waynes-readingverse

[waynes-readingverse]

Summer Fun - Soldier Boy (smut)

Nothing but a smutty drabble I wrote when I couldn't sleep. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Ben fucks the reader in a pool, pwp

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, fingering, pool sex, degrading, Ben being Ben, choking, somewhat friends to lovers

Pairing: Soldier Boy x fem!reader (1.6k words)

The sun burned down on them, making sweat pool on their foreheads. She was laying on a sunbed, body covered by a bikini she had bought a while ago with some of her friends. Her big sunglasses covered her wandering eyes, hoping to hide the way her gaze found back to him every now and then. 

It was a strange sight to see Ben this calm and relaxed almost. He wore nothing but his swim trousers, had a cigarette between his lips while the smoke wrapped itself around him as if it felt the same attraction towards him (y/n) did. There was something between the two of them that had grown over the past weeks, pushed together since the others couldn’t handle him as well as she did. 

“You’ll burn a fucking hole through my body if you keep staring, doll.” Ben’s teasing words made heat rise to her cheeks. She cleared her throat while she forced herself to swallow the embarrassment clinging to her like a second layer of skin. 

“I’m not staring, just counting down the days until those cigarettes will finally kill you.” A gritty laugh left Ben as she watched him put the cigarette down before turning towards her. The smirk growing on his lips made goosebumps rise on her skin, forcing (y/n) to move into a straighter position as he came closer to tower over her. 

She struggled not to focus on his muscular body, the abs she wanted to run her fingers over, followed by her tongue while dropping to her knees for him. Ever since meeting the annoying supe she had dreamt of being touched by him, wandering hands she needed to feel on her body while losing herself in the pleasure he’d undoubtedly make her feel. 

“Ben.” It was a warning, a warning he simply chose to ignore. Without saying another word, he picked (y/n) up to throw her over his shoulder, ignoring her squeals the second he threw her into the cold pool before following her moments later. She rose to the surface with wide eyes, all while Ben threw his head back with a loud laugh. “You fucking asshole!”

(Y/n) swam towards him, set on clinging to him while trying to push him under – nothing but mere dreams since she’d never be strong enough to overpower the handsome supe. Ben’s hands found her waist within seconds, all to draw her closer and to push her against the wall of the pool. Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist, unconsciously drawing him closer to feel him pressed against her. 

“How long do you want to keep up this sweet act of yours, doll? Mhm?” She struggled to keep looking at him, close to losing herself in those green eyes that seemed to uncover her every secret. Ben held her mind and body hostage, drawn to him like a moth to the flame, a flame set on burning her trembling body until she was nothing but ash. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” The whispered words filled the momentary silence, clinging to them both as Ben tightened his grip on her. There was no escaping, no way out as he dipped his head down to ghost his lips over hers, just like she had always dreamt of him doing. No air found its way into her aching lungs, forced to choke on the breaths that were left in her system – sounds being swallowed the second he kissed her.

The kiss wasn’t sweet, it was fuelled by their longings, the need both found themselves held hostage by. Ben pressed his middle further against hers, caging (y/n) between the wall and his warm body, allowing her to feel his hardening cock through the thin fabric of their swim clothes. 

“You’re a fucking cock tease, wearing those short things around me, looking at me with those fuck-me-eyes.” She gasped against his lips, allowing him to kiss her again, tongue getting tangled with (y/n)’s. Her trembling hands found their way to his wet hair, tugging on his roots while her legs tightened their grip around his waist even further. It felt like a movie, a dream she’d eventually be ripped from all too quickly. But it seemed as if Ben didn’t even think about letting her go, not as he let one hand find its way to her chest to push her bikini up to expose her breasts, not as he grasped the right breast with enough strength to make her moan. 

He tugged on her nipple, undoubtedly feeling it growing harder against his fingers while her hips tried to roll themselves against his. The water slowed her movements, but she didn’t think about stopping, not when she finally found herself this close to the man she couldn’t stop thinking of. 

“I’ll fuck you in this pool now, and then on the sunbed, and then again in the shower if you ask nicely.” (Y/n) trembled against his touch, fully focused on the way Ben’s hand began to move down to her bikini bottoms, pushing them aside to find her pulsing bundle of nerves. The moan that clawed through her filled the warm afternoon, echoing through the air while she lost herself in his touch. Ben seemed to know exactly where to touch her, taking her body hostage without having to use any strength. She gave herself to him, an offered sacrifice he revelled in. 

“Ben,” she moaned his name, fingers finding their way down to his muscular shoulders. His warm skin only seemed to add fuel to the fire burning deep inside of her, drawing them closer and closer. (Y/n) lost her train of thoughts the second he pushed two fingers into her tightness, taking what he was desperate for without having to ask. She’d offer everything to him, every little piece he wanted from her. 

“Such a desperate pussy, taking my fingers like you were made for me.” His voice had grown raspier and deeper, making her arch her back away from the wall to press her naked chest against his. Her nipples rubbed against his wet skin, making her gasp whenever their bodies met while Ben kept fucking her with his fingers. “Let me hear that sweet voice, doll. Beg for my cock.”

“Please, Ben, fuck me, I need you, god, please.” His lips found their way back to hers. He curled his fingers against her swollen spot, making (y/n) quiver against him while she lost herself in the sensation. But moments later Ben pulled his fingers away without another warning, only to push her around to press her chest against the wall, back turned towards him.

“I’ll fuck you raw, and you’ll take every inch like the grateful little slut you are.” It was nothing but a command, warning words she couldn’t reply to as she felt him push into her from behind. A silent scream got stuck in her throat as he sank deeper and deeper, forcing her walls to stretch around him. 

Ben wasn’t one for doing things slow, not even thinking about giving her any time to adjust the second he began to fuck her. (Y/n) had to cling to the edge of the pool, trying to stabilize her frame as she got pushed against the wall with every thrust. She was about to see stars, making black dots cover her vision while getting lost in the intense sensation.

A strong hand found its way to her throat, holding her with enough strength to heighten her senses. Ben guided her system, forcing her to give herself to him as he fucked her like a man on a mission. He didn’t seem to care about the splashing water, didn’t seem to care about the way she trembled so heavily as if she was freezing to death. All Ben seemed to be focused on was their pleasure, the way her walls fluttered around him, the way she moaned his name louder and louder.

“Fucking shit, doll, your pussy is fucking magic.” He rasped the words, while he added more speed to his thrusts. She knew this wouldn’t take long, both would give in way too soon, all while Ben was undoubtedly already thinking of the way he’d fuck her on the sunbed seconds later. He’d take what he was aching for, and she’d give it to him, without thinking twice.

“Feels so good, oh god, don’t stop, Ben.” She managed to moan the words, all while Ben tightened his grip on her throat. He only hummed, letting the sound wrap itself around (y/n) while her orgasm crept closer. The trembling grew more violent, just like her moans all while she came on his cock without being able to stop the intense sensation from thumping through her system. Ben kept snapping his hips against her behind, burying himself inside of her over and over again until he came with a deep groan, set on imprinting himself on her walls. 

(Y/n)’s head fell forward the second he let go of her throat, forehead pressed against the back of her hand while trying to catch her breath. She struggled to focus on anything but the way her heart raced, high on the orgasm she’d undoubtedly never forget again. 

“Catch your breath, doll, this was only the beginning.”

[waynes-readingverse]

How can I ever get over you? - Dean Winchester (smut)

The queen of song fics, I know, I know. Shamelessly inspired by Matt Schuster's new song "How Can I Ever Get Over You?". Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader broke up with Dean because her fear of living a life without him alive and breathing next to her got the upper hand. When she sees him easily flirting with others shortly after their breakup, she can't help but long for the man she once wanted to marry. And Dean isn't ready to ever let her go.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, angst, heartbreak, jealousy, slightly possessive Dean, happy end don't you worry

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.5k words)

She had her knees pressed to her chest, eyes focused on Dean. (Y/n) could watch him through the windows of the shop, how he spoke to the girl behind the counter who twirled her hair as if she was casted in a romcom. An annoyed huff left her at the sight before she forced herself to avert her gaze. 

It had been three weeks since their breakup, three weeks that had been filled with an uncomfortable silence and long nights where she didn’t catch any sleep. His words still echoed through her brain, reminding her that it had all started because of some stupid fight after a hunt gone wrong. Angry words had been thrown at one another, words she hadn’t meant, and words he undoubtedly had only spoken to match her anger.

“You okay back there?” Sam’s concerned voice ripped (y/n) out of her thoughts. She blinked a few times to get rid of the haziness before clearing her throat and mumbling a small “yes”. “I’d understand it if you need some time away. Honestly, (y/n), I don’t think this is healthy for either one of you.”

“And where am I supposed to go, Sam?” The words had a sharpness to them that made her cringe. Perhaps Sam was right, perhaps she needed some time away to work through the breakup that had been all too sudden after endless years together. But she had no place to go to, no one to turn to. 

“I,” the words got stuck in his throat as Dean stepped out of the shop with a small smirk glued to his lips. He plopped down into his seat while his eyes were still focused on his phone. An uncomfortable silence hung between the three of them as if Sam was part of the ugly fight (y/n) could still recite word by word.

“How about we stay a night around here? I’ve got plans for tonight.” The words felt like a punch to the gut and judging by the tone of Dean’s voice they had been meant to hit. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply, kept quiet while Sam mumbled something (y/n) didn’t pay any mind to. 

Perhaps Sam had been right. Perhaps it was time to get away from the man who she had broken up with because her anxiety of eventually living a life when he was buried six feet under had won the upper hand. Perhaps it was time to find herself again without Dean Winchester by her side.

…

“How about we find another place for drinks? I doubt you want to see this.” Sam mumbled the words while he stood next to (y/n). The sticky floor of the bar kept their boots glued to the spot, loud music filled the bar, and the smell of cheap booze hung in the air. But all she could focus on was the sight of Dean leaning against the bar while he spoke to the girl from the shop. 

“No, it’s alright. He can do whatever he wants, and who knows, maybe I’ll find someone too.” She shot Sam a smirk before walking towards the bar to order some beer for her and Sam. Her eyes wanted to move back to Dean and the girl, but she forced herself to look at the other people, eyes eventually meeting those of a somewhat handsome guy who watched her from the dart spot. 

“I’ll be back in a bit.” She mumbled the words to Sam before she drowned most of her beer in one go. Her head was buzzing from the loud music, her heart was aching from the pain of seeing Dean with that girl, but she was determined, set on proving to herself that she could live without the man whose name she had dreamt of carrying one day. 

“Hi.” With a smile thrown his way, (y/n) came to a halt in front of the guy. He was nowhere near as handsome as Dean and yet he was sweet enough to distract her for a moment or two. He leaned against his high chair, arms crossed in front of his muscular chest as he studied her with deep brown eyes that were nowhere near as intense as the forest green ones she saw whenever she closed her eyes. 

“Hey there, darling. You’re new round here, ain’t you? Just passing through?” Her hand tightened its grip on her bottle, trying to calm herself as her body begged her to move away from him. She wasn’t used to flirting with other men, wasn’t used to putting on a show since she hadn’t been forced to worry about these kinds of things for the past years. The sombre feeling thumping through (y/n) was about to wipe her smile off of her lips, but she tried to keep up the act, just for a few more minutes at least.

“Yeah, something like that. You’re from here?” The guy pushed himself away from his chair, eyes wandering up and down her frame. He towered over her as he stood closer, allowing her to pick up on the cheap scent of his cologne, which smelled of anything but the comforting mixture of old books and whisky she was looking for. 

“Born and raised, I could show you around, if you want.” She got no time to reply as an arm was thrown over her shoulder to pull her into a broad chest. (Y/n) didn’t need to turn around to know who was touching her, and for a second she didn’t want to pull away. The weight of his arm was all too familiar, just like the scent of his cologne she had once gifted him for their first anniversary. 

“She’s seen enough of this place already. We’re leaving.” Dean pulled her away from the guy all too quickly, making her lose her balance. The bottle fell from (y/n)’s clammy hand, letting it smash to the ground beneath them. And for a second everything seemed to freeze. To (y/n) it felt as if her broken heart was now laying on the ground, only for Dean to pick up on the shards he wouldn’t be able to glue back together if he wouldn’t put the effort in now. 

Green eyes wandered from the ground to (y/n)’s glassy eyes, he stared at her for a second before he tightened his grip on her forearm and tugged her closer once again. She didn’t have the strength to pull away, felt her surroundings blur together while tears kept on welling up in her eyes. No word was shared between them as Dean guided her back to Baby where Sam was already waiting for them. No word was shared between the three hunters as Dean drove them back to their motel, only to follow (y/n) to her own room after Sam had bid her goodnight with a strong hug. 

“What the actual fuck, Dean?” The angry words left her the second the door fell close behind them. An almost maniac laugh left her, rumbling through her while her tears kept on rolling. Tears of heartbreak. Tears of anger. Tears of confusion. “What was that?”

“I didn’t like seeing you with him.” It was a simple reply, forced path gritted teeth and only slightly parted lips. A fire was burning in his green eyes, a fire so strong it could burn down a forest carrying the colour of his eyes. 

“Oh? Well, newsflash, you asshole, I didn’t like seeing you with that girl either. But I didn’t step in, did I?” She took a step away from him to plop down on her bed. Trembling fingers tried to undo the lacing of her boots, though without any luck. She didn’t manage to undo the knot, struggling to even tug on the laces, until Dean crouched down in front of her and quietly undid them for her. 

“You know that all of this is your fault, right?” Dean mumbled the words, but they weren’t fuelled by any spite nor hatred. It was a simple whisper that drew another sob out of her. She moved back on the bed to desperately try to get some distance between them, knees pressed to her chest while her sadness kept pulsing through her. 

“Of course I do. But you almost died because of me, Dean. You almost lost your life because you were too focused on me than on the hunt. I messed up and you almost paid the price for it. I can’t live like that. All I saw was a life without you, because I did something wrong. Do you know how that feels? I wouldn’t ever be able to live with that guilt.” She sobbed the words, they spluttered from her lips with a tremble that shook through her core. (Y/n) couldn’t look at him, not when he stood at the end of the bed with his hands balled into fists and his angry eyes burning holes through her skin. 

“And you think I want to live without you? Do you think that little of me?” His words made her scoff. She tried to dry her tears with her sleeves, though without much luck as they kept on rolling. 

“Well, you had no problem getting over me and finding someone new, did you?” Within seconds he was in front of her, knees pressed to the mattress, cold fingers finding her chin to force her eyes towards his. Pain swam in his pupils, a pain so intense (y/n) could feel it thumping through her veins like a gunshot set on ripping her from this life. 

“It was nothing but a stupid try to make you jealous. I needed you to feel the pain I can’t shake. I can’t get over you, (y/n). I never will.” The sob that rumbled through her was swallowed by the kiss Dean pressed against her lips. He could undoubtedly taste her salty tears and the pain burning on her tongue, but all he did was press himself even closer. 

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Dean. I love you, so much, but I am so scared.” With his forehead pressed against hers, Dean took a deep breath. Silence wrapped itself around them, a silence that was only interrupted whenever another sob clawed through (y/n). 

“Don’t let your fear destroy this. Don’t throw us away because of your anxiety. I promise, I will be more careful, hell, I will happily leave you behind while Sam and I go on hunts. But I can’t do this without you, sweetheart. Not without you.” Her red eyes found his again, and all (y/n) could do was nod at his words. As much as she feared eventually having to bury him, she knew she wouldn’t be able to go on without him. He was hers, as much as she was his. 

“I am sorry, Dean, I am just so scared.” She mumbled the words against his lips as he kissed her again. Both got lost in the kiss, allowing their broken hearts to slowly mend back together, letting go of the pain that clung to them like a shadow sewn to their heels. 

“I’ve got you, and I won’t leave you, I promise.” No reply left (y/n) as he pressed his knee against her core, using just enough pressure to make her gasp. She needed him close, to prove to herself that he wouldn’t leave her, not now, not ever. There would be a lot she’d need to work through, allowing herself to adjust to this stronger growing fear she had managed to drown out for the past years, but tonight she just needed to feel Dean close. 

Her hips pressed (y/n) further against his knee, which drew a raspy chuckle out of Dean. He kissed his way down her throat while his hands disappeared beneath her shirt, undoubtedly feeling her goosebumps rise on her skin. She kept moving against his knee as Dean let go of her for a moment to pull the shirt over her head, groaning at the sight he hadn’t been able to focus on for the past weeks. 

“Look at you, sweetheart. You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Heat clung to her at his praises, a strong heat that kept on swallowing her. No word left her, nothing but soft sounds Dean revelled in. He touched her breasts, bra pushed down to let them spill over while she felt her orgasm move closer, all because of a few simple touches – something only Dean Winchester would manage to make her feel. 

With another kiss pressed to her lips, he broke the moment. Dean rose to his feet to pull his shirt over his head, allowing her wide eyes to instantly find the tattoo she’d normally trace in the early mornings when he was still fast asleep. Their eyes held contact as he undid his trousers, stepping out of them to expose his tented boxers, all while (y/n) mimicked his movements. 

Their naked bodies found back together, lips pressed together while Dean rolled a condom down his cock before pushing into her. It was a sweet moment, an unusually soft moment both couldn’t help but groan at. He took his time, as if they had to adjust to one another again after their time apart, but the second he began to move, (y/n) felt the ecstasy she had always taken for granted. 

Dean fucked her slow with calculated thrusts – thrusts to meet those spots which made (y/n) see stars. No matter the time apart, he’d always know her body like the back of his hand, made for him only. He was focused on her sounds, on the way she arched her back off the mattress with every thrust that pushed her closer to the edge. A sight so beautiful, Dean knew he’d never find something even close to similar in another woman.

“Dean,” (y/n) choked on his name, her fingernails scratched at his back while trying not to give in all that quickly. “More, please.”

“Like that, sweetheart?” He used more speed for his thrusts, pushing himself even deeper. She was trembling beneath him, lips parted, eyes closed to get lost in the sweetest sensation. Her fingernails were undoubtedly drawing blood by now, but Dean didn’t seem to care, solemnly focused on pushing her over the edge before he’d let go. 

“I love you,” she whispered the words the second she came, body clinging to Dean as the intense waves flushed through her. Dean’s fast thrusts prolonged the sensation, making it buzz through her like lightning hitting her body over and over again. He followed her seconds later, letting go with a deep groan before his head found rest on the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

“I love you too, sweetheart. And I will put a ring on that finger the second the sun rises, that much I can promise you.”

[waynes-readingverse]

UNRAVEL ME || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: Finally we're getting to the prequel of Lost in Translation! Here's how Ben "unravels" for an Afro-Latina woman of color who keeps him on his toes — all while she deals with becoming Soldier Boy's unwilling getaway driver...and a fugitive as well lol. This series also fulfills a hilarious prompt for @jacklesversebingo!

JVB Prompt: Accidental Old Person Acquisition

Series Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, PSTD/trauma, racial elements, canon-level language, blood and violence, Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (AKA: his asshole misogynistic self), but eventually protective Ben, eventual smut.

Listen While You Read:

🎵 Music Playlist: YouTube || Spotify

🎬 Playlist Poster: Side A || Side B

Chapters:

✦ Part 1: Hot Tamale

✦ Part 2: A Problem Like Chiquita

✦ Part 3: Entering Funkytown

✦ Part 4: Food & Family

✦ Part 5: Amor Prohibido - Read now on Patreon! || Coming to Tumblr/Ao3: 7/06

✦ Part 6: La Vida Es... - Read now on Patreon! || Coming to Tumblr/Ao3: 7/13

✦ Part 7: I Could Fall (in Love) - Read now on Patreon! || Coming to Tumblr/Ao3: 7/20

Series in progress

⋆˙⟡ Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new chapter. 💜

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

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List (Part 1)

@spnwoman @waynes-multiverse @luci-in-trenchcoats @rizlowwritessortof @lamentationsofalonelypotato

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

@deansbbyx @chernayawidow @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @chevroletdean

@foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @winchestergirl2

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @my-stories-vault @spnbabe67 @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2

[waynes-readingverse]

Primal Masterlist

Summary: A serial killer is on the loose in Helena, Montana. Sheriff Beau Arlen has been trying to catch him for six months with nothing to show for it. When another omega is attacked and this one manages to escape, it's his first shot at bringing the bastard down. She's not in the mood to help though. She's running from something. Her protector will stop at nothing to keep her safe. And now she's the target of a killer on top of everything else. But Beau knows there's more to this case, more to the angry Alpha, more to the beautiful omega whose scent he can't stop thinking about. What he discovers though, the true terror lurking beneath the surface, will put them all in a danger not seen in hundreds of years...

Pairing: Alpha!Beau Arlen x Omega!reader

Word Count: 63K (Individual counts in parts)

Warnings: language, angst, violence, drugging, serial killers, death, kidnapping, mention of human trafficking, implied abuse (non-graphic), smut, self-worth issues

A/N: This story has a darker theme and heavily revolves around the investigation of a serial killer however nothing graphic is shared. 

A/N #2: This series is now complete.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

[waynes-readingverse]

CONNECTION

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Soulmate!Reader 

Summary: Beau saved you from your car nearly going over a rickety bridge, discovering he was your soulmate in the process. Now, the two of you enjoy a milestone date at the county fair.

AN: Finally, here’s the sequel to Over the Bridge! If I get more inspo for this in the future, I may come back to these two, make it a little soulmate storyverse. 💜 Plus, this also fulfills another square for @jacklesversebingo.

JVB Prompt: “Am I under arrest or not?”

Posted on Patreon: 5/07/2025

Word Count: 2K

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, lots of flirting and sexual innuendo, bits of spice, protective dad Beau, smidge of angst

Read Part 1 || Beau Arlen Masterlist

“Well, this is just theft of the highest order.”

You giggled around another (stolen) mouthful of rum raisin ice cream, complete with little praline pieces, all while screaming kids of all ages on the Tilt a’ Whirl zoomed by behind you and Beau.

Chaos filled the grassy fairgrounds from every corner, from the bleating goats and mooing cows at the nearby petting zoo, to the rigged carnival games posted every ten feet or so, creating a maze of color and noise.

The smell of fried food was thick in the air like invisible fog; greasy pizza and burgers, over-buttered popcorn, caramel covered apples, cloying cotton candy swirled with fried Oreos and other icing-covered confections, all priced at nearly triple they were worth.

Beau had spent a chuck of change just to get the two of you into the Lewis and Clark County Fair, along with Emily and two of her friends. She had run off an hour ago with his last $50 in cash. He was resorting to his credit card now, though he refused most of your offers to pay for food and drinks and games throughout the night.

