spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 1

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 3.3k words

Chapter Warnings: angst, language, masterbation, references to physical abuse & references to sexual assault/non-con, injuries to reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support and interest when I posted the Masterlist for this series.

Please double check the warnings there and at the top of each chapter before you read - I can’t stress this enough!

I hope you enjoy the ride! - Beth ❤️

Next Chapter

The thing about mates was, Dean didn’t want one. His knot was satisfied with the occasional one-night stand to warm his bed and the movies he kept on his laptop that warmed his hand, and he, well…he simply didn’t deserve one.

All his life, people had come and gone, whether by choice or other means, and he understood why. He was far too dangerous, a grunt - he’d learnt both time and time again. From his mother, to his father, to Bobby, the list went on. No matter the person, they always got hurt or worse, and he didn’t need that risk. Hell, he didn’t need the responsibility.

So when he encountered you during a hunt, he was, to say the least, surprised.

You were everything he could ever want in a mate, if ever he’d allow himself the pleasure. But it was what you embodied, not who you were. He didn’t know a lick about you, and even if he could get close enough to learn, he wouldn’t, because you belonged to somebody else.

The mark was clear on your scent gland. Then again, so was the soul mark that connected him to you.

His eagle eyes couldn’t miss his initials sitting right there below your clavicle. They appeared the second he’d touched you, making him thankful for all the layers he wore on the job.

He could still see them, and you, in the rearview as he drove away from where he and Sam had dropped you off. Your scent still clung to the back seat, and him, mixing your spiced cinnamon with the leather, gunpowder and motor oil he surrounded himself with.

It was wonderful until it wasn’t. The constant reminder of what he was allowing to slip through his fingers soured his already pissy mood. Yet he didn’t want you. Nope. Nuh-uh.

“You good?” Sam asked from the passenger seat, still stealing his own glances like some unclaimed omega at a bar, pre-heat. It was getting weird, and Dean chose to focus on the road ahead.

“Yeah,�� he said, though his hands gripped the leather-bound wheel tighter, turning his knuckles white as the bone beneath them. He was good, and the sooner they left this shithole of a town, the better.

He cranked up the stereo, stopping only when the dash shook to the bass of Metallica’s Enter Sandman. His car, his music, his rules. It was everything he needed right now at that moment. It was all he could do to drown out the tingles and pangs that continued to churn in his gut and make his knot twitch.

The second he’d put Baby in park, he was up, out, and crossing the lot, heading straight for the dive they were staying at.

Sam’s heavy footsteps chased after him, but his were much faster. He swung open the door, marched across the tattered carpet of their twin room, and slammed the bathroom one behind him before Sam had even stepped off the gravel.

The force of the frayed timber hitting the frame unfixed decades-old dust, sending the particles nowhere but down and straight into his nose as he tried deep breathing to calm himself. It wasn’t working. Nothing was.

“Dammit.” He thumped the wall with his fist, only to inhale more crap as Sam’s voice filtered through the cracks, calling out his name. He just wouldn’t drop it.

“I’m fine,” Dean spat. Of course he wasn’t. Sam was right there on the other side when all he wanted was a moment to himself to collect his thoughts, vent his frustrations. Deal with the strain in his pants, fast becoming painful, and…fuck it. His damn instincts were actually worse than Sammy.

He fumbled with his buckle and popped the button. Moisture already pooled at his tip and when he pushed the denim down and reached in to fist himself, his fingers ran straight through the warm sticky mess with a satisfying tug.

He moaned. Cursed inwardly because of it. Sam’s funk still lingered on the other side and he was bound to notice the pleasurable sound and give him shit for it. So Dean held his breath.

"You know I saw it too," Sam said.

“So?” ‘Course he knew. It was right fucking there. The vamps had torn your clothes, leaving little to his imagination. Your neck. Your claim. The edge of your rack.

"So. She's your soulmate. It's normal to…have these feelings."

Feelings? He didn’t have feelings. “She’s nothin’ to me.” His alpha just wanted its knot wet. Just because you were his soulmate didn’t change a thing. He couldn’t have you. Any piece of wanting he had for you was superficial. Pure lust at best.

"Okay. Go have fun with your hand, then. See if I care," Sam said, right on cue.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean whispered.

And, "Jerk," came the usual retort.

He rolled his eyes.

With his palm still holding the weight of himself, he stepped over to the shower and turned the handle as far as it would go. The taps gurgled and air spat from the spouts in the metal head before the hot stream of water burst through.

