bottle.  

About two and a half hours later, the heat had gotten to the boys, and they were stripped down to their boxers, trying to survive. Dean ended up stealing one of the fans you bought and stashed it in his room, but even then, the fans were just blowing around the warm air that was in the bunker.

When it came time to eat dinner, you guys quickly got dressed because none of you wanted to spend another second in the hot bunker. The cool night air was like a healing balm over the heat wave as you guys found a diner that also had outside seating. After you guys were done eating, Dean drove the three of you around for a while with the windows down in the Impala, not wanting to go back to the stifling hot bunker.

You guys got back home at eleven o'clock, and the temperature in the bunker got significantly better, but it was still uncomfortably warm. You all headed to different bathrooms to shower off the stickiness that the three of you were already feeling.

You took your time in the cold water, not wanting to leave it just yet, but you eventually left the shower once your skin acclimated to the water and started to feel warm to you. You wrapped yourself in a towel and made your way to your room.

Once you made it to your room, you turned on your fan, cranked it to the highest setting, and dropped your towel. You didn't bother with any clothes or getting under the covers because you would throw them off of yourself the second you started to sweat. You crawled on top of your covers and rested your back against your headboard. You wanted to read a bit before you went to bed, so you grabbed your Kindle off of your nightstand and began to read.

About fifteen minutes later, you got a knock on your door. "Babe?" Sam's voice was muffled by the thick door.

"You can come in." You tell him, not looking away from your Kindle.

You heard the door open, and that's when you looked up at Sam entering your room. You caught his surprised expression as he took in your nude form and quickly shut the door. You saw lust flashing through his hazel eyes as his gaze traveled up and down your body.

Sam cleared his throat as he kept his eyes trained on yours. Ever the gentleman. You thought as you smirked at his reaction.

"Did you need something?" You asked, batting your eyelashes at your boyfriend as you placed the Kindle in your lap. Your eyes also wandered up and down Sam's bare torso as he was only in his boxers. His anti-possession tattoo stood out against his tan chest and was littered with scars that had faded with time.

You saw Sam swallow thickly as his eyes flickered from your chest to your eyes. "I was wondering why you weren't in our room?"

It was technically Sam's room before you moved into it. After a couple of months of dating, you found yourself sleeping in his room more often than your own when you initially moved into the bunker.

"As much as I love you, Sammy, I cannot sleep with you during this heat wave."

Sam frowned slightly as he made his way to your bed and sat on the edge of it. "Why not?"

You scoffed. "Because you're practically a human furnace, and as nice as it is sleeping with you during the winter, I just know I'll be soaked just sharing a bed with you."

A dirty smirk wormed its way onto Sam's face as his warm palm landed on your ankle and slowly trailed up your leg. "I'm glad I have that effect on you, but I already knew that."

You narrowed your eyes at him as you wriggled your leg away from Sam's grasp. "Ha, ha, you're so funny." You deadpan. "But I'm being serious. You radiate heat, which isn't fun when we're trying to survive a heat wave."

Sam started to pout at you. "But babe-"

"Nope. Not hearing it." You cut him off and shook your head at him as you moved your Kindle to your nightstand. "You're sleeping in your bed alone until this heat wave is over."

"Now, go back to your room." You gestured to your door.

A small huff left Sam as he got up from your bed. "Fine, but at least give me a goodnight kiss."

You rolled your eyes slightly. "Get over here, you big baby." Sam moved to the side you were lying on and bent down to kiss you.

You intended the kiss to be chaste, but Sam (being the little shit he is) had other ideas. He grabbed both of your cheeks with his hands and pulled you into a passionate kiss.  

It was unexpected, but you melted into the kiss as your hands instinctively went to his chest. He tasted like mint and something that you could only describe as Sam. Sam swiped at the seam of your lips, and that is what broke you from your Sam-induced haze.

You pushed him away from you and glared at him lightly. Sam just had a cheeky grin on his face.

"Nice try, now go to bed."

Sam still had a grin on his face as he bent down again and kissed your forehead.

"Goodnight, baby," He murmured softly against your forehead before pulling away.

"Goodnight, Sammy," You said with a soft smile as he left your room.

You turned to your nightstand and turned off the lamp that illuminated your room. Your room was engulfed in darkness as you shuffled further down your bed until your head hit the pillows. You fell asleep as your fan blew cool air towards your bed.

Little did you know, Sam ended up sneaking into your room once you were asleep and woke up in the morning soaked in sweat and having a moose of a boyfriend wrapped around your sweat-slicked body.

It's safe to say that you gave Sam a very rude awakening that morning.  

[winchestergifs]

STACKEDextras ➙ Don't you have a girl to get back to?

8.10 Torn and Frayed ✣ 15.9 The Trap Written by Jenny Klein ✢ Robert Berens Directed by Robert Singer Original Air Dates: January 16, 2013 & 2020

[saveahorsebethecowboy]

y’know that textpost that’s something about how gay relationships are always just a dog and cat in love? yeah. that.