He invited you, after all, and this was technically your fifth date. One month in.

Sometimes he found it hard to believe that he found you out on the Morelli Bridge, your car literally hanging on the edge. And then your thoughts ran through, sharp in his mind, a vice grip around his heart. Something deep inside him gave way, like the shifting of tectonic plates.

He felt you, and everything changed.

He'd pulled you out of that little Toyota, covered you with his body when bullets rained across the side of the firetruck partially giving you two cover. He escorted you to safety through the shootout before he and his team wrangled up the would-be thieves of a showhorse, Big Thunder. (The stallion had proved to be too much for his captors anyway.)

Now, you were stealing his ice cream.

“I just asked you to hold it for me, not take a chunk out of it,” Beau pressed his point, albeit with a chuckle at your embarrassed, yet somehow unapologetic face.

“I’m sorry, I just took a little bite!” you said, and handed him back his cone after he put his wallet away. Your smile turned sly. “I forgot which one was mine for a second.”

Punctuated by a generous tonguing of your ice cream cone, heavily laden with your own order of rocky road this time.

“Sure,” Beau snorted. He eyed you in suspicion, even though he was drawn to the way your pink tongue slipped around the soft tip of your ice cream. That, and the way you looked up at him through your lashes.

“I gotta call it like I see it, sweetheart. Petit Theft in the first degree,” he added. But his arm snuck around your waist and pulled you in close. Caging you in.

A smirk began to play on your lips. “Hmm. Okay, Sheriff. Am I under arrest or not?”

His mouth twitched. Don’t tempt me. I’ve got a pair of handcuffs strapped to my belt right now. 

His thought clearly reached you through the bond—the golden, thrumming thread that tied his soul to yours. Or at least, that's how he saw it in his mind whenever he closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of you. He was pretty sure his heart was following suit, especially when he could feel your flirty amusement, your flush of pleasure at his suggestion.

Joke’s on you, you shot back, all while you savored another lick of ice cream. I don’t mind being restrained.

Beau choked on a piece of praline. Your giggle reached his ears, but your soothing hand up and down his back is what made him preen like a dog getting scratched behind the ears.

You’re dangerous, he replied. He was smirking way too hard, his face getting warm as the suggested fantasy started to play itself out in his mind. He could tell that you noticed, mostly because he could feel your amusement through the bond. Now a month into this, it was getting easier to tell, and easier to control what he let slip through this little WiFi connection.

Your resulting smile was impish. Sexy as hell really. No one would ever know it by the look of you, a high school English teacher with sweet smiles and smart, encouraging words for his daughter about life, literature, and work ethic.

But Beau was already getting a much different education. He was learning fast too. You were a little wild cat hiding under pretty blouses, manicured nails, and sharp, teasing eyes.

He felt the edge of your nails grazing up and down his spine. A nice tingle trembled down and down, shooting right to his dick.

I thought you weren’t afraid of a little danger, you said, the words like a sultry caress in his mind, warm and effervescent in his chest.

Somehow, he managed to swallow past another dose of rummy caramel and a raisin chunk without incident. You gave him a taste of your rocky road as well to pay him back for your earlier theft.

“Dangerous and cheeky,” he muttered afterward, unable to temper a smile.

You just tipped your head back and laughed. It made your body shake and your eyes shine.

He couldn’t resist the compelling urge to bow his head to kiss you, capturing your lips, swallowing your giggles, warning you with a playful squeeze on your waist. You clung to the front of his buttoned-down shirt and dueled him for another taste of butterscotch, this time from his tongue.

After a couple more samples, you realized that the real ice cream was melting. You pointed out a bench to sit and finish your confections in peace, so he followed your lead. He still kept a casual arm around your waist.

He liked the feel of you in his arms. So far, you were a hell of a good fit.

He’d spent most of his life skeptical of the “cosmic bond,” of soulmates. He was twenty-five when he met Carla. They were barely a year in when she told him with teary, anxious eyes that she was pregnant. He thought he'd done right by marrying her, no matter what his mother said at the time.

A whole fifteen years later, and one hell of a year he'd tried to forget, Carla grabbed the whiskey bottle out of his hand long enough to tell him that she’d found her true other half, a man that wasn’t broken. A man that could understand her, support her—everything Beau just couldn’t do anymore. Maybe he never had.

That man bought a three-story house on a hill out here in Helena, Montana for just him, Carla, and Emily.

Beau moved out here along with them, but he was lucky if he got a full week with his daughter, especially after he admittedly almost got that smarmy crypto thieving bastard killed two summers ago. Now that was another one Carla hadn’t forgiven him for. Not that he blamed her either.

Believe it or not though, Beau wasn’t feeling sorry for himself. He was trying to learn from his mistakes too. He’d told you some of that long, long story, but not all. Some things were too difficult, and some things he wasn’t ready for…but he did want to be better.

You had no say in who you were saddled to on this soulmate thing, whether he liked it or not. (And there were times when it was both.) It didn’t mean you had to be with him, but it did mean that he wanted to try to be a man who deserved you.

“Okay,” you said, tapping his thigh. By now your cone was gone, and he was polishing his off. You were reapplying your lipstick. He liked that shade on you, like taking a bite out of a nice juicy plum. “What do you wanna do after this?”

“I’d like to find where my daughter ran off to.”

Beau had half his attention on you and the other half scoping out the fairgrounds. He’d been trying his damnedest to keep an eye on Emily, even after she ran off with her friends. She did check in every hour via text, but it wasn’t the same as putting his own two eyes on the girl.

Okay, maybe Beau was a little paranoid on the subject, but he felt it was immensely justified. After what happened two years ago, she was lucky all he did was start tracking her phone. 

You, however, had proven to be a major distraction.

But he had a lead. You'd told him that Em and Jake, some kid in your honors class, had been “talking.” Beau had even overheard his daughter talking with her little friends, something about meeting him by the Ring Toss.

“Where’s the Ring Toss again?” Beau asked. He took out the folded-up map from his back pocket and spread it out across his thigh. You leaned over and pointed it out, tapping a couple inches above his knee.

“Looks like it’s right around the corner from the Ferris Wheel.”

Hmm, of course, he thought. Without meaning to, it slipped through the Connection and reached you. You glanced over at him and noted that calculating look on his face. Your lips twitched upward.

“What?” you asked.

“I think she’s meeting ‘Jake from Statefarm’ over there,” he said dryly, complete with air quotes.

You tilted your head at him in amusement. “Hmm, interesting. What do you plan to do, Detective?”

Beau checked the app on his phone that tracked his daughter’s. Sure enough, it showed she was close by. He compared it with the map to try and figure out an exact location.

“Oh, nothing,” he said. “Just gonna see if my daughter’s trying to pull a fast one at the quintessential make-out spot for generations of county fairgoers across America.”

You bit your lip and valiantly held in a snort. Though you just had to inject some reality into his little melodrama.

“She’s 18 years old, Beau. You think she’s never made out with a boy before?”

The man released a long and heavy sigh. He preferred to think of his daughter as his perfect little angel who still thought boys were “doodie-head dummies,” like she claimed when she was eight. However, he’d noticed her wearing a lot more makeup recently. More crop tops and tighter clothes too. He hoped it wasn’t Carla who was buying her that crap.

…But that wasn’t a rabbit hole he needed to travel down tonight. After a beat, Beau shook his head.

“Anyway, ready to go, milady?” he said, offering you his hand after he stood from the bench.

You quirked a brow at him, but you accepted the offer.

“If you’re going to try to get me on that big metal hamster wheel of death so you can spy on your daughter, I’m just letting you know right now that it’s not gonna happen,” you informed him.

Beau gave you a charming smile then, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Aw, come on, darlin’. It’s perfectly safe. I’ll be holding your hand the whole time.”

And more than that, if you let me, he teased. And he was satisfied at feeling the weight of your blush, the warm tendril of pleasure.

“Nuh uh. I’m not doing it, sorry,” you said, even as you fought a smile. “I’d rather make out in a haunted house than risk getting stuck a hundred feet up in the air.”

Beau could respect that. But, an idea struck him when he noticed the horse-drawn wagon up ahead. Now that’s worth $20.

“How about a hayride?” he suggested.

Your eyes followed the path of his pointed finger, and you smiled.

“Oh, now you’re talking.”

“Twenty minutes, takes you all around the grounds,” he said. “Potentially some exclusive spots.”

Cue a suggestive brow waggle.

You smirked. “Twenty minutes, huh?”

Let’s see how many bases you can run, cowboy. You squeezed his arm, no doubt pressing your tits against his bicep on purpose.

Beau shot you a look, half amused, half heat and warning not to tempt him too much. He didn’t need more than half the town catching him in flagrante, so to speak. He shook his head, even while a smirk once again pulled at his lips.

Fuckin’ dangerous, sweetheart.

Your unrepentant giggle could’ve done him in right there.

AN: lol I hope you guys like this little soulmate au! I haven't been to the fair in years, but for some reason I'm craving rum raisin and a candy apple lollipop. 😝

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[waynes-readingverse]

Please Please Please

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: Everyone tells you to stay away from Soldier Boy, that he's bad news. But you fell for the arrogant, cocky, slightly misogynistic supe and it's time to tell the others.

Warnings: Fluff, Slight Smut.

A/N: I've been so busy. I have so much going on this upcoming weekend. But here's this fic for my one-shot tracklist that I finally finished working on. Hope you enoy!

masterlist — taglist — one-shot tracklist

You knew what they’d say.

From the second you caught yourself glancing a little too long, standing a little too close, you knew what the team would think.

“Don’t even think about it,” Butcher had grunted the first time you and Soldier Boy shared a room for more than five minutes.

"He's not a good guy, you know?" Hughie would tell you.

You told yourself they were right. You tried to believe them. You knew it was the smart thing to stay away.

But Soldier Boy had a way of making you forget what smart sounded like.

—𖤍—

The first time he smirked at you, you wanted to slap it off his face.

"Didn’t think they made ‘em like you anymore,” he said, slow and thick with suggestion, as he looked you over in the motel like he was picking out dessert. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“You don’t need it,” you said, not even glancing up from your phone.

He whistled low. “Feisty. I like it.”

“You would.”

You hated that you enjoyed the banter. You hated it even more when you started enjoying just talking to him.

—𖤍—

It wasn’t supposed to turn into this.

Late nights. Tension-filled missions. Accidental brushes of his hand against yours that lingered too long. Heated arguments that became something else entirely. One too many drinks in a motel room, and suddenly you were on your back, breathless, his body over yours, both of you glistening in sweat as you moan his name all night.

He was everything you swore you didn’t want. Loud, arrogant, a relic of a man with a god complex and a foul mouth.

But he was real with you.

And when he looked at you, it wasn’t like you were a weakness. It was like you were the only thing strong enough to keep him from becoming the monster everyone thinks he is.

And for a guy like Ben, that meant everything.

—𖤍—

You knew it couldn’t stay a secret forever.

You stood in the safehouse hallway, arms crossed, heart pounding. The team was in the other room. It's time for them to know the truth.

Ben leaned against the wall beside you, beer in hand, looking like sin and smirking like he already knew what you were thinking.

“They’re gonna flip,” you muttered.

“They don’t like me much.”

“No,” you said, turning to him. “But they like me.”

He grinned. “You want me to be good.”

“I want you to not prove them right.”

Ben went quiet for a moment, then set the beer down and stepped closer. His hands slid to your hips, his voice low. “You think I’m gonna wreck this?”

“I think you could,” you whispered. “But I don’t want you to.”

He studied you like he was memorizing your expression. “Please,” you murmured. “I've tried telling them you're not as bad as they think. Just please, don't embarrass me. Don't prove them right."

“I won’t,” he promised. “They won't be right."

—𖤍—

The fallout was just as you expected.

Butcher’s voice exploded the second you spoke.

“You’ve lost your goddamn mind!”

“He’s a war criminal!” Hughie said, horrified.

Even Frenchie looked shaken. “You are in love with that?” he asked, gesturing wildly toward Ben.

But Ben didn’t fight. He stood tall. Didn’t gloat. Didn’t snap. Just slid a glance to you, jaw clenched, hands in his pockets like he was forcing himself to be smaller for your sake.

You stepped forward, head held high. “You don’t have to like it. But you need to respect it.”

Ben looked at you then—like he was falling for you even harder for standing up for him. For both of you. Usually he's the defiant one. But for once, he didn’t say a word.

—𖤍—

Later that night, your bedroom door creaked open.

You didn’t need to ask—it was him.

He stepped in, quiet, stripped off the tension of the day as he kicked his boots aside, and looked at you like he was starved.

“I was good today,” he said, voice low.

“You were,” you replied, stepping toward him. “I’m proud of you.”

He chuckled, lips brushing against yours as he murmured, “Wanna be bad now?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

He backed you into the wall with a heat that burned.

His hands found your waist, your thighs, your neck. Hunger filled his eyes. He needed you.

“You have no idea,” he rasped against your skin, “what you do to me.”

His lips were bruising and desperate, moving from your mouth to your chest to your stomach to the inside of your thigh, and by the time he dropped to his knees, you were gasping his name like a prayer.

And when he finally had you—when he finally sank into you—all sense of control left your bodies. You just felt. The heat. The pleasure. The moment.

—𖤍—

Afterward, tangled in sheets and his arms, you whispered against his chest, you turn to him gently.

"You didn’t prove them right.”

He kissed the top of your head.

“Maybe I just needed someone who didn’t look at me like a monster.”

You smiled into his skin.

“Maybe I just needed someone worth risking it for.”

A/N: I have one more fic I'll be posting before this weekend then I'll be busy all weekend with a family thing on Saturday and I'll be at SPN NJ on Sunday 😍

tags: @animelucky @mystic-writings @magster196 @soldierboysdoll @caplanbuckybarnes @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @mostlymarvelgirl @chevroletdean @waynes-multiverse @winchesterwild78 @deanspookiebear @multiversefanfics

[waynes-readingverse]

hiii lovely happy wednesday 🫶🏽:) random question while i’m on my 10 :D this kind of goes hand in hand with your coffee shop headcanons if you squint, but in your opinion what coffee shop pastry would the boys (your favorite jackles characters) choose? 🤎

if that makes sense, like I think beau would really like our dulce de leche cheese danish :p or like ben might like a jalapeño cheese bagel lmao

again I loveee your insights <3 it makes work more entertaining for sure cause then i’m thinking of your responses at random times lol 💗 + I hope you’re having a wonderful week !!🫂

Happy Wednesday, friend! 😘 Oh yay! I love your random questions, and I love coffee shop pastries. 🥐 ☕

Dulce de leche Danish sounds amaziiiiing. 😩 And thank you!! I'm flattered that you love my insights - and that my little rambles infiltrate your brain! lolol 🥰💜 Hope you're having a great week too, hun! Mine is ok so far. I have a lot coming up tomorrow, so this is a fun distraction until then! 😂

HEADCANON: Coffee Shop Pastry Orders

Dean Winchester

*snorts* You mean the human garbage disposal?

We all know Dean's not picky about food. Though since he's drinking an espresso in his coffee order headcanon, I think he'd go for something indulgent to fill his stomach, like a cheese Danish, a couple of donuts, or if they have it, a brookie. 😂

He's very happy to show it to you and Sam when he brings it over to your table, strolling over on those bowed legs. Sam, of course, wears that half amused, half judgy look of his.

"It's a cookie mashed up with a brownie, Sam. Best of both worlds."

Beau Arlen

Beau the basic latte guy needs a basic (but delicious) coffee shop confection to go with it, so I'm going to say he's into coffee cake.

He likes them crumblies on top and a nice, warm cinnamon swirl in his cake. 👌🏽

Just be warned. He's probably going to have you order him another slice of cake while he's still working on the first one.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Like Dean, this guy's not all that picky about food post-captivity. Of course he likes good food, but he's also highly indulgent in most respects.

"I like what I fucking like," as he often tells you with a smirk. That goes for food, drugs, and frisky women (of almost all ages).

That being said, since we paired him with a cold brew, he'll probably want something classic, like himself: a glazed donut or a slice of marble pound cake with that thin strip of icing on top.

However, I think he could be persuaded (by you) to order something a little adventurous. He'd be game enough to try a jalapeño cheese bagel, with hash browns, and that donut and/or slice of pound cake on the side...

And he'll probably tell them to pack him up an extra bagel for the road. 😂 🥯

Russell Shaw

Russell's another one who's highly self-indulgent lol. He ain't picky about food, that's for sure. He'll eat junk food just as easily as a five-course meal from a Michelin star restaurant.

But since he got paired with a flat white, I think he'd get the biggest cinnamon roll he can find. He'd ask if they could warm it up for him, get that icing all warm and running down the sides, sticky and sweet.

And he looks at you mischievously while he licks his fingers afterward. ✌🏼

(He's only satisfied when he makes you blush.)

AN: Do you agree with these? Got other pastry orders for these guys? 💜

I love working on these HCs every time, no matter how simple or complex the prompt is. 😂

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[waynes-readingverse]

Ribbon

Pairing: Soldier Boy x F!Reader

Summary: It's your anniversary. He takes you away from the chaos of the world for a weekend. Just you, him, and a cozy cabin.

Warnings: Fluff in Ben's own way. Smut. Oral (F Receiving), Fingering, P in V, Getting Tied Up

A/N: For Liane's 500 follower celebration! @chevroletdean Mood board made by them!

masterlist — taglist

The drive was long—winding roads through miles of dense forest, pine trees like sentinels standing guard on either side. The engine purred, the heat was cranked, and you sat beside him, feet up on the dash, sipping coffee and watching him from the corner of your eye.

You hadn’t said much. Neither had he.

You didn’t need to.

This weekend wasn’t for small talk—it was for something far more primal. No Vought. No cities. No distractions. Just them, locked away in a cabin at the edge of nowhere. Just the smell of pine, the glow of fire—and what he planned to do to you behind closed doors.

When you pulled up, the place looked straight out of a fantasy. Nestled into the base of a tree-lined slope, the old timber cabin was lit from within by the soft flicker of electric lanterns. The air was so still it felt like time had stopped.

Ben killed the engine, then turned to you. His voice was low, rough.

“You ready for me to make disappear you for 48 hours?”

You smirked, but your stomach flipped. “Try me.”

You unpacked slowly. He insisted on carrying everything. You let him. Inside, the air was already warm. Rustic and clean, the cabin smelled like cedar and firewood. A small fireplace burned near the center of the room. A thick green plaid blanket was thrown over a leather armchair. Your eyes drifted to the bed: king-sized, heavy wood, and covered in flannel sheets.

You barely noticed him stepping back outside with his sleeves rolled up, dragging logs from the woodpile.

You were still scanning the room when you saw it.

A box. On the edge of the bed.

Black. Neat. Tied with a velvet green ribbon.

Your pulse jumped. You walked over, heart already pounding before you even touched it. A little tag was tucked under the bow.

Wear this if you want to see me come undone. – B

You untied the ribbon slowly. Inside: a green lace set so delicate and daring it made your breath catch. You let your fingers trail over it—soft, sheer, luxurious. Barely there.

You hesitated. Smiled. Then changed into it.

By the time Ben came back inside, dropping logs in the bin beside the fireplace, you were leaning against the bedpost—bare legs, flannel shirt open and loose over the brand-new lingerie, the ribbon looped loosely around your fingers.

He froze.

The door thudded shut behind him. His gloves hit the floor. His eyes dragged over you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“You said you’d come undone.”

“I lied.” His voice was wrecked, low and dark. “This? This is me breaking.”

He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed you waist, and kissed you so hard your knees nearly gave out. One hand slid into your hair. The other gripped your ass through the lace, fingers digging in. When he pulled back, his lips were red, pupils blown.

“That set’s not surviving the hour.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He backed you onto the bed and followed you down, mouth tracing your neck, tongue flicking over your pulse. His hand slid up your thigh and snapped the waistband of the panties.

“You know what this does to me?” he rasped. “You. In that shirt. In this.”

“Then rip it off.”

“No.” He leaned in, nose brushing hers. “First I want to make you beg me to.”

He stripped the flannel from your shoulders and pushed you back onto the bed. Then—slowly—he took the ribbon from your hands and pulled it taut, testing the strength. His grin was wicked.

“You kept this for a reason.”

You met his gaze. “Thought maybe you’d want to use it.”

“You really do want me to lose control, huh?”

He grabbed your wrists, kissed your knuckles, then tied them to the metal headboard with the ribbon—tight, but careful. His fingers brushed your skin as he knotted it.

“There. That’s better.”

You squirmed, already aching.

“Look at you,” he murmured, tracing the lace over your breasts, down to your hips. “Tied up like a gift. My gift.”

He went slow at first. Fingers brushing, teasing. His mouth followed, trailing heat across your stomach, between your legs. He kissed you through the lace, tongue tracing where you were already soaked. You gasped when he pulled the panties to the side and buried his tongue in you.

“Stay still,” he murmured.

You nodded, whimpering when his mouth latched onto your clit.

You writhed, ribbon-tied wrists tugging. He held your thighs apart and licked you with long, slow strokes until your legs started to shake.

“Please—Ben—”

“Oh, now you’re begging.”

He sucked harder, fingers sliding inside you, curling just right. His other hand held you down at your stomach.

"I said stay still."

He didn’t stop. Made you cum again, and again—until you were slick, shaking, breathless beneath him.

Then he untied your wrists and flipped you over. Ripped the panties in half.

“Now,” he growled, lining up behind her. “I ruin you.”

He thrust into you in one deep, slow push—filling you to the hilt. You moaned, hands clutching the sheets. He gripped your hips, teeth gritted, trying to hold back.

But he couldn’t.

He pounded into you hard, deep, rough—fucking you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Your moans turned to screams. His hand slipped down again, rubbing fast and dirty circles against your clit as he drove into you, breath hot against your spine.

“Mine,” he gasped. “You hear me, baby doll? Mine."

“Yes—yes—”

You came with a cry, body spasming. He followed with a loud, guttural moan, thrusting deep and staying there, cumming hard inside you, shaking from the intensity.

You collapsed in a tangled mess of sweat, lace, and firelight.

The rain fell quietly outside.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You okay?”

You smiled, dazed. “You just used your anniversary gift to tie me up. I’m great.”

He smirked. “Hope you’re not too tired.”

Your brow lifted.

He leaned in close. “There’s a hot tub out back. And I’m bringing the ribbon.”