His brow quirked. He wasn’t the only thing pent up around here.

His boots were the first to go, kicking them off to thud against the tiles. Followed by his socks, pants, boxers and top layers. A heavy jacket, his current favourite flannel and black undershirt to match. All discarded to reveal the thing he’d been dreading to see.

A soul mark. Your initials there, as expected, above his anti-possession tattoo.

He stepped up to the basin and the small rectangular mirror covered in rot and took a closer look. His fingers traced the surrounding skin, still holding a reddish hue.

It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t unnoticeable either, which meant yours was, too.

Had you felt them yet? Seen them? Touched them? Had your mate?

His heart thumped deep in his chest. If he had a mate and she came home with another alpha’s initials on her body, how would he react, ‘cause he doubted he’d be happy. Angry? Maybe. Calm? Definitely not.

But he couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t do that to himself. In his mind, you were loved and well taken care of by whoever he was, just as you deserved and he didn’t.

Whatever his name, he wasn’t angry. Whatever his name, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t bothered to find out thirty minutes ago, and he never would. Allowing himself to keep only your image and your scent that lingered on his clothes.

What was wrong with him?

Under the warm pressure, he washed the blood, sweat and dirt from the hunt off his broad frame. A generous amount of Sam’s body wash helped.

He closed his eyes and brought his soap covered fingers back to pump his hardened flesh as visions of your mouth wrapped around it urged him on.

He twisted his wrist and grunted. He’d seen your hands. That unscathed skin and pretty manicured nails would look better than what he was working with. Your tongue, licking his head and shaft just the way he liked it in tandem, more so.

He’d grip his hands through your hair and encourage you to take him deeper. His tip would hit the back of your throat and you’d gag, but damn, it’d be sexy. Sweet like velvet.

Fuck.

Dean braced himself against the tiles and pumped harder. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. His knot was thickening already, and grunts escaped his mouth in time to his long and precise strokes.

His hand would grip your hips over the wall he was using. The way you’d swayed them, mesmerised him, carrying you well. Those legs they were attached to would lift nicely over his shoulders, or squeeze perfectly ‘round his waist. He’d pump into your tight, slick-lined channel either way.

You’d moan for him. In that silky smooth way you’d spoken to him when you’d thanked him for saving you. Your body would exude a comforting warmth, just as it had in his arms when he’d rescued you.

The hunt had been rough on his body, but you’d be gentle - when you wanted to be.

Your hands would explore every inch of him. They’d pinch his nipples with soft fingers, rolling and twisting, pulling when you dared. Those same manicured nails would dig into his skin and leave perfect crescent moon shapes along his back.

His own fingernails dragged down his chest to mimic his mind. Over the tiny nubs they went, moving down to dance around his navel. They teased the taut flesh of his hips and scoured back over his shoulders where he imagined you’d cling to him.

If he could reach his back, he’d trail them down his spine. He’d grab his ass with both hands if it weren’t for one being occupied with drawing out the toe curling sensations on his dick.

Your scent would take over the floral notes in the soap. Dean had experienced nothing like it. He wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by it and you. If he could help it, his favourite flannel would remain as it was, unwashed, but cherished forever.

He’d save it for the next time he allowed his rut. When his balls grew heavy and his skin flamed molten hot.

If only he could sink his knot into you just once. His hand just wasn’t the same. He knew it, and the strokes he made were now shallow and sloppy as he neared his release.

“M’mega,” Dean panted. Ears hopeful to hear you calling him Alpha in return. Just once.

His fingers fumbled over the base he’d push inside you, forcing his knot as deep as it would go. He’d groan, and you’d moan as you clamped down around him, and only when you’d taken your own pleasure would he spill into you. Thick ropes of cum would paint your walls and mix with your slick. Lock you in place. Maybe give him a pup or two.

“Fuck,” he growled, spraying the tiles before him. Pups? No, he didn’t need that, and the remainder of his load thankfully dribbled over his fingers, dripping down to the shower floor below.

It wasn’t how he wanted it to be or how he thought it would be with you, but it was the relief he needed to get him through the thought that he’d be leaving this town, and you, the next day.

When Dean stepped out of the bathroom, he didn’t even look Sam in the eye to start with.

He dumped his clothes on the bed and headed straight for the fridge in the front corner of the room where the six-pack he’d bought that morning still waited for him to take another load off.