A/N: I'm kinda proud of this one. Hope you like it!

tags: @animelucky @mystic-writings @magster196 @soldierboysdoll @caplanbuckybarnes @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @mostlymarvelgirl @chevroletdean @waynes-multiverse @winchesterwild78 @deanspookiebear @multiversefanfics

[waynes-readingverse]

Have you seen this https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP86CN7kx/? Since you do little headcanons of each character Jensen's played, what would their reactions be? Bonus if you could do Jensen too please?

Lol I'm not on TikTok much anymore, but this "hat on backwards, hand on the wall" trend is so cute and hilarious in reverse (the woman trying it out on her man). 😝 Love how she had to get up on a chair just to do it and still got him all flustered. 🤭

But as far as how Jackles characters would react...

HEADCANON: Turning the Tables

Pairings: Dean x Reader || Beau x Reader || Soldier Boy x Reader || Russell x Reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Sexy teasing, implied smut. Soldier Boy's got away from me a little bit lol

Dean Winchester

Dean's actually doing his due diligence in the library, flipping through a lore book for a case. There's a little stool nearby that Sam found for you when you need to reach the top shelves. A mischievous smile spreads across your face.

Sneaking up behind your boyfriend, you grab the stool and slide it over. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, but his eyebrows raise when you take the book out of his hands and shove it haphazardly back on the shelf.

"What? What's happening?" he says.

Biting your lip, you turn your baseball cap backward on your head, rest your elbow against the shelf above his head, and you draw Dean in with a hand on his cheek, sealing the deal with a slow, lusty kiss.

His furrowed brows of confusion relax a little. His hands find their way to your hips on reflex, grounding himself in the unfamiliar vantage point. When you eventually break away from his lips, you have to laugh at that half-frown, half-amused smile making your man look adorably confused.

"The hell's this?" he chuckles, glancing down at the stool, and how you're still towering over him with your tits in his face. (He doesn't hate it.) "You trying to pick me up, sweetheart?"

You stroke his prickly cheek with your thumb. "Did it work?"

It's his turn to grin, that devilish Dean grin that triggers a warning shiver down your spine. He gathers you up in his arms and picks you up from the stool, smirking even more at your squeal and the way you cling to his neck.

He carries you off to find that solid table in the War Room, finishing what you started.

Beau Arlen

"Are you gonna come down from there so we can hash this out?" Beau asks.

"No, I don't think so," you reply.

He sighs through his nose. "You really think that's wise, sweetheart?"

Your lips purse to hide your smile. You pause on the third rung of the stepladder, setting your paintbrush back in its bucket. Your husband stands there on the ground floor with his hands on his jean-clad hips, raising expectant brows.

You swipe a bead of sweat from your forehead, pushing your hair back when you adjust your baseball cap. Then you turn toward him. You lean over and rest your hand against the part of the wall that has yet to be painted, right above his head.

You grab his face with one hand and tilt his chin up to kiss you. Your lips swallow up his little sound of surprise, while your sensuous tongue lures him in, breaking down his authoritative resolve.

When you finally pull away, still holding his bearded cheeks between the press of your fingers, you find his slightly flustered face. Maybe even the start of a blush warming his skin. He clears his throat.

"I might be pregnant, but I'm not an invalid," you whisper against his lips, giving him one more kiss. "Now, you can let me paint this nursery in peace, or you can pick up a brush and help me. Your choice, Sheriff."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

The rhythmic pounding, timed with his grunts, a couple lines of sweat drawing down his neck, a fine sheen over every dip of flexing muscle, the lines of his back taut and slick...

This is the real reason you agreed to having a home gym built in the house.

You like watching your man work himself out, getting out his pent-up frustrations on the extra-fortified exercise equipment, instead of on the populace. You're mollified when he sets the barbell on the ground instead of tossing them this time, so the force of over 1,000 pounds doesn't crack the cement underneath the weight-absorbing mats.

Ben catches his breath, running slippery fingers through his damp hair and shoving the strands out of his eyes. He joins you by the dumbbell rack, looking amused at the little 8-pound weights you're using to do arm curls and squats.

"You gonna keep pretending to work out with those little baby doll weights?" he says, eying you in your tight yoga pants and fitted tank-top. He begins to unwind the sports tape from his right hand, first catching the end corner with his teeth. Then his left.

You snort. "Who's pretending? You're the one grunting like a gorilla over there. It's just you and me in here, old man. No need to throw your back out."

He shoots you a narrowed look, especially at that little smirk on your face.

"Oh, yeah? Watch it, sweetheart. This old man might just bend you over his fucking knee, see how many reps you can take," he says.

The smooth depths in his voice make you falter, your knees slightly wobbling on the last squat. Ben smirks. He leans against the wall while he watches you finish your exercise, grabbing your water bottle to refresh his thirst.

When you're done, you draw into his orbit so you can place the dumbbells back on the rack. He's still eyeing you with that lazy arrogance that somehow manages to get you hot and infuriated in equal measure. He always thinks he can get the last fucking word.

You grab the small towel out of his hand, the one he planned to mop up his sweat with, and you step up on the bench beside him. He watches you with some measure of surprise, but he doesn't stop you. Maybe you'll dote on him for a little bit, instead of running your fucking mouth as usual.

Planting your arm above his head, you give him what he wants. You slowly drag the towel across his forehead and down his cheek. But then you grab his chin, making him look up at your half-lidded eyes, and you tilt his head up for a kiss—deep, devouring, thorough.

His big hands grab onto your hips in a familiar iron hold, but his brows furrow. He's frowning when you pull away from his greedy lips. Only then does he truly notice the way you've basically cornered him against the wall, like he's the bitch in the steamy rom-com.

"The fuck is this?" he says gruffly.

You tease his bottom lip with a pointed finger.

"Nothing, sweetheart," you retort. You drop the towel, reach down, and slap his ass for good measure. "Now be a good boy and get me some water, would ya?"

Your smirk irritates him on sight, but it still makes his cock twitch.

His jaw ticks. His brow raises.

You bite your lip, knowing it's over. Or it's just fucking started.

He grabs you up before you can jump off the bench. You yelp and laugh and kick your feet, but he's already hauling you over his shoulder, his long, confident strides taking him out of the gym.

"Ben!" you squeal. Trying to get your balance, your nails bite fruitlessly into his shoulders through his sweaty shirt.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now, sweetheart. Time for the real fucking workout."

Just to hear that little squeal again, he smacks your ass hard enough to sting through your spandex, hard enough to make your pussy clench on nothing, already pulsing, warm and wet. You blush hotly.

Goddamn it.

Just this once, you'll let him get the last word.

Russell Shaw

"Damn it," you mutter.

You watch the nail fall to the ground and roll away from you. You're trying to put up a new picture frame in the bedroom, using your vanity chair as a stepping stool so you can reach.

"Baaabe!" you call out.

"Yeah!" Russell replies.

"Can you help me with this?"

When your boyfriend enters the bedroom, he raises a brow at the way you're leaning heavily against the wall with your ass sticking out. But the frame is perfectly positioned between your hands. A hammer is tucked under your left arm.

"I have this thing right where I want it, but I lost the nail. Think it went under the bed," you explain.

Russell hums and roams his eagle-eyed gaze across the hardwood floor. Eventually he finds the nail hidden under the dark abyss of your bed. He not only gives you the nail, but holds the frame for you while you mark the wall where the nail is going. Then you hammer it in, and you take the frame from Russell, flipping it around so you can hang it.

You adjust your baseball cap higher and smile at your handiwork.

"Perfect!"

Russell smiles too, more in surprise. It's a recent picture, a rare and special night: you, Russell, Dory, and Colter out to dinner together, celebrating the eldest Shaw's birthday. You thought it would be the right moment to mark your boyfriend officially moving in with you, albeit with what little belongings he has.

"You like it?" you ask him.

"Yeah, it's nice," he says. Though he becomes a little contemplative as he crosses his arms.

"What?" you ask.

"Well, maybe we should put it in the living room. Not sure I want my brother and sister watching us, uh, you know. Do our thing," he says, gesturing at the new king-sized bed.

An incredulous snort bursts out from you. "Are you serious?"

"What? Sweetheart, this is where the magic happens. We can't mess with that," Russell says slyly. One of his hands slips up the small of your back.

A giggle bubbles up in your throat. "You know what, you're right. My apologies."

You twist your hat backward and lean your elbow against the wall, just so you can dip down and lure your man into a kiss. Your hand travels across his bearded cheek, then tangles into his hair. His hands move steadily down to squeeze your ass, a short groan catching in his throat.

He grabs you up by the back of your thighs and all but swings you into his arms, startling a yelp out of you.

"Russ!" You cling to his shoulders, quickly wrapping your legs around his waist. "Wait, wait!"

You grab the picture frame and take it off the wall. It'll probably look better in the living room anyway. You manage to lay it safely on the dresser before Russell walks you to the bed.

"Time to break this sucker in," he says with a grin, all to the tune of you laughing when your back hits the plush mattress.

AN: lol this was a fun one! Sorry, I don't write RPF (straight up Jensen Ackles fanfic), but I hope you liked these HCs! 💜

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[waynes-readingverse]

A Dangerous Love

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Sam's POV of yours and Dean's relationship.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings/tags: Implied smut, angst, fluff, mentions of blood and injury, poor Sammy! Dean being his typical over protective self, both of them are stubborn.

AN: Hey guys, I know I've been MIA for a lil while, but I'm doing okay, still getting there, although this isn't a full return, I just wanted to pop on and give you guys a little something, as well as catch up on some reading now I have a minute 😅. This was sitting in my drafts and finally touched it up. I tried something little different with It being from Sam's POV. But I enjoyed this one and I hope you guys do too! ❤️

Main Masterlist

They were fighting again.

Sam didn’t even flinch. He barely glanced up from his laptop as the sharp words echoed through the paper-thin motel walls—voices rising, footsteps pounding, another inevitable blowout brewing like a summer storm.

“You can’t just run in like that!”

“I had it handled!”

“No, you almost got yourself killed!”

“I’m not a child, Dean! I know what I’m doing!”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me with the way you acted tonight!”

Sam sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He’d heard this fight a hundred times—probably more. Same argument, different hunt. Dean being overprotective, you pushing back, neither of you knowing when to shut up.

Then came the inevitable—

“Go to hell!”

“Already been, sweetheart.”

Sam winced a second before a door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls. Right on cue, his own door flew open, and in stormed Dean—still fuming, chest heaving, hands clenched at his sides, his face flushed with frustration.

Sam didn’t look up. He’d learned his lesson. Playing mediator between you two was about as effective as standing between two charging bulls. So, he kept his eyes locked on his screen, feigning deep concentration on the case he was researching.

A small town in Lincoln, Nebraska. Three bodies in a week, hearts missing. Probably a werewolf. Maybe a Rugaru. Definitely not as terrifying as the emotional carnage currently unraveling in the room.

Dean stalked back and forth like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Sam made the mistake of humming in vague agreement. That was all the opening Dean needed.

“Right? I mean, she just—she just goes in, no backup, no plan, like she’s got a damn death wish.”

Sam finally looked at his brother, eyebrows raised. “You mean like you do? All the time?”

Dean scowled. “That’s different.”

Sam snorted. “Oh, is it?”

But Dean ignored him, too deep in his rant to acknowledge logic.

“She doesn’t listen. Ever. I tell her to stay back, and what does she do? Runs straight into danger like she’s got something to prove.”

From the other side of the wall came a muffled, but unmistakably pissed-off voice: “I can hear you, jackass!”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “Good!”

Sam sighed, long and suffering, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was his life. Not just the near-death experiences, not just the monsters and the ghosts—no, this. Being caught between his stubborn brother and his brother’s equally stubborn, equally reckless, equally loud girlfriend.

Dean, still grumbling to himself, flopped onto the opposite bed and crossed his arms like an angry child. Sam wisely said nothing. He knew the drill—Dean would rant, stew for a while, and eventually, in a few days—

Wait... Scratch that. 

A few hours later, Sam was rudely jolted awake by a very different kind of disturbance.

Something rhythmic. Repetitive. Suspiciously… breathy.

At first, his sleep-fogged brain struggled to make sense of it. A fight? No—too much giggling between the groans.

And then—

Oh. Oh, no.

Realisation hit like a freight train at full speed and his stomach churned.

The unmistakable sound of a headboard knocking against the wall. The low, hushed moans. And worst of all—

“Oh, God, Dean—”

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

Sam groaned, grabbed his pillow, and smothered his own face with it like he could suffocate the memories before they fully formed. How could he forget about the damn make-up sex? He should’ve known when Dean left the room and didn’t return that this is what would come of it. 

Burying himself deeper under the blanket, he contemplated driving to another damn state. Maybe exorcising himself. Was there a ritual for that? A way to erase the mental scarring?

Eventually, after a painfully long time, blissful silence returned, and with it, the symbolic, albeit fragile, truce between you and Dean.

The next morning, Sam nursed his coffee like a war veteran as he sat in the outdated diner, watching the two of you with equal parts fascination and whiplash.

You were nestled beside Dean on the other side of the booth, stealing bites of his pancakes with a smug grin.

Dean—who, under normal circumstances, would stab a man with a fork for even looking at his food—just smirked, all stupid heart eyes, letting you get away with it like you were some divine exception to the rule.

Sam squinted. Not even twenty-four hours ago, you two were about five seconds away from an actual homicide.

Now? Now, you were practically glowing, exchanging touches, finishing each other’s sentences, giggling like a couple of lovesick teenagers in a CW drama.

Sam exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

Every relationship expert on the planet would call this toxic. Hell, if he described it to anyone—the explosive fights, the impossible stubbornness, the complete disregard for self-preservation when it came to each other—they’d probably diagnose you both with something and slap you with a warning label.

But for as long as he could remember—even before you and Dean finally got together—it had always been like this. Back when you were just a couple of reckless teenagers, trading jabs and daring each other into stupid, dangerous situations. Before things got complicated with feelings and labels.

You and Dean were like flint and steel—constantly striking, constantly sparking, burning hotter than anything Sam had ever seen.

But the fire never went out.

It should have. By all logic, it should have burned itself to the ground a dozen times over. But instead, it just kept going, somehow forging you both into something stronger.

It was chaos. It was infuriating.

And, honestly? It was kind of impressive.

Even if it made Sam’s head want to implode.

But then there were moments that tore away all the noise, stripped everything down to the bare bones of what you and Dean truly were. Moments that left no room for doubt.

Because when it came down to it—when it really mattered—the two of you didn’t just care. Didn’t just love each other. You were willing to bleed for one another, break for the other, burn the whole damn world down if you had to.

And tonight? Tonight just proved that.

The hunt was supposed to be routine—get in, take care of the pack, get out. But the damn werewolves were faster, stronger. They had numbers. And somewhere between the chaos and the fighting, you made a split-second decision.

You saved Dean’s life. And you nearly lost your own in the process.

Dean caught you before you hit the ground. One second you were standing, the next you were collapsing, blood soaking through your shirt, pooling between his fingers as he pressed down hard against the gash in your side.

“No—no, no, no,” Dean’s voice was hoarse, raw with panic. “You're okay. I got you.”

Sam barely had time to react before Dean’s head snapped up, his eyes wild, desperate.

“Sam! Get the car!”

Sam was already moving, sprinting for the Impala as Dean held you against him, his flannel already stripped from his shoulders and bunched against your wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Dean murmured, his grip unrelenting. His fingers trembled against your skin, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “Just hang on. I got you.”

Sam skidded to a stop beside the car, yanking the door open. He turned back just in time to see Dean lifting you into his arms, his expression twisted in barely contained panic.

Sam didn’t miss the way his brother held you—not just with urgency, but with a kind of care that made his chest ache.

He helped ease you into the back seat with Dean, still pressing the flannel to your side. His voice was shaking, but his grip was steady.

"Step on it, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t argue. The second he was behind the wheel, he floored it, tires screeching against the asphalt.

The drive was a blur of traffic violations, but because it was nearing midnight, the roads were practically empty, making up for the reckless driving. The city flashed by in streaks of yellow and white, and in the rearview mirror, Sam could see Dean cradling you against him, his forehead nearly pressed to yours as he whispered every reassurance he could think of.

"Stay with me, sweetheart.”

"You’re okay.”

“I swear to God, you’re gonna be okay.”

But Sam heard the crack in his brother’s voice. Saw the way his hands were shaking. Dean wasn’t just worried. He was terrified.

By the time they crashed through the ER doors, shouting for help, Dean was covered in your blood.

The nurses barely had time to react before Dean was snapping at them to hurry, his voice sharp, desperate. And then you were gone—whisked away behind double doors, leaving Dean standing there, breathing hard, fists clenched, and your blood staining his hands.

Then came the waiting.

Dean couldn’t sit still. He paced the hospital waiting room like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair over and over, jaw tight, eyes darting to every single doctor or nurse that walked by.  

The agitation built inside him like a pressure valve ready to burst, as Sam sat nearby, watching his brother unravel, feeling helpless.

"What the hell is taking so long?" he growled, throwing his arms up in frustration as his gaze stayed trained on the double doors they had wheeled you through.  

Sam let out a quiet sigh. He was just as worried, but kicking and screaming wasn’t going to make time move faster. “They’re doing everything they can, man. You have to let them do their job.”  

Dean clenched his jaw, his entire body rigid with anxiety, and Sam could see the cracks forming in his brother’s usual composure. Deannwas a lot of things—fearless, reckless, stubborn as hell—but right now? Right now, he just looked scared.

When the doctor finally approached them, Dean nearly jumped down his throat.  

"How is she? Is she okay?"

“She lost a lot of blood,” the doctor said. “But we’ve managed to stabilize her. She needs plenty of rest, and we’ll have to monitor her overnight and go from there.”  

Sam let out a breath of relief. But Dean—Dean’s shoulders sagged, his lips pressing into a thin line as something unreadable passed through his expression.  

They had lied, of course. Told the doctors you’d been attacked by a bear because —“yeah, doc, she got slashed by a goddamn werewolf” — would’ve landed them in padded cells. Thankfully, the doctors didn’t ask too many questions.

When they were finally allowed to see you, Sam watched as Dean crumbled at the sight of you lying in that hospital bed.  

You looked so small. So fragile. The machines beeped steadily beside you, an IV hooked up to your arm, your face pale from the blood loss. It made even Sam’s heart twinge painfully to see you this way. You were not only his brother’s girlfriend. You were his best friend. His sister.

Dean approached cautiously, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he got too close. Then, without a word, he sat beside you and grasped your hand, his fingers brushing over your knuckles with a gentleness that didn’t match the man who had just been almost punching walls in the waiting room.  

His throat bobbed. Then, wordlessly, he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering there as he exhaled shakily.

"You scared the hell outta me," he muttered, his voice thick, raw. “You’re gonna pull through this, you hear me?”

He swallowed hard, then softer, more broken— "cause' I can't lose you."

Sam swallowed hard against his own emotions. He knew this wasn’t just about saving you anymore. It was about Dean confronting the most terrifying thing he could ever imagine—the thought of losing you. And for a man like Dean, who was constantly worrying about this very thing, you'd think he'd be somewhat prepared for the real thing. Evidently not. It was crushing, breaking him into a thousand pieces.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching the way Dean’s thumb traced gentle circles against your skin, but he saw the anger rise, predictable from his brother's guilt and fear as it continued to chip away at him the longer he looked at you. 

“Dammit, Y/N. Why didn’t you listen to me? I—“ Dean’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he just closed his eyes, like he was trying to pull himself together.  

And then, as if on cue, you stirred. Your fingers twitched in his grasp, your eyelids fluttering, and Dean went still—his breath caught, his entire body frozen as he waited.

Slowly, your eyes opened, hazy with exhaustion and pain, but when they focused on him, you still managed a weak, lopsided smile.

"Worth it.” you murmured, voice hoarse.  

Dean closed his eyes like he wanted to strangle you and kiss you at the same time, because of course you’d have a comeback, even on the brink of death.

Sam huffed a small, teary laugh, shaking his head.

Because this was the two of you. Always on the brink of disaster. Always throwing yourselves in front of danger for each other. Always driving each other insane.

It was a deep love. A dangerous love.

But it was real.

And it was true.

AN: What started off as a Drabble, became a one shot lol. I hope you guys enjoyed this one, it was fun to do. 😁💕 Also I am still working on part 2 of In The End , I'm sorry for the delay guys 😭

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[waynes-readingverse]

He's My Man: That's My Girl Timestamp

Summary: Russell and reader’s casual morning plans turn into anything but when an unexpected visitor appears on their doorstep…

He’s My Man Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 2,400ish

Warnings: language, gunshot wounds, life-threatening situation

A/N: Welcome back to more Russell Shaw! This story is considered a timestamp to He’s My Man and it’s highly recommended that story be read prior to this one. Please enjoy!…

____________

You stretched your arms overhead as you padded out in your bootie slippers from the bedroom. The smell of something yummy filled your nostrils and there was a faint melody in the air. Russell’s forest green tee clung to his broad shoulders, falling loose around his tapered waist, hitting the top of his charcoal gray sweats.

“Chappell Roan this early?” you teased. 

“It’s grown on me,” he said with his back to you, bopping his head back and forth. You hummed, walking around the kitchen island to spot him making two spanish omelets. 

“God, I love that you know how to cook,” you said, pecking a kiss on his cheek before going to the fridge to get out some orange juice.

“I’ve heard that once or…” he trailed off as he turned his head, jaw dropping slightly. You looked down, OJ in hand. You were wearing your favorite yellow pajama shorts but you had a feeling it was the peach bralette you wore he was stuck on. His lips curled up as you reached over, pushing the pan off the heat before he burned breakfast. “Where’s your shirt?”

“Huh. Must have lost it.” You looked up through your lashes, Russell smirking when you stepped back. “What a shame.”

“I might have to disagree with you there,” he said, pouting when you pointed at the skillet.

“Breakfast first, then dessert.” He grumbled to himself but smiled all the same. You scooted behind him and got out two glasses. “Do you want to eat on the porch?”

“Set us up at the island, qark. I don’t want you to get too cold outside,” he said, sliding an omelet onto a waiting plate. You worked around each other easily, Russell getting the food on the plates and dressing it with a creamy green avocado sauce he’d whipped up with the blender.

You took a seat, Russell taking a bow as he set it on the mat in front of you, kissing your forehead and taking his own seat beside you.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” he asked between bites. You shoveled a large bite in your mouth, a delicious explosion of flavors hitting your taste buds.