He twisted the cap, flinging it at the trash, and took his first swig before slumping into the closest chair opposite Sam. The stale air in the cushion squeaked under his weight and he smirked at the sound. “Sammy. What’d you eat?”

“Great,” Sam muttered over the top of his computer screen. Though his tone was anything but. “You ready to talk?”

“Nope.” Dean was indignant, and he popped the end of the word in finality. He took another swig and kept the lip close to his. If he was drinking, he couldn’t be talking, and that suited him fine.

Out of sight, out of mind? Out of mouth, out of… no wait. That wasn’t quite right either, and he flicked his head and the thought away.

Sam leaned back in his chair and scratched at his long locks. “You’re wearing the same shirt you gave her.”

“Okay, mom.”

Mary was still a sore spot for both of them, but when Sam insisted on talking about this fresh one, he had it coming. Who was he? The clothes police? “She only borrowed it. It’s still clean.” Dean shrugged.

“Smells like her, too.”

And he’d had enough. He clunked the glass bottle on the table and leapt to his feet. The beer would have to wait. He suddenly needed air, and the cheap brew was shit, anyway.

He walked back to the bed and snatched his jacket, flinging it around his shoulders.

A wave of your scent lifted to his nostrils as it settled on his back, and he closed his eyes.

Dammit. It was only cinnamon. Nothing special. A simple spice. So why the hell was it affecting him? Soulmate or no, he didn’t even know you, and he scowled and turned on his heels.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, but Dean was already on his way out the door.

It slammed in response as he stepped out into the night and looked around.

Now what?

Getting away from Sammy was one thing, but there was nothing to do in this town. He’d checked out the local nightlife the first night they’d arrived, and there was none… but you.

Haha. Nope. He saw what he did there.

This was fucked. He was fucked. No. Wait. He’d jerked you out of his system.

His hands tugged the collar of his jacket up around his neck, then found their way into its pockets. They fumbled over loose change in one and Baby’s keys in the other.

She was waiting for him on the other side of the lot. Her sleek black paint beckoned him to sit behind the wheel, but he turned the other way. He wasn’t one to wallow in self pity, but he would tonight.

He sunk further into his clothes and stomped across the gravel, moving towards the road.

The air was cool and crisp in his lungs. The light from the broken street lamps dim in his eyes and barely enough to show him a way, but it was perfect. Closed shop fronts meant fewer people and fewer people meant less crap to impede your scent on his clothes.

Your scent.

Yeah, okay. He was fucking stupid. Delusional even. Wallowing like this over someone he’d just met? He didn’t know you besides what he’d read on the police report, and that was a fat load of nothing.

A mate, a job, an apartment. Parents interstate.

He wouldn’t have even met you if he and Sam hadn’t taken this case. Wouldn’t have known his soul mate was mated. Wouldn’t have realised he had one. Him. Dean Winchester? With an omega as respectable and normal as you?

Yeah. This was working well. Why not think about what you were doing right now? Imagine you with him, curled up beside him on a nice comfy couch in your cozy apartment? A bed. Your nest? Warm blankets and all that other fluffy crap omegas insisted on buying themselves. The scowl he’d been wearing since Sam had tried talking to him deepened.

He wasn’t right for you, but he was a mate just the same. Your mate. And you deserved one when Dean didn’t want you. When he couldn’t afford to have you in his life. Yet, his mind kept drawing him back in. Teasing him, taunting him, dangling the golden carrot before him. Tempting him to seek you out.

Stupid brain. He should’ve bailed the second he’d dropped you off. Collected the gear and headed straight home for the bunker, but no, he just had to jack off. He’d caved. And now he was wandering around this god forsaken town because he refused to man up and just talk to Sam about it.

He couldn’t turn back, though. Not now. He couldn’t face his baby brother, just like he couldn’t face the truth that continued to dangle just beyond his conscience’s grasp.

So he continued wandering instead because that was helpful. He’d solve everything by scuffing his boots over the gravel, cement, and the odd patch of grass that covered the ground, dragging his bow legs and pride behind him.

His feet directed him left, then right. Everything he passed looked the same.

Buildings merged. Blurred in the darkness. White paint turned grey along with everything else that wasn’t lit by storefronts and their after hours emergency lights. He had no idea where he was besides having Baby’s scent behind him, and more crappy town in front.

But then an apartment block came into view that was familiar, even late at night.