“After dessert,” you said, Russell brushing his leg against yours, making sure to touch as he cut off a piece of breakfast, “I was thinking I’d join you out at the brewery. They’re framing the building today, right?”

“Yeah. It’s starting to feel real,” he said, a quiet sigh under his breath. “I’m scared I fucked up. What if I threw all that money away on a pipe dream?”

You set your knife and fork down, frowning at him. “Russ. Your beer tastes amazing. You have investors, remember? They believe in you. If it doesn’t go well, then so what? At least you tried and I will always be proud of you for that. We’ll be okay. Now stop worrying about the money and let me handle the budgets, okay?”

“Alright,” he relented. “To be fair, I probably should let the woman that somehow had hospital grade medical equipment in the backroom of a warehouse run the books.”

“Exactly,” you said, Russell rubbing your leg with his left hand as he picked up his fork and ate again. “To be fair, it wasn’t that hard to get. The whole mob connection thing.”

“This is true. You’ve been running your own business for years.”

“Yes, which is why when I say to chill babe, chill. You have a great business plan,” you said. “Plus an amazing partner.”

“She’s so modest too,” he chuckled, wolfing back the last of his eggs. He clapped his hands together, turning to face you. “Dessert time.”

“Eh, I’m still eating,” you said, pointing at your plate. He faked a pout before he was up, cleaning up the kitchen and saving the leftover sauce in the fridge. You barely had your fork down when he was taking your plate and shoving it in the dishwasher. “Russell.”

He bounced around the island, far too adorable for a forty year old man, hands on your hips and a deep grin on his face. 

“Yes, wonderful?” he teased, pulling you to the edge of the stool. You wrapped your legs around his waist, Russell’s hands under your ass lifting you up as your gripped his shoulders. “New agenda. How about we make out a bit, let our tummies settle, then we can get our exercise in for the day-”

“Russell,” you groaned, pressing your forehead to his.

“Then we’ll pop over to the brewery for a bit, I can help you research your next job this afternoon, you can call Colter and harass him about making sure he’s still doing his stretches-”

“It is not harassment-”

“And then I’ll cook up that salmon in the fridge on the grill for dinner and we can watch X-Files on the back porch under a blankie.” 

“I love that you say blankie,” you teased, kissing the tip of his nose. “Sounds like a great day, Mulder.”

“Hey. I know things about the lizard people, Scully,” he chuckled, carrying you off towards the bedroom.

“Oh yes. I forget you’re such an expert,” you said as tires screeched outside. You shared a look for only a split second, Russell setting you down and grabbing the hidden gun safe from the end table. He had it in his hands in less than two seconds, nodding as you ran back into the bedroom and got yours out of the closet. 

Fists pounded on the front door, Russell’s weapon aimed at it when you returned, yours going towards the garage entrance.

���Russ! Open up!” Russell lowered his gun, scrunching up his face at the voice. “Shaw! Open the fucking door!”

“Stay back,” Russell said quietly. He jogged up to the front of the house, pulling back a curtain. “Jesus fuck.” He tore open the front door, two of Russell’s special ops friends standing there.

Well, standing was a stretch. 

“What the fuck happened, Hank?” said Russell, throwing his arm around Kelly who was very much actively bleeding from the abdomen. 

“I fucked up,” he said, Hank staring at you. “Can you fix her?”

You did a quick survey and spotting four, no five, bullet wounds littering the left side of her body.

“She needs a hospital-” Hank grunted, Kelly nearly passed out in his arms.

“They will find us there. Please. We knew the risk of not going. Please just try,” said Hank. You closed your eyes, setting the gun down on the island.

“She’d have better odds at a hospital,” you said, going to the pantry and grabbing the black bag tucked away at the top. You went to the dining room table, shoving chairs out of the way and ripping open the bag, pulling a blue tarp out and laying it out. “Don’t just stand there, get her down.”

You let the guys get her down, Russell shoving a throw pillow under her head while you washed at the kitchen sink. You snapped on a pair of gloves, digging through your bag and pulling out supplies left and right. Russell ran off into the garage, returning with one of his shop lights and attaching it to the light fixture overhead to give you more visibility.

“Russell,” you said, organizing your tools while tossing an orange box at Hank. “I need you to scrub your hands and put on gloves. Hank, cut off Kelly’s shirt and bra and open that box. Attach the leads to the right side of Kelly’s chest and then turn the box so I can see the numbers on the screen. What’s your blood type?”

“O positive,” he said, fumbling with his hands as she did as asked. “S-She’s A positive.”

“Good,” you said, pulling out tubing and handing it to him. “Tourniquet your arm and call Doug when you’re done. Tell him to break into the nearest blood bank.”

“Blood bank? Why not a clinic?” asked Hank as you got a good look at Kelly’s wounds. Her very, very bad wounds.

“Because I’m not fucking over some patient when a doctor in an emergency goes to their supply and finds it drained. Get it from the bank where odds are less likely it’ll impact someone,” you said, Russell appearing by your side, blood staining his shirt and pants already. He nodded, watching you grab the tubing and shove the needle into the exposed vein on Hank’s arm. “Let’s pray this fucking works.”

Twelve Hours Later

You checked Kelly’s pulse as she stirred awake, her eyes hazy from the strong pain killers you’d given her.

“Hey,” she whispered, glancing around. “Am I on your dining table?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Last second decision,” you said, adjusting the sheet over her body. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “Do you feel cold?”

“Just my feet,” she said. You looked down, smiling to where they were uncovered.

“I’ll get you some of my fuzzy socks. Nothing in your stomach, no chills?” She shook her head barely an inch but it was good enough. “Alright. Sounds like no internal bleeding right now then. I’m going to keeping checking every hour so you’ll probably want to throttle me by morning for not letting you sleep.”

“S’okay,” she mumbled. “How’m alive?”

You rested a hand on her head, stroking it gently. “You have either extremely shitty luck or extremely good luck. You were hit five times. Once in the arm, through and through, non life threatening. Three hit your rib cage and got stuck. A sliver more and that would have been it. The last one was tricky. Gut shot. Thankfully, it missed your digestive tract or you would have been septic or dead by now. Bad news is you no longer have a spleen. But again, in terms of if you have to get shot in an organ, the spleen’s a pretty good one to pick.”

“Thank you.” You hummed, Kelly forcing her eyes open. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” you asked. 

“I told Hank to let us take our chances, that Russ was out of this life. We should never have brought this to your front door.” You smiled, leaning down so she could see you better.

“You guys helped me with Owen and you didn’t even know me. I will always help Russell’s friends,” you said. She smiled a smidge, relaxing when you wiped a washcloth over her face. “You don’t have to worry. The boys are dealing with those guys that shot you right now. You’re safe.”

“I’m so sorry to make Russ-”

“Russell’s a big boy. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to and trust me, he was more than happy to go fuck up the people that tried to kill you. So you focus on resting and I’ll be right here, okay?” She hummed, her eyes darting down to where dried blood clung to your chest.

“Did you operate on me only wearing a bra?”

“...It’s a long story.” You glanced at the monitor near her head, her heart rate and blood pressure looking good at the moment. “So. When did you and Hank become a thing?”

“Me and Hank?” she asked with a pout. “We’re not…I’d like to be, you know, more but…”

You smiled, Kelly’s brow unfurling. “He has been a nervous wreck all day. You two ought to have that talk. In the meantime, let me walk you through next steps.”

The sun was just starting to break the horizon when the door to the garage opened. You sipped from your cup of coffee, glancing over Kelly’s wounds, no sign of infection by some miracle. She had a long road ahead of her but her making it through the night gave you hope she’d be able to recover.

“Hey,” said Russell quietly, giving you a small smile you returned as Hank trailed in on his heels. Russell nodded as Hank rushed over, taking the chair on the other side of the table and taking Kelly’s hand in his.

“How’s she doing?” asked Hank as you rose to your feet.

“Hanging in there. It’d be better if we could get her in a more sterile environment, had more equipment to monitor her vitals,” you said.

“We have a medical evac on the way now that the…issue’s been dealt with,” he said. You relaxed a bit at that. Her odds were much better if you could get her in an ICU with a dedicated team.

“Good,” you said when faint sirens sounded in the distance. “Let’s help clear a path so they can get her out of her fast.”

Thirty minutes later the house was quiet. You put a hand on your head as you looked around the room. Blood was everywhere. You were thirsty, starving, needed to pee and caked in dried blood that made your skin itch. 

“Come on,” said Russell, taking your hand and leading you back towards your bedroom. 

“I should clean up-”

“Later. You have more than earned a shower and some rest.” Russell tugged you behind himself, lifting you up and carrying you straight into the bathroom. “You didn’t sleep at all.”

“Neither did you,” you said, gently set down on the shower seat. 

“Yeah, well I didn’t perform major surgery in a kitchen yesterday for eight hours,” he said. You rested your head against the tile wall, Russell peeling your clothes away and tossing them in a pile on the floor. “Thank you for saving Kelly.”

“She could still die,” you mumbled.

“You did extraordinary for what we had on hand,” he said, arms around you again. “Now let’s clean you up.”

You peeled open your eyes around lunchtime, the air smelling of disinfectant. Rain was hitting the roof, Russell popping his head in just as you sat up. 

“Hey,” you yawned, holding the covers to your body. 

“Hello my queen of darkness.” He stepped in the room with a sleepy smile, kissing you before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. His long fingers fixed your hair behind your ear, grazing your cheek. “Jammies are on the bench when you’re ready to get up and the house is all set.”

“Russ, I could have helped-” He pressed a finger to your lips, shushing you.

“You did help. My friend is alive because of you. Now are you going to let me take care of you today?” You grumbled but nodded, laying back down in bed. “That’s my girl.”

“...Give me another hour of sleep,” you whispered.

“Whatever you need, sweetie. Anything at all.”

___________

[waynes-readingverse]

M.I.A.

Summary: When Colter Shaw calls the reader for help on a job, she thinks nothing of helping out. Only he never shows up and Colter may have just become the latest disappearance in this small town. It’s up to her and Russell to work together to find him before his case goes cold like all the others before…

He's My Man Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 6,500ish

Warnings: language, kidnapping, violence, torture, mentions of death

A/N: Welcome back to more Russell Shaw! This story is considered a timestamp to He's My Man and it's highly recommended that story be read prior to this one. With Tracker coming up again soon I wanted to dive back into this world with these characters and thought this would be a fun way to check in with the gang. Please enjoy!...

________

“Thanks,” you said to the waitress who refilled your coffee. The diner was quiet, the mid-afternoon lull between the lunch and dinner crowd. You poked at the slice of chocolate pie in front of you and scrolled through your phone, an anxious feeling growing in your gut.

Colter had called last night, asking if you’d be willing to come out and act as his date at a gala event where he was investigating a young woman’s disappearance. Admittedly, you were a bit nervous to accept. You’d only been doing reward work for six months and you’d had success so far with tracking down a few show dogs, a horse, a signed Mickey Mantle baseball card and a stolen car. But you hadn’t dipped your toe into the truly hard stuff yet. People.

After Colter got you to put the phone on speaker, he and Russell had wore you down and convinced you this would be a good first run. It was Colter’s case, you were simply there to help and offer input.

Flirting with a rich playboy Colter suspected of kidnapping the missing woman while he searched the house was also up there on his request list.

It was only a three hour drive to the small town from home and Russell had an important meeting with a brewery investor at lunch so you decided to help him do some last minute prep in the morning before agreeing to catch up with Colter for lunch at a diner. Yet, it was a few minutes past three and you’d heard nothing from him since around midnight the night before.

“Fuck it,” you said, slapping down a ten dollar bill and dialing.

“Hello, hello, qark,” answered Russell, his voice cheery and bright.

“Your lunch went well I’m assuming?” He hummed. “Don’t leave me hanging. What’d you settle on?”

“He gets 5% profit sharing after the first year for five years. By then he said we’d be well established and probably wouldn’t need him anymore. He was a good guy, invited us to get dinner with him and his wife sometime.”

“That’s great, honey,” you said, turning when the bell over the door rang, pouting to find it was a pair of older men that took a seat at a booth. “You haven’t heard from Colter at all, have you?”

“No…he never showed for lunch?” You sighed. “He could have been arrested.”

“Russell,” you chided.

“He gets arrested and Reenie bails him out all the time,” he said. “I just texted her. I bet he’s sitting in the station right now because he pissed off some local power hungry…shit.”

“Shit what?” you asked, taking a big, stress induced bite of pie. 

“Reenie said she hasn’t heard from him.” Russell groaned in the background. You closed your eyes. Today was supposed to be a good day for him. The last thing you wanted was him worrying about his little brother.

“I bet he ate some bad food, puked his guts up in the airstreamer and is sleeping it off. He said he was staying at the Sunny Days Park. I’ll go meet up with him there-”

“I’m coming out there,” said Russell. You rolled your eyes. “If he’s so sick he can’t pick up a phone then he needs help and that girl he’s looking for needs help too.”

“Fine,” you said, your heart rate spiking when you stood. “He’s probably just being his usual anti-social self, right?”

“Yeah. He’s totally known for being flaky on jobs,” deadpanned Russell. “Just…I’m not going to ask you to wait at the diner for me but be careful. Keep your gun on you and you call me when you get to his trailer. I have a bad feeling.”

“Me too,” you whispered. “I’ll call you in ten, Russ.”

You’d frowned when you found Colter’s truck parked in front of the airstream fifteen minutes later. Your pout remained when you cleared the the area and the inside of the trailer, carefully tucking your gun away into the holster on the back of your jeans. “He’s not here, Russell.”

“Anything look off?” he asked through the headphones in your ears. The space at first glance didn’t look out of the ordinary. Computer and maps on the kitchenette table. Coffee mug upside down on the drying rack next to the sink. You stopped short and squatted down, cocking your head.

“There are two pairs of shoes tucked under the table. Boots and trail running shoes.”

“Okay…” You stood up and sighed. 

“Russell, I lived in this trailer for a few days and Colter is a minimalist. There are two pairs of shoes here and he only owns two pairs of shoes. So he’s walking around barefoot? That’s-”

“Not good,” sighed Russell. “Do you see any sign of struggle? Blood? Anything weird? Or missing?”

“Not that I can tell. I didn’t exactly do an inventory of his closet when…” Your eyes zeroed in on a tiny black speck in the corner. “He has a security camera.”

“Call Bobby, see if he can get the footage from a cloud server or something. I’ll call back in a few once I’m on the road.”

“Drive safe, hun.” 

“You be safe. Anything feels fishy, get to a public place and stay there until I get in.”

“I know. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Two minutes later you were on Colter’s computer, Bobby sending you a link to the 24 hour cloud account where Colter’s subscription was saved to once a day.

There were two feeds, one right over the door to the air streamer and the other a wide angled shot staring down the entire length of the trailer. You backed it up to midnight, watching Colter sitting right where you currently were, texting and finishing off his beer. He stretched and stood, putting the empty under the sink.

He hit off a light and you sped it up, Colter padding out once to get a glass of water during the night. You smiled when he got up around six, an unusually cuddly version of Colter appearing on screen. He had a blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders as he shuffled over to his coffee machine, getting a cup brewing.

It reminded you of Russell in the morning. He too had a habit of walking around with a blanket first thing. You wondered if that was a Shaw thing or a habit Colter picked up from his big brother when they were kids.

You watched Colter disappear into the bedroom, exiting in a black tight pullover along with fitted pants for running. He sat at the booth and tugged on his sneakers before knocking back his coffee. He glanced at his phone quickly and tucked it into his pocket before he was gone, the interior still. The video was motionless for another hour when Colter came back inside, a thin layer of sweat on his face. Sneakers were removed and socks tossed into the bedroom, Colter taking deep gulps from a bottle of water. He tucked it back in the fridge and headed for the bedroom when suddenly the airstream door opened. 

Three men in black masks bounded inside, one holding a bulky looking gun. Colter didn’t get more than a step in before cords shot out and you realized he’d been tased. Your heart caught in your throat as he fell to the floor hard, body rigid. His face was etched in pain as he slowly moved his arm but the men were on him fast. Punch to the face, hands zip tied behind his back, tape over his mouth. Colter was out cold when they threw a hood over his head and he was lifted off the ground by a man on either side of him. They quickly left, no one appearing until you found yourself on tape hours later.

“Colter,” you breathed out, looking out the windows, as if he’d suddenly appear safe and sound there. Shakily you dialed Russell, your head in your hands. 

“Hey. You hear from Bobby at all?” You tried to keep your breathing calm, remember the stress management techniques you’d learned in med school. 

You winced, Russell’s voice loud on the other end. “Y/N, answer me.”

“I watched the tape. Russ, s-someone took him. They took Colter right out of the airstream this morning and-”

“Where are you?” You lifted your head, Russell growling. “Where?”

“In the air-”

“Leave right now, right fucking now,” he said. You grabbed the phone, Colter’s computer and a stack of papers nearby before rushing out of there. “Are you out?”

“Yes, I’m in my car,” you said with a pant, tossing everything in your passenger seat and taking off out of the campground.

“Go back to that diner and I’ll meet you there in two hours. If anyone tries anything-”

“I know,” you sighed. “Don’t speed to get here. The last thing we need is you in an accident.”

“Diner. Two hours. Be there.”

Two Hours Later

You munched on a basket of once warm fries as you heard the bell over the door jingle. You eased slightly when Russell headed your direction, wrapping you up in a big hug. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Russ, I swear.” You sat back in your corner booth, Russell sliding in the opposite side, getting a cup of coffee and burger for himself before you ordered dinner. “How are you holding up?”

Russell didn’t say anything, just had that look on his face he did right before he killed Owen. Honestly, you shared that sentiment. Colter had your back when you were strangers and now when you were family? Yeah, someone was going to pay and dearly.

“Bobby’s been running the video through his programs but couldn’t ID any of the guys. They ditched Colter’s phone outside the airstreamer so no leads there,” you said, passing the computer over to Russell. He watched the video, his eyes twitching momentarily before he took a long, deep breath.

“Can we trace these guys phones?” You shook your head. 

“Bobby tried. No cell activity in the nearby area before or after they…” You swallowed the lump in your throat, Russell reaching across the table and taking your hand in his. “The team’s been trying to find who took Colter while I’ve been looking into his research on the case. I figure he found out who took the woman or got real close without realizing it and that person took him.”

“Smart girl.” Russell cracked a smile, a heavy weight quickly settling back over the table. “But I have a problem with it.”

You nodded, keeping your lips sealed as his food was delivered and you got a plate of eggs and hashbrowns set down before you. “Me too. It doesn’t make sense to take him unless they wanted to know something he knows and they figured he wouldn’t crack immediately.”

“Yup. Aren’t you supposed to go to a party with him tonight?” You stopped with a forkful halfway to your mouth. Russell cocked his head. “He got an invite to that party. For two people. They must think he has a partner and that the partner knows everything Colter does.”

You set your fork down, Russell forcing a smile. “They’re looking for me. Those people are probably hurting him-”

“Hey,” said Russell, voice quiet. Gentle. “They took him because he found out something these people don’t want him to know and he didn’t realize it, not because of you. Let’s figure out what that is and then we’ll come up with a game plan.”

“Okay. Let’s figure this out.”

Forty minutes later, two clean plates and Russell making more than one odd face at the computer screen did it hit you. You slid Colter’s notebook with the name of the party over, Russell’s eyebrow quirking. “What?”

“These people don’t know who I am, otherwise I’d be gone. Colter wanted me to go to this party with him, right? Well, let’s go to the party.” Russell leaned back, closing his eyes. “Isn’t the most likely scenario that the person that took this girl also took Colter? And they clearly are powerful enough to have a few guys working for them. Let’s go to the party full of rich people and see what we can sus out.”

“Y/N.” Russell sighed, rubbing his temple with his palm. “It’s way too dangerous. Just because someone hasn’t come after you doesn’t mean they won’t. We need to figure out what Colter stumbled on-”

“This party,” you said, holding up the notebook, slapping it down. Russell clenched his jaw, relaxing after a beat. “The only research Colter did was on this girl and then there’s the party invite. He wanted to go there for a reason.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, picking it up, flipping through the pages. “How’d he get the invitation in the first place?”

“It’s a charity fundraiser. Anyone in town can go as far as I can tell,” you said. “All I know is he wanted me to be a distraction.”

“Distraction…” Russell typed on Colter’s computer, biting his bottom lip. “Party’s at some older rich dude’s house. Francis Duvel. Sounds like a real upstanding community member.”

“That’s not surprising the wealthy guy is hosting a charity event.” Russell’s eye twitched before he spun around the screen. Your eyes flickered down, reading a headline.

Duvel Industries Once Again Cleared of Safety Allegations; Whistleblower Drops Suit as CEO Vows Quality & Integrity Valued Over Profits

“I couldn’t figure it out earlier but there’s been a pattern of people going missing every so often in this town. Men. Women. Old. Young. Never kids or teens. Always adults. Your missing girl, Alexis Pearson works at-”

“Duvel Industries,” you said, flipping through a paper. “Executive assistant. You think-”

“Poor girl probably found out they were cutting corners somewhere and she said something to the wrong person.” He handed you back the computer and sure enough, all of the people that had “left” town or simply gone missing had at one point or another worked for Duvel Industries.

“How did no one figure this out before? It’s obvious what’s going on,” you said, Russell looking around. “Wait. You think…”

“Article said the local cops found no issues and never have. This charity auction is for the community including-”

“Fuck,” you muttered. “He’s got the sheriff in his pocket, likely a few more cops. No wonder Colter couldn’t just turn over what he found. He couldn’t trust them.”

“He should have called me,” said Russell, closing the computer. He shook his head, staring out at the cloudy evening sky. “I have a friend in the bureau. I could have…”

“So let’s call your friend, get the FBI up here to take a look at Duvel and in the meantime, try to find Colter and Alexis.” For the first time he looked worried and it made your heart clench. “What is it?”

“Alexis is probably already dead and when FBI agents show up at Duvel’s front door, he’s going to kill Colt and the girl if they aren’t already. Y/N, we have to find him tonight.” 

“Okay,” you said, getting up and pulling him into your side of the booth, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Screw the party. That was Colter’s plan. Ours needs to be more direct.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Duvel isn’t stupid enough to keep him or Alexis at a place where he’s having the whole town come to, right? So where would you hide them as a CEO?” He smiled, kissing your cheek before pulling out his phone. 

“Bobby, it’s Russell. I need the address of every property owned by Duvel Industries asap.”

One Hour Later

“How do you know it’s this one?” you asked Russell as you got out of his car. He went to the trunk, resting his head against the open thing. “What’s wrong?”

“I know because this place is isolated, it’s been under construction for years with no progress but the tire tracks we saw were fresh. It’s Duvel’s dumping ground.” He straightened up, hands on his hips. “Qark.”

He didn’t have to say it. He wanted you to stay here, out of danger. He’d wanted you away from this kind of life and said it more than once.

Russell reached inside the trunk and opened a black duffel, holding out a black vest to you. It was much smaller than the one he and Colter fit in though. You took the vest, followed by Russell handing you a thigh holster. “I thought you were going to tell me to stay in the car.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I want you to stay here,” he said, bending down to buckle the straps against your thigh, pulling it taut. He looked up with a half-smile before taking your gun from the back holster and putting it inside, tossing the other one in the trunk. 

“What are…” He zipped up your jacket all the way and pulled the vest on over your shoulders, fixing your hood before tightening the sides so the vest hung tight to your body. “Russell.”

He shrugged, green eyes nervous but gentle. “You have let me teach you self-defense, how to reload and shoot, tactics and stealth so you’d be safe doing reward work. You’ve done it all without complaint. I want you to stay at the car but I know my queen of darkness. You can do this. You told me once before you wanted me to show you how to do things, not do them for you. So let’s go do this together.”

You smiled, running your hand over the vest. “How long have you had this?”

“I bought it the first reward job you took. I figured someday you’d need it.” He put on his own gear and locked the car, inhaling deeply. “If you want to change your mind-”

“That building is massive. You can’t go in alone.” He nodded, closing his eyes. “Am I liability to you? Serious question. If I go in there with you, does it make things harder if Colter is in there?”

Russell peeled open his eyes, smirking as he planted both hands on your face and kissed you hard. 

“I always worry, qark. Whether you’re in there or out there.” He touched his forehead to yours, hot breath fanning over you. “You do not have to go in. Absolutely you do not have to. But if my girl wants to do this with me, then I’m glad I’ve got her for a partner.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, Russell lifting you up into a hug. 

“But if shit goes down, you run.” You shrugged, Russell groaning. “Alright, alright, Rambo. Follow my lead and stick close. Bobby’s going to contact my friend in two hours if he doesn't hear from us so let’s get a move on.”

“Age before beauty,” you said. He narrowed his eyes. 

“Yeah, keep it up youngin’ and next time you’re in that outfit I’ll teach you a lesson.” You glanced down to his groin, Russell growling. “Y/N.”

“Sorry.” He nodded, checking his gun before letting in hang by his side.

“Stay low and quiet. Clear your corners and don’t hesitate to use your weapon. You sure you want to go in?”

“Let’s do this.” Russell checked your gear one more time before you headed into the forest, jogging through it for a moment. You stopped at the edge when Russell held up a hand. He reached into his back pocket, revealing a small scope. You knelt by his side, looking around as he mumbled to himself.

“Good news and bad news. Good news is there’s only one vehicle and it’s a car which means most likely there’s four guys or less. Could be more but odds aren’t in favor. No cameras from what I can tell. Bad news is two outside guards. It’s going to be hard to get in.” You pursed your lips. “What are you thinking?”

“If we each get one-” 

“Y/N,” Russell scolded. You frowned, his face softening. “Those guys are huge. Odds are they grab you before you get the guy out cold.”

“Russell. I fought off Owen when I was roofied when I was younger. You have taught me so many moves. I wouldn’t risk Colter if I didn’t know that I can take out a guy that size. Trust me. Please.” He lowered his head, shoulders sagging.

“If he’s not going down, shoot him.” You agreed and then the two of you were jogging across the dark grass, coming to a stop against the concrete wall of the building. Russell pointed you forward and you went ahead of him, gun in front of you, squeezing the cold metal tight.

The guard rounded the corner quickly though, startled by the sight of you. You ducked fast, Russell’s fist flying out where your head had been. It connected hard with the guard’s jaw and he slumped against the wall, crumpling down in a heap. You stood up, Russell tapping your shoulder before stepping in front of you. After a moment the guard was restrained, tape over his mouth. Russell peaked around the corner before holding up a hand for you to stay back before he disappeared. 

Ten seconds later he returned, body slightly less tense. He nodded and you jogged over to him, keeping behind him as you went through the door and past the other out cold guard with hands and feet secured.

The building was large, some warehouse space, offices on either side. Russell sighed silently before going left. You walked backwards behind him for a few minutes as he cleared room after room after room with nothing to show.

“It’s taking too long,” he whispered. “I can’t check every room fast enough if the guards check in on a schedule.”

“I can finish the hall. Do the other side. You’re faster without me,” you murmured. Russell stared at you for five seconds then planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Be safe. I’ll be right back.” Silently, he went the way you’d came from and disappeared around the corner. You turned your attention back on the six or so offices to go with a thick swallow. Without Russell by your side, your nerves came front and center. But you couldn’t stand there forever. There was probably someone else inside and Colter wouldn’t hesitate if you were in his shoes.

You steadied yourself and cleared a dark, empty office, then another. The second to last door pushed open easily, bright light hitting you in the face. 

There was barely enough time to register Colter in a chair, someone behind him with a knife and then the man’s hand was moving fast towards his throat.

The trigger pulled hard as you squeezed it once, twice, three times. You couldn’t hear over the ringing in your ears as you did wide sweeps of the room. No one else was in there and after finding the man slumped on the ground was dead, you rushed to Colter who’s head hung low.

“Colter. Colter,” you urged. He was shaking as you tilted his chin up, a thin line of red on his throat but not deep. You closed your eyes. Fuck, a second later and Colter would have already bled out by now. 

But something wasn’t right. His clothes were wet, skin ice cold. Your eyes darted upwards when you felt cold air conditioning kick on overhead. It was only then that you noticed the dead man was wearing a winter jacket for some reason.

You checked Colter over after cutting him free, a few bruises on the face, bruised ribs from his labored breathing and you winced when you patted his shin and felt how swollen it was. You cut up his pants leg and saw the deep bruising, very highly a broken bone in there.

Another gun shot rang out nearby and you spun around with your gun, aiming at the door. Russell appeared a few moments later, sighing in relief. But his face fell when he saw Colter violently shaking in the chair, arms wrapped tight around himself.

“What’s-”

“He’s hypothermic,” you said, cutting up his pants, Colter shaking his head. “We need to get him out of these wet clothes and warmed up now.”

“Y/N-”

“Russell, he’s not stable.” You finished cutting off his pants and had his pullover halfway off. “Call your FBI friend and tell him we need a med evac to a level 1 trauma center. In the meantime, go kill the A/C and get my med kit from the car.”

“Got it,” he said, turning to leave. “I found Alexis.”

You looked over your shoulder at him, Russell smiling. “She’s roughed up but she convinced these guys-”

“I’m sorry but does she need medical attention, yes or no?” He shook his head. “Then go do as I ask.”

Russell took off down the hall, Colter’s wet clothes dropping to the ground. You got behind him and put your arms under him and around his chest, hoisting him up.

He screamed at the sudden pain in his side and leg but you could deal with that later. Right now, he was too fucking cold. You walked backwards out of the room, Colter whining the whole time which frankly scared the fuck out of you.

Colter was stoic. Tough as nails like Russell. Calm in moments of terror.

Scared, hurt, out of control Colter made you heart feel like it was being stabbed.

“S’okay, Colt. I got you. You’ll feel better real soon,” you said, dragged him down the hall and into an office you’d found a couch in earlier. You jerked when you noticed a shadow at the doorway.

Alexis was hiding halfway behind the doorframe, wide eyed at you. “I-I can help.”

“You know what a space heater is?” She nodded quickly. “Find them and bring them back here. Quickly. I saw a few in this hallway.”

She ducked away as you lowered Colter to the ground and plugged in the space heater you’d saw in there, turning it to the max. 

You found a wooden chair and kicked at it with your boot until it broke apart. Taking two long pieces, you placed them on either side of Colter’s leg and removed your vest, jacket and shirt. 

“And you said my red jacket was ugly,” you teased, laying it over his shivering form. “Too visible if I recall.”

His fingers squeezed the material so tight it started to tear, your heart breaking for him. You leaned down close, wiping the wetness out of his hair with your shirt. With a sigh you kissed his forehead, Colter mumbling something you couldn’t make out.

“I know you know you’re in shock. Everything is fine. All I want you to think about right now is a story I’m going to tell you. Okay? Just lay back and listen.” You soaked up more water with your shirt and leaned back, removing your tank top, leaving you in just a black bra. “You know Russell bought me this bra back when we went on that trip to Paris last month. I know we told you about it and you did a lot of humming like you couldn’t care less, remember?”

You shredded the tank top with your hands into strips, laying them over and under his broken leg. “I’m going to splint your leg now.”

“So there was I,” you said, pulling tight, Colter nearly doubling over as you did the few other spots quickly. “In Paris with your brother of all people and he’s bought me all these nice pajamas and lounge sets and other things you don’t need to know about when he says, let’s take a few days trip to Africa. Let’s go to the desert. Now, I don’t know about you but if you’ve never been to the desert, it’s hot as fuck.”

You made sure his leg was straight before fixing your coat on him, Colter shivering into your hand. Alexis returned with three space heaters and you quickly go them on and around him.

“When you’re in the desert, you can feel the sun prickle your skin. You know that feeling? The heat from the rays literally warming you, getting inside. It makes you so hot. It reflects off the sand, like hot sand at a beach, right back at you. It’s like you’re on a baking sheet, hot out of the oven, baked on all sides.”

Colter was still shivering but he was starting to relax, less violent shakes coming out now. 

“You ever have a sunburn like that? I bet you did. Your nose and cheeks got all red, your skin so hot. I know you Shaw boys were always outside. Russell gets these freckles when he’s out in the sun. Do you get them too? A nice hot summer day, out on the water with a warm breeze.”

Russell entered the room, kneeling beside you. “Chopper will be here in thirty.”

“Okay,” you said, Colter’s head turning to the side. “Rest up for me big guy.”

You got up and pulled Russell to the back corner, nodding at Alexis sitting on the couch. “What?”

“Russell, you should take her to the nearest hospital.” He frowned, biting his tongue though as you held up your hands. “She’s not as bad as your brother but she’s dehydrated and cold.”

“No, I need to stay here in case Duvel’s guys show up. You take her-”

“I’m sorry, are you a doctor? Do you know what to do if Colter has a heart attack? A seizure? Those are very real possibilities right now, Russell. I need to warm him up and calm him down the right way and I can’t worry about her right now. I need you to take care of her. Please.”

He closed his eyes. “Fine but I’m tossing those two guys in the trunk of their car. And put your vest back on. And keep an eye on the door-“

“Shaw.” He opened his eyes, finding you glaring at him. 

“Please help him the best you can,” he whispered. You hugged him, Russell squeezing you tight before he was moving and out the door with Alexis under his arm. Only the hum of the space heaters and Colter’s incoherent mumblings could be heard as you sat down beside him. 

“Here you go,” you said, resting the vest over his injured leg to try and give him some warmth. You held your gun in your hand as the other rested on his forehead. Fuck, he was still too cold. Slowly, he peeled open his eyes, looking so young for the briefest of moments. “I have one last idea. But it’ll hurt.”

He nodded very slowly before closing his eyes tight. “I’ll be right back.”

You jogged out to the warehouse and hit the switch to open the bay door, quickly breaking into the luxury car out front and pulling it in. You left it on and hit the heated seats to low, rushing back to Colter where he was breathing shallowly. “Come on, bud. This should help.”

He groaned when you pulled him through the halls and out to the warehouse, cursing a long string of profanities at you that felt like the closest Colter Shaw had ever gotten to going absolute ape shit.

The ache in your chest eased when he hissed at the contact with the seats and then, you swore on your life, he cooed like a newborn baby. With the heat blasting in the car and thanks to the seats warming his bare skin, he finally passed out with a smidge more color to his skin.

“Okay,” you sighed, resting your head against the wheel. “You’re going to be okay.”

The Next Evening

“Hey,” said Russell. You didn’t acknowledge him as you watched flames flicker in the outdoor fireplace back at home. He sat down on the couch behind you, pulling you back into his lap. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” you said, leaning your head back against his shoulder. You tucked yourself into him, Russell wrapping his arms around your body. “How’s Colter? He sleeping yet?”

“Oh, he’s annoying as hell. Little shit thinks he’ll be driving out of here tomorrow morning.”

You groaned, Russell humming. “He broke his damn leg. He isn’t driving for at least a month. He is staying with us at a minimum until that cast is off.”

“I’m not the one you have to argue with.” You sighed, Russell’s long legs shifting around to lay over top of yours. “You want to talk about it?”

Your eyes welled up, Russell sensing your tension. Your eyelids squeezed tight, something heavy boiling up under your skin.

“What’s the hardest thing? Killing someone? Or almost losing Colter?” he asked quietly. You shrugged, turning your head down to your lap. “He hurt-”

“My little brother died of hypothermia.” Russell went rigid behind you, turning you in his lap so you’d face him. Your bottom lip wobbled as he pulled you in close, his hands on your back. “The car accident…it was winter. My mom died on impact but we went down a ravine. My dad went to get help for me and my brother but it was so cold and we had no heat and Charlie was so hurt…the last thing he ever said was how cold he was.”

You looked over Russell’s shoulder at the dark lake, save for a few homes with lights on across the water.

“I don’t care that I killed that son of a bitch after what he did to Colt. But I just…” You inhaled shakily, gripping Russell’s hoodie tighter. He shushed you, rubbing his hand up and down your back. 

“He’s home with us. He’s safe,” said Russell softly. Long fingers stroked through your hair, tucking you into his neck. “I think Charlie would be really proud of you for protecting Colter like you did.”

“I should have protected him too,” you mumbled. Russell sighed, quietly embracing you. “You’re an older sibling. You understand.”

“Bullshit.” You leaned back fast, glaring at his stern green eyes. “Your dad was an amazing doctor and he left two injured kids. He was either a moron which I doubt or your brother had internal bleeding which made him say he was cold. If it was hypothermia you would have died too.”

“No, my dad said-”

“Was this before or after Owen’s fucked up mob family started drugging your dad so he had psychosis?” Your voice caught in your throat. Russell raised his eyebrows. “Sweetie, do you even know why Charlie died?”

“It was hypo…” You unraveled yourself from him, planting your bare feet on the warm deck. You gripped the couch cushions, closing your eyes, medical facts bouncing around your head. “Jesus, Russ. Why did I think…”

“Because your dad said it. He probably never even remembered he did. Deep down, he didn’t blame you so you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

You stood up, stepping in front of the fire with your arms crossed. You titled your head back, inhaling deeply. “He said a lot of mean things when I was a teenager, as I got older. But at the funeral…he was still himself. He didn’t…”

“No, he didn’t.” Russell stood behind you, curling his arms around your chest, trapping you against his strong warm frame. “So back to my original statement. Charlie, hell your parents too, I know they’re proud of you.”

“I killed a guy,” you scoffed.

“You saved a woman, helped catch a murderer, expose corruption throughout a small town, bring closure to a dozen families with missing loved ones-”

“Russell,” you groaned.

“And you saved my little brother’s life all while risking your own. We are damn proud of you, my queen of darkness.” Your head tilted backwards to look at him, Russell grinning back. “No objection?”

“Fine. You wore me down. I did good,” you grumbled. He chuckled against your ear, giving you a tight hug.

“The words every man loves to hear from his girl,” he laughed, giving you space to turn and hug him back. “You want to try sleeping?”

“In a minute. I want to check on him quick.”

“Don’t be long,” he whispered. He pressed his lips to your forehead, letting them linger. You gave him a hum and slipped inside, walking down the hall to the guest room. You cracked open the door slowly, Colter laying in bed with a frown.

“Need some pain killers?” you whispered as you entered, shutting the door behind you. 

“No,” he grumbled, glancing up at you when you took two pills out of the bottle on the nightstand. “I overheard you and Russell.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, Colter grabbing your arm. He tried to sit up, relenting when you pushed on his shoulder. “Rest. I know that’s a foreign word to you but you have to take things slow if you want to recover correctly.”

“And you need to realize this job is dangerous and I am not your responsibility.”

“No, you’re not.” You ruffled his messy hair gently, Colter pouting. “But that’s what family does for each other.”

He wanted to retort but bit his tongue, grumbling as you fixed his blankets and made him take a painkiller. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Russell got engaged?” You glanced down at your hand and the shiny silver band on your finger. 

“When did you notice?”

“When you shot that guy. It helped to think of something else for a bit.” You nodded, playing with the ring. “When’d he ask?”

“About a week ago. We wanted to surprise you and Dory.” His hand fell down to yours, giving it a light squeeze. “Colter, I know you have your issues with your brother but we love you. I know you’re going to hate it but you need to stay here for awhile. At the very least you need to stay with Dory if not us. You can’t be alone right now.”

“I will try to not complain too much,” he said. You smiled, leaning down to hug him. “Thank you for finding me.”

“Let’s not make a habit of it is all,” you said, getting up and pushing his glass of water closer. “Need anything else?”

“I’m good.” You went to the door, Colter clearing his throat. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“That red jacket is still fucking obnoxious.” You flipped him off, Colter cracking a smile. 

“Goodnight, asshole.” You turned off his light for him and found Russell curled up in the blankets in bed.

“How’s the patient?” he mumbled, big spooning you as soon as you were tucked under the covers. 

“He’s going to be alright.” 

“Did you ask him about being in the wedding yet?”

“One step at a time, hun.” He chuckled, burying his face against the back of your neck. 

“Try to get some rest too, qark.” You closed your eyes, nodding once. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Russ.”

___________

[waynes-readingverse]

10 'Til Midnight

Pairing: Professor!Dean Winchester x Student!Reader

Summary: A chance encounter outside of the classroom shifts the way you see your professor. Forever.

AN: Here’s a one-shot for @chevroletdean's 500 follower celebration! This also fulfills a request for one of my lovely Patreon members, @redhoodieone, who wanted to see AU Professor!Dean with a plus-sized student!reader. The reader is a graduate student (mid-20s) and Dean is in his 30s in this, so not really a wide age gap, but we’re still flirting with a gray area here lol.

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: graduate student!reader, plus-sized!reader, Shakespeare geekery, mythology and other nerdy classic lit. references, AU Brady sighting, sexual tension, mutual pining(?)

The ash cloud of exhaust rose up from the sidewalk steam grates. It infiltrated your nose as you hurried down a few well-worn concrete steps and into the bowels of the subway, a transition into deeper darkness.

To you, that acrid, mini plume of pollution was the smell of New York City; old cigarette buds and weed hash, fresh tequeños and hot dogs wafting from the open door of the bodega on the corner, mixed with a whiff of piss.

This was the city of broke creatives clinging to their fragile dreams with both hands, usually while the natives rolled their eyes. You were one of those shiny happy people with a dream and the battle-tested will to make it happen, especially tonight. You finally got to see a play on Broadway, an excellent production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

You replayed your favorite scenes in your mind like 1940s movie reel, except it was live in technicolor. An unconscious smile spread across your lips, but you had to hurry. Your train was about to leave in…

You checked the time on your phone—ten minutes to midnight—and compared it to the digital sign up ahead. Your eyes widened.

Shit! One minute?!

You had no choice but to try and run in your heels. That had you skidding to the open doors as they began to close, but you just managed to slip inside, albeit literally slipping with a yelp.

A man saved you by grabbing hold of your arm and waist before you fell, bunching the fabric of your coat beneath his hand. You gasped when you stared up at a familiar face. A sharp jawline covered with stubble, just neat enough to be respectable; dark brows shaded over green eyes, trained on you; bowed lips pursed with confusion.

“Professor?” you said, breathless and shocked.

He was just as baffled, but he finished helping you up as your name fell from his lips.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded and thanked him for the save, still catching your breath.

“Here, sit down,” he said, gesturing to a couple of empty seats on the subway. You joined him in sitting, though you ignored the stare of the guy standing closest to you who was holding onto a rail. He wore jeans and dirty hipster Vans, a brown bomber jacket and a gray beanie. The stench of weed and cheap cologne clung to him.

And his gaze followed you until you sat down. Slightly unsettled, you were subtle in the way you angled yourself toward the man beside you.

Professor Dean Winchester.

He really was the last person you expected to see on your way home tonight. You still couldn’t believe you ran right into him!

But then, you noticed the playbill sticking out of his coat pocket (his coat looked more expensive, a dark charcoal gray with a high collar, and it suited him).

“Oh, you…you saw the play too?” you said in excitement, showing him your own playbill that you fished out of your purse. You’d told him about it a month ago, after his lecture on fairy lore. You thought he might enjoy a play that was all about the convergence between the fairy realm and the human realm.

He’d admitted that he’d never seen a Shakespeare play live, but he said he’d look into it. You didn’t think he was actually taking you seriously though.

“Uh, yeah, I did. I’ve never been a big Shakespeare guy, truth be told, but you hooked me,” he said. When he smiled, it made the corner of his eyes crinkle a little.

You couldn’t help but smile too every time you noticed that…even though it made your cheeks warm in a blush. He really had no business being this handsome. And the suit? All crisp and black, paired with a classic, off-white dress shirt and a black pinstripe tie.

Clearly he’d dressed for the occasion of going to the theater, because usually he was one of the chillest professors you knew. He showed up to class in jeans, boots, plain henleys and jackets, though never without his watch, a classic leather time piece with a silver watch face and bold black numbers. It was so vintage, you’d asked about it once when you met with him to talk about one of your essays on Native American burial practices. He’d told you that the watch belonged to his father, who passed away a few years ago now.

“So what’d you think?” you asked. “Weren’t the sets beautiful? It was so ominous and creepy in the ‘forest,’ and ethereal too, like the fairy realm part of it.”

He nodded, smiling slightly wider at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, was a good production. The actors were top-notch.”

“Oh, incredible. That was the best Bottom I’ve ever seen.” You paused, realizing what you said, and a nervous giggle tumbled out of your mouth. “Well, the character. Not the ass—donkey—whatever. You know what I mean.”

The man laughed, rich and deep and washing over you pleasantly, even though you half covered your face in embarrassment.

“Can’t argue with you there. The ass was hilarious,” he smirked.

Another giggle, and you flipped through the playbill again to distract yourself from looking at his ruggedly chiseled face. Why, oh why did he have to be so fucking attractive? And somehow he was still single. You’d heard some of the girls in your class whispering about it after class one day—a full-on engagement that fell apart two years ago.