Yes. The street. That car. The park on the other side of it. Fuck. How’d he even manage it? Of all the places he could’ve gone, he’d arrived back where he’d last seen you, only he wasn’t looking at a reflection in the rearview.

And he was no longer alone, either.

Forever the hunter, Dean sniffed the air, scenting the figure he’d spotted on the bench under the tree, and straight away, cinnamon collected in his nose. But so did the metallic tang of blood.

No, no. ‘No fucking way.’ You had a couple of scratches earlier, some bruising maybe, but this was different, and Dean’s fists clenched. Nails dug into the callouses lining his palms. This was fresh and teed with the stench of an alphas knot.

‘M’mega,” his inner alpha rumbled, and dammit, he’d worked so hard to keep the son of a bitch at bay. But just as it would if Sam were injured, or anyone else in their accidental pack, the scent of your blood infuriated him, and he found his feet tumbling underneath towards you.

He raced down the sidewalk. Rushed across the road. His boots pounded over the cement and bitumen with thuds that slapped his ears and jolted his legs.

What the hell were you doing out here? You shouldn’t be out here after what had just happened to you. Most civilians knew nothing of his world and the job he did in it, but you did, and you should know better. Know the dangers of being out here alone at night and…and…crying?

A lump formed in his throat. Why were you crying? Why hadn’t you showered, for that matter? Your clothes were the same ones you’d worn earlier. He noticed that the second he pulled up in front of you.

No jacket, no sweater. Shirt torn and dirt covered, but this wasn’t you. This wasn’t the omega on the police report. She was radiant and confident, even at the rundown factory. Yet now, besides the scent and the outline of your body, you were no longer there.

Why?

“Where’s your mate, omega?” Dean cursed under his breath the second the words left his mouth. His inner alpha could gnaw away at his resolve as much as it liked, but you’d never be his.

“What’re you doing here?” Your sniffle was quick and quiet. You wiped your eyes with your sleeve and looked up.

He didn’t like the tone in your voice, nor the fear that spiked in your scent when he’d mentioned him. “I asked you first,” he said and moved closer to examine your features.

Your eye was bruised and would turn black. Your mouth, barely lit in the shadows, still shimmered with blood from the cut on your bottom lip.

You didn’t have these injuries before, and though he was seething under the skin, he did his best to rein it in. With a shaky hand, he reached for your cheek. Brushed the tear you’d missed away with his thumb, and though he knew the answer, asked, “Who did this to you?”

He clenched his jaw when you shook your head.

“No one. I fell,” you said. Sucked at lying, too, but it wasn’t the time. He needed to get you outta here before your dickbag mate showed his face.

“Do you have pups?” Minus traces of an alphas ball sack, yours was the only scent surrounding you. He hoped its ‘cause you had none.

Your eyes were sullen when you shook your head,l again, and Dean’s heart raced.

For the second time since he’d known you, he lifted you in his arms and brought your tense form to his chest. You were chilled and weary. Not the way his beautiful omega should ever be around him.

His?

Fuck.

Dean was playing a dangerous game, yet his feet moved under him, towards his motel, and further away from the park where somewhere nearby, he knew you lived with the other alpha.

He didn’t want a mate, but he was fine with taking someone else’s.

Consequences be damned.

Next Chapter

We’ll be following Dean’s perspective for some time, but we will get into the readers head eventually, too. It takes two to tango after all 😉 I hope you enjoyed chapter one!

Comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated. They help turn my retail working frowns upside down.

Chapter 2: Harbouring - 28/02

“I still don’t know your name.” His boyish chuckle tethered off as your lip curled. “I’m Dean. The, ah, W stands for Winchester.”

He should’ve known yours would suit you. Everything else about you had him enamoured, so why wouldn’t it? It was perfect, swirling through the spaces in his mind and touching his lips with a pleasurable rumble when he repeated it back to you.

“Will you let me clean you up?” When you nodded, he gave you a single one back. “Then we’re gonna need a few things first.”

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

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@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

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[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

*image of Jensen Ackles is used with permission of the photographer Mandi Lea Photogtaphy.

Summary: After a significant career shift and subsequent break-up, Brandy Miller moves to Wayne County, Pennsylvania, to be closer to family. She invests in a small, sight-unseen condo in a “quiet, charming neighborhood with views of the Poconos and neighbors you can count on.” One particular neighbor seems to have a unique interpretation of what that means.