“But really, the actors who played the couples in the love quadrangle were awesome,” you said. “Helena was my favorite.”

He raised his dark brows. “Really? The girl who gets shit on the most in the play?”

That was another thing. He didn’t really talk like any professor you’d met in your life. You let out a snort.

“I don’t want to be her, I just think she did so well at showing that vulnerability,” you explained. “There’s nothing worse than being in love with someone who doesn’t even see you, you know?”

He tilted his head, his amusement fading as he listened. You felt emboldened to continue your thought.

“In her mind, she’s probably thinking, ‘Well, even if he’s yelling at me, at least he’s acknowledging I exist,’” you said, “which is incredibly sad and isn’t giving Shakespeare many brownie points for feminism, but it’s a reality that some women go through.”

After a moment, he seemed to see your point with a nod of his head.

“That’s fair,” he said, arching a brow. “Though I gotta hope you don’t let any guy talk to you like that.”

You shook your head with a smile, but before you could answer him, your phone slipped off your lap and tumbled to the dirty subway floor. You twisted away so you could reach down and grab it, but you caught that whiff of cheap cologne again. Gray beanie guy let go of the rail and bent down to scoop up your phone before you could. You offered a polite thank you and went to take it back, but he held it out of reach at the last second, giving you a teasing smile.

“How about I put my number in first, so you can call me when you get home,” he said. “I’m Brady, by the way.”

That oh-so-gracious offer was followed by a glance down your dress. You sat up straighter, adjusting the collar of your coat back over your neckline with a weary huff.

“Ah, you know what, I’m good with just my phone…please.”

This was why you kind of hated the subway. You didn’t know when you were going to have to interact with a creep trying to steal your phone, shoot his shot, or look down your dress as a consolation prize.

You held out your hand expectantly, but still, “Brady” didn’t take the hint.

“Aw, what, you have a boyfriend or something?” he asked.

“Oh my God. Are you fucking serious?” You sighed and decided a white lie was best here. “Yes, I have a boyfriend. Now give me my phone, please.”

“Hmm. Is it like beginning stages, or...?”

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Hey, I’m just saying, maybe we can grab a bite to eat, theeen you know. If things are going well, we could take things back to your place,” he said, his brows popping with sleazy suggestion. He still held the phone away from your grasping hand in frustration.

“Hey,” a deep voice cut in. 

You hesitated, glancing back at Professor Winchester. He glared up at Brady with a stony look that you’d never seen on him before.

“Give her the damn phone,” said the professor. His tone boded no argument.

Still, Brady pushed his luck.

“What, you her boyfriend or something?”

The professor didn’t bother to answer the question, but he stood from his seat, his long coat draped down all six feet and change of him, broad shoulders and calm confidence. He stared down at the lankier, scruffier pothead. Then he held out his hand.

Brady shifted back on his heels, seeming to realize that he didn’t want this version of Midnight on the Orient Express—the kind that ended up on the 6 o’clock news the next morning. With a roll of his eyes, Brady dropped the phone into your professor’s hand, complete with a dickish quirk of his lips. Professor Winchester gestured at him to fuck off.

“Walk away,” he said.

To your astonishment, the Brady just tossed him a “fuck you, bro,” and went to the other end of the car. You stood up too, just as the subway pulled to a stop. Professor Winchester handed you the phone.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Is this your stop?” he asked, still glancing back with a suspicious eye at the asshole still glaring at your backs.

You nodded, biting your lip.

“Okay, come on,” the professor said. He laid a guiding hand on the small of your back and joined you in stepping out of the subway car. To your relief, Brady stayed on the train.

“Thank you,” you said again. “Really, you didn’t have to miss your exit for me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, with a shake of his head. His frown was still in place just thinking of that fucking loser. “I’ll have better peace of mind knowing you got home safe.”  

Once you told him that your apartment was another few blocks away, he knew he was going to be walking you home. You told him you weren’t that new to the city, but in his mind, it still wasn’t a safe neighborhood for a young woman to be walking around by herself at this time of night.

He had no other motive than that, however…

He’d been pleasantly surprised to see you tonight. You were a flash of scarlet that tumbled into his arms, the scent of your floral perfume teasing his nose before he caught sight of that little dress clinging to your curvy form, ending just a couple inches above the knee. But you drew your wool coat closer to your body, hiding the tantalizing flash of red from view.

It was for the best, he thought, as he cleared his throat and tried to find something else to focus his eyes on while you two walked together. He couldn’t help but land on your face again, on your pretty painted lips.

A deep, full-bodied red.

It was a familiar shade. You’d worn it before, while chewing the end of a pen absently in concentration during one of his lectures on the difference between skinwalkers and shapeshifters—those long, pointed nails tapping a quiet rhythm against the plastic. It was one of your many quirks, but only now did he realize how much he’d actually noticed about you. If nothing else, he always knew he had your attention.

He also knew you were getting a master’s degree in English, and you were taking his class as an elective. You’d actually sought him out before the semester started to make sure you got a spot in his class.

“Sorry, sir, I know it’s early. I’ve just been trying since last year to get into this class, and I really wanted the chance to take it before I graduate this year.”

He’d shifted in his swivel chair with his jean-clad legs casually crossed. He bounced a tennis ball against the wall, as was his habit. (Mostly because it bothered Benny, who had the office next to his.)

The repetitive bounce really helped him to think sometimes; it was basically his version of a fidget spinner.

“You like mythology that much, huh?” Dean asked.

“Oh, yeah!” you said, as your eyes lit up. “I find it so fascinating how every culture in the world has their own stories that have still survived for thousands of years. Some of them even overlap. Like, maybe it’s technically a different creature, but they have the same name, just in another language. Or it’s the same creature, different backstory. It’s like any novel I’ve ever read—similar tropes, but the style, the packaging. That’s what becomes new and creative.”

Amusement tugged at Dean’s lips.

“Same candy, different wrapper, right?” he offered. His reward was your bright smile.

“Yeah, exactly.”

He’d approved your request without a second thought. Unlike 95% of the students who came and went through his classes, you weren’t just smart. You cared. You had a passion for this stuff…and it mirrored his own.

“So, uh, you liked that play, huh?” he asked. Wanted to rub his hand over his face right after. Smooth, Winchester.

But it succeeded in brightening your eyes again.

“Oh yeah. People tend to think of it as one of Shakespeare’s sillier plays, but it drops some interesting ideas about love, for example.” All while you spoke, you spun vivid gestures with your hands.

Dean’s remained in his coat pockets, but watching you made his smile deepen. He liked when you got like this, so animated and alive with your thoughts. It threatened to draw him out of his somewhat jaded shell.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” he asked. Not because he really wanted to talk about what some sixteenth-century ye olde-y English douche thought about love, but because he wanted to hear you explain it.

You didn’t disappoint.

“Well, there’s the famous Lysander line, ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’” you said, “but that’s not even my favorite. That’s boring. That’s every rom-com ever, from Harry Met Sally to While You Were Sleeping, all the way to He’s Just Not that Into You, and Crazy, Stupid Love.”

Dean had to interject. “You watch a lot of chick-flicks, don’t you?”

Your lips puckered, but the amusement in your eyes answered his question.

“Like I said, I think Helena is the most underrated tragic figure in the whole story. Yeah, she’s pretty much a doormat, following Demetrius around even though he claims he’s in love with her best friend. Even though he curses at her, threatens to kill her if she keeps annoying him, following him around like an abused puppy. We can agree, he’s like, the biggest asshole in existence, right?” you said.

“Oh, very much agree. You want some coffee?” Dean asked, pointing to a guy selling warm pretzels and drinks from his vendor cart on the side of the road. It had stopped snowing a few days ago, but the February air was still sharp and bitterly cold at this time of night. If only it were midsummer.

“Uh, you know what, I could go for some tea. Thank you,” you said. But you didn’t let that derail you from your thoughts on Shakespearean love. You were still waxing literary analysis while you dug into your purse to find your wallet, but by the time you got it out, Dean had already paid for both drinks and a large soft-baked pretzel.

Your brows furrowed. “Oh! I meant to pay for my part—”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, take half,” Dean said, and he shot you a smile while handing over your hot tea and half of his pretzel. He got your eyes to light up for a different reason as you took the treat. You thanked him with a sweeter smile.

Then you took a bite, and you kept talking.

“But then she says, ‘Love can transpose to form and dignity.’ It can make us act like idiots, right? I mean, back in high school I wrote my boyfriend’s essays for a whole year because I didn’t want him to fail English, and let’s face it, he could barely spell his own last name.”

“Yikes,” Dean chuckled. Sounded like a GED and a gas station job in that guy’s future.

“Right? And what did he do? He dumped me the week before prom because he knew Ruby Summers would put out.” You rolled your eyes, accepting Dean’s sympathies with a gracious nod and a dismissive hand wave. Still, he hoped all you’d given to that guy was your time.

"Well, the guy you're seeing now better be treating you right," he said.

You blinked, your brows furrowing a bit in confusion, until realization dawned on you.

"Oh, I don't have a boyfriend," you said with a small chuckle. "That's just what I tell pushy weirdos on subways."

Dean was tripped up for a second, but he eventually quirked a smile.

“So anyway, my favorite bar of the whole play is what Helena says in Act 1,” you said. “‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.’”

In that moment, Dean’s eyes were a little too captivated.

But you broke the spell.

You glanced ahead to continue along the crosswalk with him, taking another warm, soft bite of pretzel.

“And that’s why Cupid’s always painted like a blind baby…or something like that,” you said. You laughed a little, and you seemed to realize just how long you’d been yapping his ear off. You came to a stop at what he assumed was your apartment building, but you suddenly got quiet. Embarrassed.

“Sorry, once I open my mouth on this stuff, I can’t really stop unless someone stops me and tells me I’m literally killing them with words that don’t make sense.”

“You’re making a whole lotta sense to me,” Dean replied. And he realized that he meant it. He rubbed his chin in thought. “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. I like that.”

Your mind seemed to be a hamster wheel on steroids, but he kind of liked that too.

“Well, did you like the play?” you asked, smiling in embarrassment. “Sorry, can’t remember if I even asked you that yet.”

He laughed softly. Even if you had, he didn’t mind answering again.

“I like it more now, hearing you talk about it,” he said. But maybe that was too honest. He padded it with something more appropriate, as your instructor. “It makes sense, since you’re an English major, but your passion always comes through in your essays. I’m really glad you decided to take my class this semester.”

You demured further at the praise. “Oh, thank you. It really is my favorite class so far this year, but…that’s because you’re the one teaching it. You're really good at telling stories. You make them simple and easy to understand, even when we're talking about hell hounds and old ghost stories, or the uh, Oedipus complex, or something.”

Dean smiled in amusement, but it was his turn to be touched, even if it surprised him too. You were just so honest and free enough to speak your mind. It was refreshing.

“Well, thank you. Glad to hear at least one person’s getting something out of it,” he said, his smile warming for once.

You smiled too, looking at him through your lashes. “All right well, thanks again for walking me home. I’ll, um…see you on Monday-ayy!”

You stepped up onto the first stair leading up to your apartment and caught an icy patch with your red-bottomed heels. A gasp fell from your lips as your arms spun out to catch yourself on anything that could keep you from falling, and that happened to be Dean—specifically his coat, and then his biceps when he moved in fast to keep you upright.

He ended up gathering you into his arms while you clung to his coat. Your red nails bit into the dark fabric. In his mind’s eye, he could imagine them popping the buttons of his dress shirt, carving shaky lines of heat and pleasure across his skin.

Fuck. He bit the inside of his cheek hard to rid himself of that image, his jaw ticking in response. But another one just replaced it when his gaze met yours, half-lidded and shocked, but…contemplating.

Hot breaths mingled in between, puffing visibly on the cold air.

“God, I’m sorry!” you breathed.

“Don’t worry about it.” He cleared his throat past the slight roughness in his voice. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, um…Take Two,” you said, laughing weakly.

You aimed to let him go and continue on up the stairs by yourself, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from trying to help you. He held your elbow at least, with a hovering hand by your waist in case you slipped again. When you finally made it to the door, you paused and turned to look at him over your shoulder. Again, that look in your eyes said you were debating something in your mind.

“You okay?” he asked again.

You nodded. “Yeah, I just, um…you know what? Never mind. Uh, good night!”

Dean nodded, giving you a casual salute. He didn’t leave until you got in the building safely, but for his entire long walk home, your face wouldn’t leave his mind. That look of internal conflict, like you’d been weighing some kind of pros and cons. He had to wonder…

Had you been about to invite him up to your apartment?

But no. Fucking no. He dismissed that thought as soon as it came. He was almost ten years older than you.

Didn’t stop Catherine Zeta-Jones from hooking up with Michael Douglas. She’s barely pushing fifty while he’s halfway into Senior Depends.

Second problem. Career ending and reputation ruining and his own clock punch at the local 7/11—kind of a problem.

You were a student.

Grad student, came a whisper from the back of his mind.

In Greek mythology, the golden apples of Hesperides in Hera’s garden were guarded by a dragon. The Norse gods also believed in their own version of immortal golden apples, harvested by the goddess Idunn. Sounded a bit like Eden, right? As in, the Judeo-Christian Garden.

As in, forbidden fruit.

What did they all have in common? There was always a consequence for the taking and sampling part. The question was, is the price worth how good it tastes?

Remembering the feeling of your soft curves under his hands, Dean had a feeling it would be more than fucking worth it.

But he shook the thought from his head, his fingertips digging into the soft insides of his coat pockets.

He was your professor. That was where those thoughts should end.

You didn’t even see him that way…did you?

You shucked your heels off as soon as you got inside your apartment. You heaved a deep sigh and shed your purse, your coat, your earrings and necklace, which you set down on the nightstand in your bedroom. You sat on the edge of the bed and fell back onto the creaky mattress.

Your hands came to rest lightly over your stomach, a safe place, while you thought back to how Professor Winchester held you so tight. Secure. Gentlemanly.

How he looked at you, his green-eyed gaze falling to your lips, like he was contemplating the best way to close that distance, bowing his head those last few inches and…

You forcibly shook your head. He was your goddamn teacher.

It didn’t matter that he was probably the youngest faculty member on campus, and you were a twenty-five-year-old graduate student. Whether or not the man was “age appropriate,” he was still your professor. You couldn’t think about him like that.

And he absolutely didn’t look at you like that…

Did he?

AN: Sorry again for all the nerdy lit. tidbits, but I had fun. 😂 I'm thinking about expanding this into an actual little series, so let me know what you think! ❤️

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[waynes-readingverse]

Shower Reliever

⋆ ˚｡⋆ COUPLE Dean Winchester x f!Reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WARNINGS SMUT 18+ MDNI, established relationship, menstruating (evil cramps!!), tooth-rotting sweet fluff, mention of blood (light), Dean being dorky and cute, guided masturbation in the shower? (idk how to tag this sryyy), Dean’s misuse of a shower head as a magic wand, no use of Y/N, English isn’t my native language

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY It’s that time of the month; Cramps are tormenting you, but Dean’s there to cheer you up and look after you by giving you some relief. ♡ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 4,2k

It’s afternoon. Or maybe it’s evening.

How are you supposed to know when you’re surrounded by the bunker’s concrete and artificial light all day?

A pathetic, writhing-weeping blood sacrifice wrapped up in bed sheets like a burrito. That’s what you are. Ready to be served. Honestly, though? Big Hellhound pupper toying with your guts suddenly seems much more appealing than a day ago. At least the doggo wouldn’t take three damn days to rip your innards out.

But you won’t complain. Because right now? Things seemed oddly… okay? It’s almost suspicious.

A deep sigh of relief falls of your lips and you dare to sprawl out on the mattress. Star-fish formation. Plain ceiling staring back down at you.

You’re maybe 5 seconds into your newfound content - and then the little bitch ruins it by raking her peeler down your walls. A sharp hiss presses past your clenched teeth.

Nevermind. Here she goes again.

Peeling your uterus out from the inside. Like Lilith herself is down there, having a feast on your unborn – and very non-existent – baby.

Muffled by Dean’s pillow, you scream. Fuck that time of the month.

Why’s it always that time of the month? Again and again and again.

Why can’t you just get the period twice a year like a bitch and get on with it? It’s not like you signed up for this. In fact, you’d very much like to file a complaint.

Not that Chuck would care. “That bastard knows why he doesn’t own an uterus...” you grumble.

A hot flush shoots through your body. Wheezing takes over your breathing. The bedsheets go flying along some of the pillows you’d burrowed yourself in.

Burning up. Hot. Your body feels like your ovaries decided to have a meltdown.

You roll around the bed, aimlessly. A ball of messy hair. Entangled in the sweat-drenched pyjama you couldn’t get yourself to change from. Arms clutched around your stomach, fingers clawing at the hot-water bag which so far hasn’t done much more than give you third-degree burns and only add to the feverish heat steaming beneath your skin.

When the door to your and Dean’s bedroom opens, you can’t even bring yourself to lift your head. Instead you’re curled up like a salted snail, squirming, each and every noise escaping from you thick with pain.

“Hey baby, ‘m back…” Dean greets you from across the room, his voice dying down as he spots you on the bed just where he'd left you this morning.

Your face plants into the sheets when you double over from another stab to your uterus.

“It’s trying to kill me, Dean,” you whimper into the mattress. Dean’s face contorts at your strangled sound.

“That bad?” It’s a stupid question, and he realizes it the moment it leaves his mouth. Of course it’s bad. You look like hell.

And worst is, it’s been going like this the entire day already. First time Dean’s witnessing it from the start, too. You’d been together for a couple of months now, but you being you, you’d so far managed to slip away just in time before your period kicked down the door.

Now that you moved in with the boys in the bunker that didn’t seem an option any longer.

You watch Dean’s face harden, the way it always does when he starts to feel helpless.

Indeed, Dean could feel the frustration claw on the inside of his chest. To the point he secretly wished your state would just be the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong.

At least he would know what to do then, y’know? Clean your wounds, stitch you back together if needed – maybe it wouldn’t look as neat as when you did it, but it’d do the job – because that’s what he’s good at.

But this? He didn’t quite know how to work with this.

There’s no injury he could just patch up. No swig of whiskey to dampen the pain. No way for him to help. And watching you writhe like you were being tortured from the inside, was killing him.

He sighs. The shopping bag in his hand gets dropped to the floor and he rounds the bed to your side. A frustrated hand ruffles back his hair. His eyes taking in the battlefield you’ve caused. And they come to rest on your crumpled form, smack in the middle of it all.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart…” He mutters softly. And he means it. You know he does. The words were simple, yet you know that if he could, he’d take your pain away in a heartbeat. But he can’t. Because for some reason, despite all the supernatural crap you get to deal with on a daily basis, this isn’t an option.

Damn you Chuck.

You make a sound between a whine and a sigh at the grave conclusion, at which Dean’s eyebrows pull together.

The bed dips down beside you and next moment the warmth of his body presses against your side. He slowly runs his hand over your shoulders to rub your back in soothing circles.

“Anything I can do to make you feel better..?” he asks.

“Rip it out. Use it for your next blood sacrifice. Sell it to Crowley. I don’t care- I don’t want it no more.” You wail while crawling into his lap, your face burying into his grey shirt and the blue jacket that’s partially covering it.

“Jesus,”– Dean laughs softly, his deep voice rumbling under your cheeks –“Yeah, not happening.”

His arms wrap around you to pull you closer. The familiar smell of his fills your senses when you nuzzle your nose into the fabric of his clothes. A combination of his musk, fresh lemon and a hint of sweetness of his cologne clouds your mind.

Your muscles relax for a fraction. Melting into his heavy embrace. It’s odd how just a smell can have such a calming effect. As of right now, you wished you could just climb into his shirt, buttoned-up, and pressed flush against his body. All safe, warm and fuzzy.

But Uterus-Lilith had different plans. The sharp wince you try to bite back, doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean.

“My poor baby… C’mere…” He leans down to place a tender kiss onto your crown while he cradles you on his lap like a wounded animal.

His chin comes to rest on top of your head. Lips press against your hair. “It’ll pass… You’ll feel better soon… My brave girl…” He murmurs softly and you sigh.

Another twinge to your abdomen. Your body jolts, then caves in. Dean startles for a moment but then tightens his arms around you, pulling you up against his chest.

While he continues to rub your back, his other hand begins to card through the back of your hair. “Shhh, it’s okay… I got you…”

“It’s like the damn thing is committing sepukku.” You lament with fingers curled into his shirt. Nose buried in his chest. Trying everything to physically ground you until the cramp goes by.

At that comparison, Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and his lips twitch into a pressed smirk. “Damn it, don’t make me laugh.” His stomach contracts and shakes beneath you.

In response, a disgruntled noise gets huffed into his chest. And Dean can’t help a short, surprised snort.

“Sepukku?” He tries so hard to sound serious and to hold in his chuckles, but finally loses his battle. “Seriously?” He shakes his head lightly and his green eyes crinkle slightly when he continues to tease you, “You telling me, you got a wee little Samurai down there?”

A wee little Samurai throwing a tantrum in your uterus? Okay, that image carried a smile to your lips. Sounds a lot cooler than Lilith feeding on your unborn child.

Unfortunately the wee little Samurai was not amused and rammed it’s katana once more into your uterus.

Another jolt goes through your body. Another strangled sound follows. You burrow your face even further into his arms in hopes that his smell will just work like some narcotics.

Perhaps it’ll just knock me out when I dig my face deep enough into his shirt? A weird thought. But you guess that’s just what menstrual hormones mixed with pain does.

“Yes.” you wince, “And it failed to conceive a child,” then groan in agony, “So now it wants to punish me for it.”

Now Dean actually has to bite back a hearty laughter. “Oh, sweetie.”– he taps your head lightly with his finger –“Look on the bright side. At least we know I didn't knock you up. It's like a free monthly pregnancy test.“

That jab would have earned him a deadpan glare of yours if it wasn’t for the next attack on your inner walls and your body jerked into his arms this time.

Dean’s light-hearted expression contorts into a pained one. Jaws clenched with a twinge of guilt.

“Want me to get you some painkillers? Or – uh – maybe some whisky?” he inquires, his head tilted down in an attempt to meet your gaze. But your eyes are scrunched up, face still hidden in his bunched up shirt.

“Baby, can you look at me for a sec?” he pleads, while his hands slip underneath to cradle your chin now, coaxing you out of your den. You lift your head, just enough to meet his concerned eyes.

“None of that helps…” You mutter. Although you did wonder whether whiskey might even do the trick. Get the wee little samurai bitch a little tipsy down there, hm? Maybe it would pass out?

No – no, now you’re thinking like Dean. That’s a terrible idea.

“Imagine you’re getting stabbed in the stomach and the blade gets twisted. Repeatedly. For hours.”

Dean winces inwardly at your description. A hand instinctively clutches his stomach. He doesn’t have to imagine what that pain feels like. He knows.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to snap out of some memories from downstairs, his eyes back on you just when you writhe again with a stifled groan.

“Okay, that‘s enough. I‘m getting you off the rack,” he declares and you don’t even get the chance to react when he’s already scooping your curled up form up into his arms.

“W-what? What are you going to do, Dean?” you ask confused while he pulls you to your feet and starts leading you out the bedroom and down the bunker's hallway.

"I'm going to distract you," he replies, glancing back over his shoulder at you while he leads you to the main bathroom, "I did some digging this morning... to see what I could do to help with your period cramps, and it looks like an orgasm might do the trick."

You stop in your tracks. Quick enough for Dean to almost stumble into the bathrooms doorframe.

"N-no," you squeak, eyes wide.

"No, what? No it won't work or no you don't-"

"No, I'm fine."

"So it does work?"

"Well- uh-" you trip over your words when the heat rushes to your cheeks, "It's - it's different when I... uh..."

"Hey, it's okay. Nothing to be ashamed of," he chuckles softly and brings up his hand to cup your cheek, "Is it 'cuz of the blood? You do know I don't care about it, right? You really think I won't touch you just 'cause you're on your period?"

"No, but... it's awkward... and gross..." you mumble, eyes averted as you can feel the heat going both ways now.

Because, even if you wouldn't admit it, you did feel a bit horny. It's just one of those many fluctuating emotions a period entails. In those blessed days, it feels like your mood is being regulated by a pinball machine. And as of right now, it hit the tingling nub at the very bottom.

"Gross? Honey, I've been covered in guts, sludge, crap and all sorts of other nasty stuff. Do you honestly think a little blood's gonna phase me?" He tilts your head up to make you look at him, his lips twitch in amusement but his words are genuine, "You're not gross, sweetheart. Not to me..."

"But-" the next argument forms on your lips when he dives down to muffle them with a kiss. Your cheeks cradled by his large hands. Tender, soft, but enough to shut you up and make you melt into him.

When he finally pulls back, his plump lips still hovering inches from yours, he speaks softly.

“Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

His green eyes flick back and forth between yours, intense and yet calming. And really, how could you ever say no to him when he looks at you like you'll break his heart if you don't let him help you.

A sudden twinge in your stomach has you hunch over, and it's enough to finally convince you to let go of your tribulations with a weak nod of yours.

“Okay," you wince under your sharp exhale. The pain in your voice has Dean's hands dart down, one to your contracted stomach and one to the small of your back.

"Alright then, c'mon, sweetheart..." he mutters. Then gently guides you towards the shower after he closed and locked the door behind you.

When he notices how your teeth pull at your lower lip the way they always do when you're overthinking things, he grabs both of your hands. He squeezes them to get you to look at him, just to bestow you with one of his trademark grins. Confident, cheeky and oh so lovable.

“You trust me, right? It won't be awkward, promise. Nothing wrong with giving my girl some relief. Besides... This is purely therapeutic,” he quips and winks at you.

Once both of your clothes are piled up in a corner, you pad over the cold tiles and into the shower. Dean slides in after you, his naked body flush against your skin, his body heat a warm welcome in the cold air of the large bathroom. His arms envelop you from behind, one hand splayed out on your stomach to try and sooth your cramps, the other reaching for the shower head to pull it from its holder.

“Lean back, I got you baby,” he assures you while tugging you gently further back into his chest.

He turns on the shower, tests the temperature until it's the perfect heat and then slowly brings it down to the level of your stomach with the spray of water still pointed to the floor.

“Spread your legs a bit for me, sweetie,” he gently nudges his knee between your thighs, coaxing you into a wider stance while he continues to hum above you, “Mhm, that's it. Now just relax and lemme take care of you...”

Dean rests his chin on top of your head, the stubbles tingling your scalp as he does so. The air around you slowly begins to mix with steam while his body holds you close. Save and protected. The world reduced to just the two of you and the warmth hugging you from head to toe. Your thoughts and worries are drowned out by the rhythmic pattering of the droplets hitting the smooth shower floor as the sound echoes off of the tiled bunker walls all around you.

You feel yourself relax against him, despite the occasional, small jolts of pain which keep reminding you of that fact.

At last, a heavy sigh drops off your lips. The signal Dean has been waiting for.

He tugs at the hose, just enough to guide the water up your legs, then your thighs...

When the first jet of water hits right on your bundle of nerves, you almost buckle over with a gasped, “Oh shit-”

Your fingernails bite into the skin of his forearms, drawing a hiss from him. He moves his free hand to your hip, his grip on your squishy flesh gentle but strong. Steadying and grounding you.

“Feels good?” he asks while playing with the angle of the shower head.

You nod. Jolting whenever one of the water jets grazes your sensitive spot.

“Want me to keep goin‘?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

The hand on your hips slides over the bump on your bones and dips down between your legs. Next moment, calloused fingers slip along your folds to spread them open.

You shiver under the touch of his rough fingertips and at the feeling of him coating them in some of your arousal.

He angles the shower head slightly lower now, until a row of water jets skim your entrance. Your breath hitches. Then comes out in a shaky whimper.

Your legs start to go weak, feeling like jello.

Dean gently tugs you up again and pulls your back flush into his chest to keep you upright, making sure he's your anchor in this tidal wave of pleasure he's drowning you in.

“Just let go... that’s it…” he coos, now his head angled to nuzzle his nose against your temple.

Another shockwave travels through your body and tightens your coil even more, to the point it feels like it’s going to explode soon.

Your head drops back onto Dean‘s shoulder. Neck draped over his collarbone, just where his anti-possession tat lays. Shaky and ragged breaths mingle in the damp air of the shower.

“Just relax,” he places a kiss to your temple, his stubbles tingling the wet skin as he murmurs, “I got you.”

His fingers spread you further while he brings the shower head closer, allowing some of the water to push past your entrance.

“Oh fuck- Dean-” you gasp and whine at the same time.

„Language, young lady,“ he chides playfully, „This is purely therapeutical, remember?“

You choke on a giggle when he moves the shower head a fraction lower and the water jet grazes your sensitive nub just the right way, enough to send an intense jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Ah, so that's the magic angle, huh?” Dean laughs softly, his chest rumbling against your back.

“Uh-huh,” you manage to get out in a weak whimper as Dean's making sure to keep the right angle.

The intensity has your nerves on fire, like your core's being hooked up to electricity with hundreds of little needles tingling your most sensitive spot.

“M-move - p-please,” you beg in a shaky voice that has Dean's smile next to your cheek widen.

“Guide me,” he prompts softly, the hand on the shower head waiting for your instructions. You slip your hand along his strong arm, over the bump of his wrist, until you cover his hand with your tender fingers.

Slowly you begin to guide his hand into small, circular motions. The water jets brush your nub now from all sides, the overwhelming sensation enough to make you whimper weakly and your head loll to the side to bury your nose under his jaw.

“Too much?” he asks, his head tips to the side to look down into your eyes. You shake your head, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as they meet his. Hair’s stuck to your damp, flushed, skin, pupils blown wide, gaze intoxicated from pleasure.

The corner of his lips tugs into a smirk at your blissful expression. It's such a stark contrast to what you'd looked like moments ago when you were doubling over from pain. And if it wasn’t for the special circumstances, he’d make sure to keep you in this state all day and night. The growing pressure of his own arousal heavy against your back is evidence of his thoughts.

But this is about you now. His needs will just have to wait for – for… how long did a period even last? A day? Two? Hm, maybe if you’d feel comfortable enough, he wouldn’t need to wait this long. But one step at a time.

When your legs begin to shake, Dean presses his lips to your ear, murmuring into it, deep and hoarse from his own arousal.

“You’re doing so well for me… Now close your eyes, sweetheart. I want you to just relax and feel…”

You don't have to be told twice. The intensity is enough to make your eyes flutter close, squinting them even as your face contorts from the jolts of pleasure coursing through your body like a firework.

“Now I want you to imagine it's my mouth down there...”

While he keeps you distracted with the images he's painting in his husky voice, the hand on your folds leaves you and he reaches for the tap, increasing the water pressure.

“Y'know... the way I like to wrap my lips around you… and suck on that cute little bean 'til you're sobbing.”

“O-oh my God-” you mewl after the hard jet of water swallows your pulsing nub, causing your legs to buckle. The feeling's like a lightning bolt has just hit you. And it just keeps striking. Your other hand darts to his thigh behind you, fingernails biting into his skin in an attempt to ground you. But the jolts of pleasure set the nerves down your legs on hot white fire now, with everything from your stomach downwards tingling.

“That’s the reaction I was hoping for…” he chuckles and keeps going with his sweet words of praise somewhere outside of your clouded mind.

Images of Dean kneeling between your legs pulse under your eyelids. How his broad shoulders shove your knees apart, keeping your legs spread as they begin to fight him from the intensity of his mouth on your core. How the soft flesh of your thighs is squished under the force of his fingers, how you witness the veins on his arms pop as his muscles work relentlessly to prevent you from squirming away. How he holds your gaze the entire time, pupils blown up wide from hunger and lust as they eat away the deep emerald pools circling them.

Ragged breaths leave your lips. Another row of jolts has your body shaking in his arms. Each one driving you closer to your climax until you’re teetering on the edge. When your body begins to fight him and thrash around, Dean quickly tightens his grip around your hips to hold you in place.

He moves his lips to your temple, planting a tender kiss there, prickling stubbles brush the side of your face while he continues to talk you through it.

“You're doing so well... Let go for me, sweetheart... I've got you, I'll catch you, promise.”

Just when you feel yourself tip over, his free hand leaves your core to the constant onslaught of the circling water jets and moves it to your hand. His fingers slide between yours, intertwining them.

Then the tidal wave crashes down on you.

Dean's hand squeezes yours. The corner of his lips still pressed to your temple.

A guttural sound leaves the back of your throat when waves after waves of ecstasy course through you, enough for your knees to give in as your body goes limp.

“Oh- we goin' down?” he jokes softly as he follows your movement.

As promised, Dean catches you right after you've dropped some inches. Chuckling lightly above you as he pulls you back to your feet. Legs still shaky like a newborn foal’s.

“C'mon, bambi...” - he teases and slides the shower head back into place before he wraps both of his arms around your waist and turns you to face you with a soft smile - “…there you go.” You smile back at him, your hands finding purchase on his hips, gaze still a bit woozy.

He brushes a damp strand of hair out of your face, head tilted down to your eye-level, “Hey there, sweetie. You feeling better?”

“Yes,” you sigh, one of relief at the missing pain. At least for the moment. You melt into his embrace, feeling how your wet and naked bodies lock together like a perfect puzzle piece. “So much better.”

“Good, that’s good…” he murmurs into your hair after your forehead had dropped to his chest.

After a moment of peaceful silence, a mischievous grin creeps onto his face.

He clears his throat.

“You want me to battle that wee little samurai with my sword now?”

It takes your dazed mind a moment to catch up with his rather creative innuendo.

Once it hits you, you sputter an amused chuckle, “Please don’t.”

Dean huffs through his nose, feigning disappointment.

“Aw c’mon… Y'know, I’ve always wanted to fight a samurai… I’d make a pretty good Nathan Algren, don’t ya think?” he quips, then his lips quirk into a boyish, innocent grin as he adds, “...and my sword wouldn't mind getting bloody either.”

Now this has you raise your head to meet his cheeky expression and burst out in laughter.

“You do us both a favour and keep your mighty sword in your pants for now, you hear me? Idiot-” you playfully slap his chest, the wet sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. Dean’s grin doesn’t waver, instead his hands on your back slide down your spine until they reach your ass cheeks.

He clicks his tongue.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, s’all I’m sayin’,” he jabs softly as he pats both your ass cheeks. His eyes crinkle at the corner, and he's got a secret smile on his face, proud of how he made you not only smile, but laugh, despite the hell trip you’re on. Maybe he’s not as helpless as he thought.

His features suddenly harden, eyes narrowed as they dart down to your stomach, a pointed finger now prodding the spot below your bellybutton.

“Now back to you,” he growls, you giggle, and he has to fight to keep a straight face and his voice especially low and warning as he continues, “You leave my girl alone now. Or else I’ll personally come down there and take care of you, Tom Cruise style. You hear me you evil little bitch?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J/NOTES May Dean bring some relief to all of you poor, fellow victims of Uterus Lilith. <3

And thank you, @ambiguous-avery for your help with the correct name for the shower head lol 😌

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[waynes-readingverse]

Wrath - Soldier Boy (smut)

Requested by @waynes-multiverse for my Deadly Sins challenge. I missed writing for him, this was so much fun! Please like and reblog it you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Ben thinks the reader betrayed him, all because of some stupid joke Butcher made. But he can’t stay angry at her for long, especially when he sees what his anger does to her needy body

Warnings: 18+, pwp, smut, oral (f), face sitting, fighting, Soldier Boy being himself

Pairing: Soldier Boy x fem!reader (1k words)

The slap echoed through her apartment, a sound so loud, she feared it could wake her neighbours. Her hand was aching, pulsing painfully, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing it to him, not when he had spoken to her with words so vile, she had wanted to rip his tongue right out of his mouth.

“How fucking dare you!” Anger dripped from her voice while her fiery eyes kept staring at Ben. His tongue kissed his teeth, hair falling into his face while he let go of a humourless laugh. “How dare you accuse me of this, you fucking asshole!”

“Careful, doll.” It was a warning she chose to ignore - especially now when he had just accused her of working against him behind his back, spurred on by some bullshit joke Butcher had made without understanding how easily Ben’s trust issues could resurface. Just as she inhaled some air to throw another string of curses at him, his hand shot out to grasp her face, fingers painfully digging into her cheeks. “You’re not in any position to raise your fucking voice at me.”

“Fuck you! I gave everything for you, you fucking asshole! And now you think I betrayed you? Just because you can’t take a fucking joke?” He moved before she could even blink, thrown to the mattress of their shared bed. Her body bounced as it came in touch with the soft material, wide, angry eyes set on his face. She hated that the heat between her thighs began to rise, hated that the sight of his angry features made her walls clench around nothing.

“It’s time we shut that loud mouth of yours, doll. I’m fucking tired of your bitching ass.” He was on (y/n) moments later, eyes no longer fuelled by the wrath he had felt the second he had picked up on Butcher’s joke, but by the burning desire she was all too used to by now. Ben’s hand was between her thighs, grinning as he felt the heat radiating off of her as if she had been left out in the sun for hours. “I should have known that fighting with me turns you into a horny mess. I bet that pussy of yours is already dripping for me.”

Her trousers were ripped off of her legs, exposing her soaked panties to his twinkling eyes. The groan that left Ben made her thighs tremble, unable to remember the angry words burning on the tip of her tongue. All she was focused on was Ben’s touch, the way he gripped her tight enough to remind her that he’d always have the upper hand when it came to their time behind closed doors, the way he ripped her panties in half only to stare down on her naked lower body.

“Prettiest fucking sight I’ve ever seen.” His murmurs made heat crawl up her thighs. But before (y/n) could get lost in the sensation, Ben had flipped them around, leaving her straddling his chest. “Sit on my face, doll.”

The way Ben rasped out the words made her halt for a second. She looked at him, into the eyes that have seen so much destruction but still looked at her with something she couldn’t help but describe as love. It somehow seemed as if an apology was swimming in his pupils, nothing he’d voice out loud, but give room for in his actions.

Without a word of protest, (y/n) crawled up to sit on his face, feeling his hot breath clash against her needy heat. With her hands placed on the headboard, she held on as strong arms found their way around her thighs to properly pull her down. Ben’s tongue met her warm skin, groaning at the taste of her arousal, which made the vibrations of his sounds roll through her body.

“Fuck, Ben, feels so good.” She hated how easily she gave in, hated to practically feel his smirk against her skin, but at that moment she couldn’t care. All she needed was his touch. All she needed was to feel that orgasm he’d surely push through her system within a few moments. Her body was his hostage, mind and hearts connected even in the moments where they felt the need to kill one another.

His tongue dipped into her tightness, fucking her for a second before he sucked on her bundle of nerves. Ben loved to turn her into a moaning mess, set on pushing her over the edge with his tongue before he’d use her body as an outlet for his anger, fucking her all through the night. The strong muscle moved with a purpose, set on pulling all the strength from her until there was nothing left to fight with.

Moans clawed through her, filling the bedroom over and over again until her orgasm began to flush through her. (Y/n)’s body was shaking, eyes rolling back into her head while tightening her grip on the headrest. Ben kept sucking on her clit, prolonging the sensation as if it was his own kind of torture. Which it undoubtedly was, an outlet for the anger he was only slowly getting rid of.

“You taste so sweet, doll, making a fucking mess on my face huh?” He helped her down and rolled her onto her back for his eyes to find her wide ones. (Y/n)’s heart was still racing, pounding in her chest as if she had just run a marathon.

“Ben,” she panted his name, hand reaching for his to feel the calloused fingertips pressed against hers. “Do you really think I’d ever betray you?”

For a second, he kept quiet. All Ben did was stare down at her, until he pressed a harsh kiss against her lips. Her hands found the back of his neck, holding him as he rolled on top of her to press his bulge against her heat.

“You’re making a whipped pussy out of me, doll. But I’ll fucking smash the head of the cumguzzler and the British fucker in for fucking with me.”

[waynes-readingverse]

IF YOU LEAVE

Chapter 2: Left of Center

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

In the spring of 1988, Dean meets the girl of his dreams. He just doesn't know it yet. 3.5k words

Tags: Dean as a teenager (he’s a bit of a dirtbag), Bobby trying to parent, language, flirting, 80s & 90s pop culture references

Mood-board by @chevroletdean for #chevroletdean’s 500 😘

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March, 1997

Being back at Bobby’s is exactly as Dean remembers it. Either the Sioux Falls house is stuck in some time loop or the objects and dust littered throughout the rooms are stuck with glue or something else. Anything’s plausible.

Even the liquor bottles and trash don’t appear to have moved over the last nine years, though he knows that’s not true. He was here two weeks ago when John arranged all this. He saw both men drink from the bottle of Jack still on the kitchen table as they discussed his life and future.

The whole situation bites. Sucks. He should be out there helping find whatever killed his mom, but they say they know better. That he needs an education. And if he doesn’t play house with Sam and Bobby? Then he loses the car, and he’s not losing the car.

It’s extortion. The threat, insulting. Nobody puts Baby in a crusher. 

Besides, John already handed over the keys on his birthday. She’s been in his name ever since. That’s two whole months, give or take, and there’s just gotta be some hoodoo superstition against giving someone something, then taking it back, right?

He pulls her into the carpark, furthest as he can away from all the Civics and Bugs taking up the asphalt. Shifts her into P. Cuts the engine, and that’s when he first hears the trills, grunts and hoots from his soon-to-be peers. 

Just great. This place is a zoo. No wait, zoo animals are better behaved. Hell, he’d prefer a haunted, crazy-house 

There’s the jocks with their green and gold sports-team jackets. The cheerleaders, matching them, but with hot, perky tits, and gloss, not so bad. The dweebs, Sammy’s crowd, and the loner kids paving their own way at the back of the pack, heads down in books and Game Boys. They make the stoners look alive, and, no; you know what, they might actually be alright. He’d rather be playing a bit of Zelda right about now, too. 

Still, he can’t. John threw the last ‘64 he rented in the trash. Luckily, they skipped that town soon after and he didn’t have to pay for the late fees. Like he would’ve. 

With a heavy sigh, his fingers grip the lip of his backpack, dragging it out of the car with him, flinging the weight of his text-books over his shoulder, pulling the muscle.

“Dude, that your ride?” someone asks, but he ignores them, and elbows tucked in at his side, pushes through the horde or hormones and sweat to the office, well away from whoever that was.

It’s best to just get this over with.

“Name?” the admin assistant, Mrs Heady, asks down her rectangle glasses. 

Her name tag says her first name’s Beverly, but they just met and it’s too soon for a first-name basis, and a grin tugs at Dean’s mouth. “Whatever you want it to be, sweetheart,” he says.

He can’t help himself. Not when a group of pretty cheerleaders stand right behind him, giggling and shaking their pom-poms. It’s a crime they’re allowed to wear such short skirts to school, but at least them being up close makes his day somewhat better. 

Luckily, this time, he’s learned something from John. How to conceal his…gun, because the girls giggle louder and it goes straight there.

He turns around and winks at the blonde closest to him. 

She blushes. Turns in turn to her friends and shakes with laughter. Lips glossy and pursed and eyes fixed on him as she whispers something to the girl with the ringlets. He wags his brows at her.

“Hi,” he mouths, but the third girl pushes them to the corner next to some trophies covered in dust, and—

“Son. I need your name.” Mrs Heady snaps him out of his trance with a poke from something he only feels on instinct from his jacket, shifting ‘round his ribs. 

His reflexes are too sharp, though, and now more eyes are on him and the way he holds the ruler she had hidden behind her desk in his hands. Vice-like grip, looking like a prayer over the self defence it’s meant to be.

“Winchester,” he gives, and lets go of the damned thing to hold his arms by his sides. He shrinks into his jacket. Shoulders droop, chin dips. “Dean.” He clears his throat. 

More giggles in the background retrieve his smirk. 

“Dean,” she says, then repeats, again, and again as she flicks through her files only to find his name on top in the end, anyway. “Here we are. Mrs Truman’s homeroom. B - twelve. You’ve got music up first.”

She hands him a timetable. He glances over it. Math, biology, English. Just great. Two months of this. 

He scrunches the paper and shoves it into his backpack so he can round up the ladies. “So,” he takes a couple of steps closer and loops his arm over the girl with the ringlets’ shoulders. “Care to show a guy around the school?”

Dean’s cheek still rings where cheerleader two slapped him. He nurses it in his left hand as he opens the door with his right, stepping into his homeroom with a little more apprehension than he cares to admit. 

It’s musky here. As dusty as the trophies in the office, only full of more kids, all staring at him as he walks over to the teacher, also looking him up and down. 

Okay, it’s not so different. He definitely shrinks a few more inches, and gives himself a once over, checking he’s still wearing his clothes. 

He is. So is the same blonde cheerleader sitting in the front row. Her smile, much sweeter than it was before. Her lashes batting against freckle dusted cheeks as quick as she had to have been to beat him here.