Characters: Brandy Miller x Soldier Boy, Serge Bernard, Kimiko Miyashiro (mentioned), Maggie Shaw, Annie January, Hughie Campbell, MM (mentioned), John James Davis (AKA Homelander but just as SB’s 21yo son), Butcher (mentioned)

Warnings/tags in this chapter: 18+ ONLY, sexual tension, sexual objectification, rough and degrading sex dream, alcohol, Soldier Boy is a terrible father, explicit sexual content

Words in this chapter: 3,500

Author’s notes: Soldier Boy will be referred to by many names in this fic. The full name I’ve given him is Benjamin James Davis III.

Thank you to @brrose-apothecary @stusbunker and @talltalesandbedtimestories for pre-reads and green lights!

This fills my #Inconsiderate Neighbor square for @jacklesversebingo

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST - key tracks for this chapter: "Smooth Sailing" by QOTSA and "A Mistake" by Fiona Apple

CHAPTER ONE

The last five years have been wild. A global pandemic impacted our life choices and decisions more than any other event in the previous 50 years. Career shifts, resettling in vastly different communities, honest declarations of who we are as people and who we love — these things I’ve witnessed first-hand.

I was an executive for a nationally renowned advertising agency. My partner of six years was a successful stock trader. About three weeks into our second lockdown, I realized I couldn’t stand the guy. I went through every reason why I’d have stayed for so long if he was so horrible. I wondered if he hated me too. Then one day, he told me.

“Brandy, I can’t do this anymore.”

He didn’t hate me; he just didn’t love me. He wasn’t horrible; he just wasn’t for me. 

Working remotely gave me a similarly renewed perspective on my career choice. I worked 12 hours a day from my home office overlooking Central Park, drank a bottle of wine to go to sleep, then got up the next morning to do it all over again. Meanwhile, everyone in America was tightening their purse strings on ad spend.

Now, I’m in the Honesdale borough of Wayne County, Pennsylvania, working as a freelance document review specialist. I’m single, own my two-bedroom condo outright, and spend Sundays with my sister Amber and her two teenagers over in Damascus. 

These changes introduced me to a set of concepts that I had previously denied. I thought I was happy, successful, content. 

But I’m told that a constant desire for more hinders contentment. Comparison is the thief of joy, as they say. A sense of entitlement will always bite you in the ass. A lack of gratitude prevents you from appreciating what you already have and fosters a need for something beyond.

As it happens, I have a prospective client meeting in Scranton this afternoon, and my brand-new Jeep won’t start. I guess they don’t make them like they used to. 

“Brandy, mon amie, where are you?” my friend Serge answers my call with worry in his voice.

“My truck won’t start,” I whine.

Last month, I complained to Serge and his partner-in-all-things Kimiko that government work was beginning to bore me. I like new things, which is a bummer, considering desire hinders contentment. Kimiko offered to introduce me to her brother, who works with one of the largest healthcare companies in the country. 

“Oh, cher...” Serge laments in sympathy.

“I know, I know. And this fucking podunk town’s got like two cabs and one Lyft serving the entire county.”

I roll my neck and eyes in frustration, and in my periphery, I glimpse a man inside a single garage stall working on a motorcycle. I’ve never seen him before, but judging by the military-themed tattoos, evident dexterity with the tools he’s wielding, and his proportions, he’s the ‘asshole military contractor’ my next-door neighbor, Maggie, told me about when I moved in. 

Serge frets in Frenglish on the other end of the line before returning to the point. “On se’n occupe. We will handle it.”

I watch my newly discovered neighbor deftly flex and twist and wonder if he’s as adept with other motor vehicles. “Please tell Kimiko I’m sorry and understand if this opportunity’s off the table now.”

My words are meant for Serge, but the man not 10 yards away sends me a subtle, knowing look. There’s an enduring facet of competence and perception in every flick of his eyes and wrist, every shrug of his thick, broad shoulders, and the taunting slant of his jaw. He knows I’m watching him and knows I’m in a bind. 

He pities me.

I tell Serge that I’ll let him know how things go with the car before ending the call then tentatively head toward my neighbor’s garage stall.

“Hey there, I’m Brandy.” I thumb over my shoulder, indicating the general area of my condo. “Are you BJ?”

He smirks at his greasy wrench before answering, “BJ, Soldier Boy, Captain,” then pauses as he drags his eyes from his task to pin me in place. “Take your pick, sweetheart.”