“You must be Winchester,” Mrs Truman says, and Dean brings his attention back to her with a click of his jaw. 

“Yeah.” 

“Transferred from Colorado?”

“That’s what it says.” He wrote it yesterday morning after a sharp smack from Bobby’s hand to his shoulder.  

He knows he deserved it. Sammy was only asking about John, who pissed off the second he dropped them off, leaving him to deal with the paperwork. Both of theirs.

Just as Mrs Heady had done, Truman sees him through her glasses, only she’s looking further up on account of the height difference, even without a desk. Her greying curls shake as she points to the back of the class. “Take your seat Dean.”

He winks at blondie and proceeds down the canyon of desks and the backpacks at their owners’ feet to the sole remaining seat. It creaks as he slings his weight into it. Groans as he stretches his legs out. His sneaker taps the chair in front. Peachy. 

Most eyes revert to the blackboard at the front, but one girl’s gaze lingers longer than the rest. Her brows furrowed in concentration before he raises his at her. 

It’s not flirtatious. More of a ‘what’re you looking at,’ kind of vibe, and really, what is she looking at? He’s got nothing on his face, though he wipes it just to make sure. Palm covering the smirk from her attention, scratching over the stubble on his chin that’s already regrown. His nose tingles under the weight of it, but it means little. 

She would too if she had an audience, yet her stares continue throughout the day like she has none. Done when she thinks he’s not watching. 

He is. He’s just better at hiding it.

She does it during music. Third and fourth period, too. He’d say she’s following him, but of course, she has a schedule of her own. She has to. It’s just a small high school. Doesn’t make it any less constricting. 

His nose tingles constantly. The grape jelly at lunch lingers in his gut along with his gun from the cheerleaders, and still she stares every so often with that same crinkle of her brows. It’s like she’s never seen a dude in a leather jacket before. Never seen a car as cool as his. 

As the week rolls on, though, she blends into the crowd. At least, he doesn’t notice her stares any longer, too busy with his own on cheerleader two. 

Her name is Melinda. Her ringlets, natural. Rack is too. Dean cops a feel when she helps him catch up on his biology between fifth and sixth in the janitor’s closet on the second Wednesday. He pays her back with a hickey on her right shoulder. 

“Mark’s having a party Friday,” she whispers into his ear. Hand grips his arm when he swirls his tongue to soothe the reddened skin.

“Good for him.” His fingers squeeze her, storing away the feel of the muscle bouncing back for future use. 

She scoffs and nudges him off. Said something, too, but Dean’s fixed on the way her lip shines under what little light the bulb overhead is giving. He leans closer in and pulls the bottom one between his own to taste more cherry. Feels the warmth bubble in his gut.

“Dean.” She smacks him this time. It would pinch, but the leather of his jacket softens the blow.

“What?”

“I’m asking if you wanna go with me. It could be fun.”

He wants to roll his eyes, and he almost does, but he knows doing so will stop him from getting any further with this girl, and he’s worked so hard to get her here. Listening to her talk about Leo and some song about Barbies. He forced himself to tune in to the local radio station and all he learned was that some guy, with a voice that sounded like a chain smoker, wanted Barbie to party.

Not him. Nope. The music they all listen to is trash, and he is not going to surround himself with it on a Friday night just to get some action. His hand’ll do just fine with the memories of her tit.

“Or we could hang out. Just me and you.” His lips nip at her again. “Brady Point.”

“Braden,” she says with a whine. and that click girls do when they’re trying to be angry. It’s cute. 

“Yeah.” He swoops back in. 

“But my friends will be there.” 

And this is going nowhere.

Her eyes are as still as the rest of her, holding him as if she’d physically reached in and grabbed them. Neither blinks, but Dean tries to convince her he’s more interesting than a party at Marks. 

Turns out he’s not, and he’s left to his own devices Friday night, lounging ‘round Bobby’s, cleaning his colt.

“Did John give ya a curfew I should know about?” his ‘uncle’ says across from him. Bottle of beer in his hand. 

Just as he did in the janitor’s closet with Melinda, Dean doesn’t blink when he looks back at him. He places the barrel down, reaches for the oil and busies his hands once again. 

It’s not like he wants to be here. He’d still rather be out on the road with John, even though he threatened to take the car. At least he’d be doing something useful with his time. Algebra ain’t going to help him gank no ghost. Don’t get him started on music theory or the essay due Tuesday morning.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Bobby takes a swig and stands with a loud scrape of his chair over the floor. The floorboards continue to protest as he pads his way to the fridge for another. The creak of the door and the rattle of glass is obvious enough, but what Dean doesn’t expect is to be handed one, too, when he returns. 

“Even Sam’s out with the friends he made.” Bobby glares at him over the bottle, twists the cap and flings it on the table. 

Dean does the same. 

He’s mid sip when Bobby sits back down and asks, “Weren’t you seeing that cheerleader? Melissa?” 

The cold brew goes down the wrong pipe, and his fist whacks the top of his sternum. The thump drowned out by his splutter and wheeze. How the hell does he know that? Unless…Sammy. That’s the last time he picks him up from school. Kid can ride his bike, rain or shine.

He looks up at Bobby, still waiting for him to be done. His beady eyes under his cap and the specks of grey in his beard continue to point at him. 

“What do you want me to say?” Dean dares before another mouthful. Slower this time. Letting the bubbles slide down his throat, keeping his mouth and hands occupied. 

“Nothing. Not my place to give ya advice, either.” He sighs, and Dean just knows there’s a ‘but,’ coming. “You got the chance to have a normal life for a minute. Why not enjoy it?” Bobby leans into the table. There’s a split second of grouch as his face changes and his jaw tightens, humbling his pride. “I hear that Sutton kid’s throwing a party.”

And Dean chokes again. Fucking Sam. He scowls. “You want me to go get drunk with a bunch of other kids? That what you’re saying?” 

“You telling me you’re straight-laced now? Only difference between them kids and me is they’ve got smaller prostates, and don’t need to whiz every—”

“Okay. Fine,” Dean says and gulps some more beer down. Thunks it on the table with finality and stands. He pulls his jacket on and steps over to pick up Baby’s keys from where he left them. 

But, “The hell you’re driving,” stops him in his tracks and he’s heading out the door, keyless and without another word, raising his collar up to protect his neck from the night air. The screen door slams behind him.

Now what? He doesn’t even know where the party is, let alone how he’s going to bust it to this guy’s house without his car. School’s a ten-minute drive from here, and chances are, Mark’s place is further still, and there’s no way he’s walking that far. 

He digs his boots in the dirt. Smushes the grass tufts, scattering the powder, blackened by the sky, and looks around. Cars, whole ones, shells of them, and stars as far as the eye can see surround him. But also under the shed, poking out behind the pole closest to him, the rim of a thin tire catches his eye. 

It’s the same place they used to keep their bike, not Sam’s new one - he stole that - but the one Bobby fixed up all those years ago. 

Of course, he’s grown, but the thing looks tiny. Creaks under his hands when he tugs it out. The bars are rusty and he can feel the coarse, flaky metal against his fingertips. Even the rubber handles have disintegrated. 

Out of its confines, he lifts his leg over and straddles the middle bar. Wheels it back and forth under him. He places his ass on the seat, and, yeah, there’s no way he can ride this thing like this, but if he stands, it’s possible. 

Shaky.

Rickety.

Yet before he knows it, he’s peddling down the path just the same. Gravel flicks up against his jeans, but it’s freeing. That wind in his hair. Breeze on his cheeks. The way his jacket swings behind him like a cape as he leans over the handlebars. The same ones Sammy used to ride on. 

Laughter. Fun. Bat signals. Ninja turtles. His mind goes back to a time when he shared it all with you that one spring. What was he, nine?

Huh. It’s been a while. He wonders what happened to you? Did you skip town? Do you go to school with him now, and he just hasn’t run into you yet? 

Maybe you’re at the party? One of Melinda’s friends, though you would’ve said something if he knew them, and none of their names match yours. Not even the middle name Mary, like your mom. You sure were long winded. Could blow the biggest bubbles in your shakes. 

God, he’s a dweeb. His nostalgia, pulling at his heart strings, buzzing his nose, and steering the bike to the old arcade ‘cause why not. 

Whirs. Dings. Whistles. Like Bobby’s, it hasn’t changed one bit. The jingles made by synthesisers are as familiar as Baby’s rumble. The soundtrack trying to overcome it all hasn’t let up its 80s tunes either, and Dean strides through the tinted doors to the riff of Kenny Loggins’ Danger Zone. He’s pumped.

Nope. Nothing’s changed, alright. 

There’s a musk to the place that he’s never been able to put his finger on, but one that’s popped up throughout his life. It’s a taste. A burn in his nostrils from dust and mould, sweaty palms, and old money that’s spent most of its life being jammed into the pockets of little boys.

Speaking of, he reaches deep into his and pulls out his leather wallet. Flips it open. Stops the just-in-case condom he keeps in there from falling out. He’s prepared, and he’s got plenty of dollar bills ready to change over.

He smooths one out, chuckles at the joke he’s made about rubbing that something else instead, and feeds the edge into the slot. Only has him grinning more. The thrill and rattle of money coming out is alright, too, and the closest to the feel of Vegas he’s gonna get without a fake ID and a broken razor.

Coin laden, he heads for Donkey Kong, the first thing he recognises - if only the sucker knew he wasn’t the main attraction any more. He bites his tongue with his newest coin-slot joke, is relieved for a moment that these things don’t spit out white tickets, and hits start.

It’s like riding the bicycle. All floods back. He even gets to the second level on the first go, but then Mario drops the hammer on himself and then is hit by a barrel. Totally not his fault. Totally, he tries again.

It mightn’t be as advanced as modern, 3D Mario or Zelda, but there’s an addiction for sure. He plays another, and a few more than he’s willing to admit before moving on to the next one. Has a go at all his favourites. Loses to some punk-ass junior on Time Crisis. 

“Real guns don’t work like that,” he spits over Bon Jovi’s ‘Shot Through the Heart’, and heads to the snack bar. Another piece of nostalgia, Red Vines, call his name.

By now it’s getting close to nine. Not late for a guy with no curfew, but late enough that the younger kids are calling it quits, and sweet, zero lines. 

He steps up to the counter, pulls out his wallet again and looks straight into the eyes of the girl with the goofy hat. She’s not wearing it now, though. Hair pulled up off her face and neck. He just recognises the furrowed brow, and his raise in unison. 

Great. “Hey,” he says. Mutters, more like. 

He avoids her stare and concentrates on the candy before him, picking up two packets of the red licorice and a box of Milk Duds. “Can I get a root beer, too?” He smiles out of politeness, but it’s reserved, and lacks its usual charm. He straightens when she continues to stare and startles as much as she does when she realises.

“Ah, sure.” She turns on the soundtrack’s newest changeover, a slow synthetic drumbeat that’s as almost familiar as the way her hairline pulls at her neck below her pink blouse. 

It can’t be. It’s too coincidental. He finds that bike only to think of the girl he once knew, and there she is, just like that? All this talk of hoodoo, but it is the same town, the same arcade?

Nah. Coincidence. That’s all this is. Pure coincidence. These thoughts and memories about the girl he once knew messing with his brain more and more…until she turns around again and he really looks at her. At you.

He looks at you. 

And if this all hasn’t wigged him out already, the guy, swooning over the stereo says something about always being friends someday.

His finger points in your direction and it’s not just for telling you what else he wants to buy. 

You blink. Those eyes. Those brows. 

“You’re—”

“Hi Dean,” you say with a thin smile, and then, as if his recognition fuels you, that confident tone he’s just remembered, the one that once took his juice box, has you adding, “Took you long enough.”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Am I running with that one random line Dean made about Zelda, somewhere in the show? You bet I am ✌️

I know I put five chapters down in the Masterlist, but I ended this chapter earlier than intended because it seemed like a better spot than I’d planned, so there might be another yet, time will tell.

Did you know a Dean in high school? Did you date someone like him? I had way too much fun writing him as a horny teenager 😂 let’s see how they get along now 😘

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If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[waynes-readingverse]

IF YOU LEAVE

Chapter 1: Pretty in Pink

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

In the spring of 1988, Dean meets the girl of his dreams. He just doesn’t know it yet. 2k words

Tags: fluff, angst, young Sam and Dean, slow(ish) burn romance, childhood sweethearts, friends to lovers, 80s, 90s, season three, spans three decades, eventual smut, Rufus - crotchety at any age

@chevroletdean is celebrating 500 followers with a writing challenge! Liane made the beautiful mood-board above for me to work with. You can find more about the Milestone Celebration HERE. I’m gonna try and finish this before the 18th, but consider this chapter my piece for the challenge 😘

Next Chapter

April 1988

The first time Dean saw you was in third grade, Mrs Petersen’s class, but it wasn’t until during recess on the second day that you spoke. Your hair in pigtails, him with dirt on his knees, and a simple exchange over a juice box, because you were yet to learn how to filter.

At that point, as children often do, you didn’t think to ask for each other’s names, and when both boys walked through Bobby’s front door that afternoon, and he asked “How was school? Did you talk t’any other kids today?” He got a smile and a grunt as both boys ran up the stairs to their room.

“That great, huh?” He scratched his forehead under his cap, and went back to the kitchen to continue supper, and the hex bag he was making up for Rufus. The idjit had shown up on his doorstep earlier that day.

“I thought you didn’t have any Rugrats?” Rufus thumbed to the hall he’d come out of. A bottle of Jack in the other.

“I don’t,” Bobby said. But just as Dean didn’t realise the significance of you in his life at the time, Bobby hadn’t realised the boys in his either.

Dinner was simple that night. Bobby wasn’t a chef, but he was determined to give the Winchester boys something normal for once in their young lives. It’s why he’d enrolled them in the local school in the first place. Bought them bags and shoes. New clothes for Sammy because Dean’s hand-me-downs were far too big for the little tyke.

He’d even taken them to a barber, somewhere he never took himself, and signed Dean up for the school lunch program.

Yeah, he was growing soft. Lucky he had Rufus to point out the fact further with his outright stares and grins.

He was just doing a good deed. Looking after the future. Wasn’t that a part of being regular folk? Never mind the lady ringing up his groceries at the supermarket had frowned at him when he didn’t have a valid excuse for why they weren’t at school that day or two days before that.

Balls. That’s what it was. And he’d kick Rufus’ if he were close enough to reach with his boot.

Comments about him getting old, also balls. If Rufus was dumb enough to keep hounding him, he deserved a gun to his sack. Don’t worry ‘bout his steel caps.

He cleared his throat. Took a swig of beer and then settled his eyes on Dean. The kid was a smartass, but he was respectable, and had to open up, eventually. “So, did you learn anything today?” he asked. Tried to force a smile onto his face.

But Dean only shrugged, still defiant he should’ve been out there with his father.

“Well, what about your teacher? What’s her name?” He knew she was a she from the paperwork, Mrs Peters, or something like that. He just didn’t bother to remember in front of Rufus.

It didn’t matter though, because Dean shrugged again and shoveled another bite of meatloaf into his mouth.

Kids.

“My teacher is Miss Reeves,” young Sam piped up. Kid was smart for a four-year-old.

“Yeah? And what’d you do with her?” It’d been a long time since Bobby had graduated high school. Had no idea what kids in preschool did, besides the ABCs, he supposed. “Did you, ah,” he looked at Rufus for guidance, but the idjit had none. “Did you colour…or…sing a song?”

“I used blue, and red, and green for the grass I draws.” Sam beamed.

Okay… “That’s great, kid,” Bobby said.

Rufus downed another shot of Jack. The glass, sharp against the table when he hammered it onto the linoleum top. “Real great.” His tongue clicked. “What about you Dean? You colour, too?”

But when Dean said nothing, “Didn’t think so,” tumbled outta Rufus’ mouth.

“You could’ve given him a chance to answer.”

“Didn’t need to. He’s not gonna. Look at him.” Rufus swiped his hand out in front. His brow raised when Dean opened his mouth, though, and then he looked interested.

“I met a girl,” he said, resorting back to his former slouching when he noticed both men frozen and staring at him.

It was the loudest he’d spoken since living under Bobby’s roof. The first time he’d shown emotion other than attitude, and Bobby couldn’t help but smile. Until he thought harder about the issue.

Did he have to give these kids the bird and the bees talk, too? Hell no, he wasn’t!

His fingers scratched through his beard. That smile of his fell to a thin, pursed line. Bit of teeth spiking through the gap.

“A girl, huh? Like a girlfriend?”

“No!” Dean lost his chin to his neck. “She’s my friend, and she’s a girl.”

Simple. Obvious. Bobby felt the fool. Until he asked the all important question.

“What’s her name?”

What was your name?

Dean couldn’t answer that because he didn’t know. You were a girl, you’d been nice to him, and you didn’t like orange juice. That was the extent of it. You’d played your game after that. The one where he chased you, and you ran, much like what hunters did. Only, you weren’t a monster, and he didn’t hunt.

Not allowed to. Too young to do anything more than babysit Sammy and stay with Uncle Bobby.

He knew they weren’t related.

When he stepped into the classroom the next morning, books in hand, his eyes swept the room. No, he wasn’t interested in the US map, or the globe in the corner. He didn’t care that Mrs Petersen was scribbling sums on the board ready for the day’s lessons or for the tall boy with the extra tires whose farts created a war zone as he walked through the dust cloud.

No. He focused on you. Hair once again in pigtails, hot pink t-shirt and matching nails, which he thought little of because it was all too…girly, but then you smiled at him and his nose tingled as a result.

“Hi Dean,” you even said, and it was all he could do to not smile back as he took his seat in the row behind you and the Bat-signal drawn onto your right heel.

He needed to learn your name.

Of course, to a nine-year-old, “You like Batman?” was far more important. He asked you that when he sat down next to you at lunch that same day. The pale green plastic of his lunch-tray, just fitting in between yours and the boy’s to his left.

Your look of disgust was apparent even from your side profile, and unlike his smile, Dean couldn’t hold back his laughter when you turned. Not only did you spit out the word, “No,” but a sliver of strawberry jello came with it.

You wiped at your chin and poked your tongue out, which made him laugh harder.

“I like Michelangelo more, but my brother says he’s stupid.” Your head and eyes dropped to look under the table. “Didn’t like it when I told him the Ninja Turtles would beat Batman up.”

“Well, Leonardo might,” Dean said, and you frowned. “With his help,” he added.

His nose tingled again.

There was lots of that over the course of the week and the one that followed. Dean learned your name, and that your mom’s middle one was Mary - it only took a couple of extra days - but from the moment you bonded over your favourite cartoons, the two of you became inseparable, and Bobby was pleased.

Both Winchester boys had a chance at normal life. Well, semi-normal due to the talismans and arsenal in his basement.

And while Rufus refused to show his face again, as long as Sam and Dean lived under his roof, Bobby didn’t mind. He rather enjoyed that. But it didn’t stop other hunters and their problems from showing up on his doorstep, and on one particular Saturday morning after hearing from Bill Harvellle, he dug deep into his wallet for a couple of dollar bills and handed them to Dean.

“Why don’t you take your brother and that friend of yours to the arcade or somethin’,” he said, then narrowed his brows at the boy. “Call the house line ‘round five. Make sure it’s safe to come home.”

Dean took the money and shoved it in his front pocket. “Yes, sir.” He nodded once, and then grabbed Sammy by the hand and pulled him to the door.

The air was warm when they stepped outside. As Dean always did, he put the needs of his baby brother first, pulling off the four-year-olds jacket, then tying it ‘round his waist. He did the same with his and they were off. Sam on the handlebars of the bike Bobby had fixed up for them, Dean peddling with all his might into town.

It was hard work, and by the time they reached your house, he was out of breath, but it was worth it to feel the wind in his hair.

Cheeks puffed, neck hot and sweaty under the collar of his T-shirt, he knocked on your front door with a tight fist, and took a step back.

The dark wooden floorboards creaked underneath his sneakers. Footsteps from the other side moved closer, and he was soon met with your grinning smile and a bright pink scrunchie in your hair.

He scrunched his nose up, but that turned upside down when he saw the Ninja Turtle action figures in your hands.

“Hi Dean,” you said, peeking around him to look at Sam standing next to their bike. “You guys wanna come in and play?”

But they didn’t. Just as Bobby had suggested, Dean had other plans, and after checking in with your mom, the three of you headed to the local arcade.

Whirs. Dings. Whistles. The electronic piano jingles and a rocking soundtrack that tried its best to overcome everything else greeted you when the tinted glass doors rattled open. Lights, as far as the eye could see, of neon pinks, greens and blues and a carpet, littered with stains of mud and grass from the other kids already there, matched all that was overhead and surrounding.

Sammy clung to Dean even tighter. His little hands tugged on the base of his shirt. While on the other side of him, your face reflected the excitement hammering up his legs.

Until this stage in his young life, Dean had only been to an arcade once. The lucky timing of a classmate’s birthday party at a different school he spent all of two weeks in, well before being dumped here at Bobby’s.

That place was awesome, but this? It was awesome, too. There was just something about not being accompanied by adults that made it better.

Pacman and Donkey Kong called his name. Q-Bert, whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Space Invaders. Pin-ball and claw machines.

“Look! They have a Ninja Turtles one!” You pointed towards the back where a large machine plastered with their now fluorescent green faces stood out amongst the rest. “C’mon Sammy.” You grabbed the youngest boy’s hand and ripped him away from Dean.

“Hey, wait,” he called, but under all the noise, it was a lost cause.

With a huff, and one eye on you both at all times, Dean jogged over to the change machine by the door and swapped his money for quarters. You guys were the worst. Annoying. Impatient. Yet the way you grabbed the chair for Sam, and held it steady for him while he climbed up, had Dean’s nose buzzing again.

His nose buzzed like that every time he saw you. Playing games, eating lunch in the cafeteria. Riding your bikes through the streets of Sioux Falls, side by side, that same wind in your hair.

It’s just a shame it didn’t last long.

Never did.

Sam and Dean Winchester flew through towns as many times as there were months in the year, sometimes more. The Spring of ‘88 a rarity. Their stint at the local school and preschool, even rarer, and one soon forgotten.

Until 1997 when Dean found himself enrolling at another school in Sioux Falls.

He didn’t know the significance of that either, but he soon would. You’d make him.

Next Chapter

Am I shooting myself in the foot by releasing this part when I haven’t finished the rest? Probably, but I’m used to it. We’ll be diving into three stages in Dean and readers life in this one - up next - 1997.

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