He looks me down and up, slow and heavy, licking his lips. His demeanor would be comical at best and frightening at worst if I weren’t so stunned by the sheer audacity. As he unfolds from a squat, his muscles shift and grind under his sweat-slicked skin. He wipes his filthy hands on a filthier rag and saunters toward me. I have never in my life been so blatantly objectified right to my face.

“Need a ride?” he asks, meeting my eyes again. The rounded toes of his grungy work boots tap the points of my Jimmy Choos.

“I-” I attempt to speak but don’t know what to say. I should be outraged. I should tell him he can’t just look at people like that. He can’t just invade my space.

He tilts his head, and his eyes drop to my chest. “You're all flushed, Brandy. Feeling okay?” He drops his rag to the concrete before ghosting a finger along my collarbone.

Air returns to my lungs and the flush in my chest rises up my throat to my face. I smack his hand away and take a step back. “What the fuck?! Do you always harass and assault women half your size, or is it just me?”

Centuries of gaslighting threaten to drown me from one single look. And then he speaks. “My bad. Didn’t know you were a prude.”

He raises his hands in feigned surrender before returning to his bike.

“I’m a prude because I don’t like being evaluated like a pig going to slaughter?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Listen—no harm, no foul, alright? I thought you were game; you’re not, no big deal.”

“Man, I came over here as a neighbor to introduce myself. You clearly heard part of my call and know my car isn’t starting. I thought, since you’re in here working on a motorcycle, you might also know something about cars.”

He nods. “Got it. Is that where we’re at right now? You want me to take a look at your car?”

“Jesus- what?! Are you for real?”

“No? Okay, then.” He turns his back, and I stare at him for a moment.

Thoughts swirl through my mind. Where is your spine, Brandy? Show him what you’re made of. This isn’t over until you say it is.

A slave to my guts and ego, I’m determined to re-engage. “Yes.” 

He slowly faces me again, eyebrows raised and head tilted in question. “Yes?”

“Yes. I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look at my Jeep.”

His expression shifts—softens, some might say, but his eyes remain hard and cold. “‘Course. What kinda neighbor would I be if I didn’t?”

He strides toward my two-car stall across from his, and I follow with no other excuse than my competitive spirit and morbid fascination with opposition. 

“You pay extra for two stalls?” he asks, glancing at the gym area I’ve set up beside my Jeep before rounding its hood.

From what I’ve gathered in this brief and bracing interaction, Captain BJ Soldier Boy isn’t a small-talk kind of person, but I’m not sure yet why he’s asking a simple question like that. I decide to answer as simply.

“Yeah.”

He nods and gestures to the driver’s seat. “Pop the hood.”

I watch through my windshield and the slant of space between the hood and my dash as he quickly pokes and prods at things I know nothing about. Less than two minutes later, he drops the hood shut and walks around to the open driver’s side door.  

“Try it now.” He’s rubbing his hands together and his brow is slightly furrowed like he wishes he hadn’t tossed that rag aside in his garage.

I turn the key in the ignition, and it starts with no issue. 

My morning started with limited knowledge of this man and the inner workings of my Jeep. I had a single goal in mind to expand my client portfolio. I did not grow my business, I have not learned anything new about my vehicle, and my introduction to my neighbor has provided me with very little satisfaction. 

“Coupla loose terminals. It happens with new cars. Gotta break ‘em in.”

I flick my eyes to meet his. He holds my gaze, licks his bottom lip back between his teeth, then backs away before strolling away. 

+

“He’s the fucking poster boy for misogyny.”

Maggie nods as she tops off my glass of wine. “Yeah, calling him an asshole is an insult to assholes, honestly.”

“I felt like I was transported back to the 1950s or something. He’s a caricature of misogyny.”

“The embodiment,” Maggie replies, settling back into her sofa and sipping her wine.

“Does he think that works on women? Like, are there women in his sphere who respond favorably to his behavior? He can’t be rewarded by it. Maybe he’s conducting a social experiment.”

Maggie laughs. “You’re giving him way too much credit.”

“Then why?”

Maggie stares at me for a beat. “The question is, why do you care?”

I’ve thought of nothing else since he left me in my garage yesterday morning. I felt defeated by him. Used, somehow. Inconsequential in the end.

“I hate how he made me feel.”

Maggie remains silent and intent. She’s a great listener, and she never judges.

“I had a dream about him last night.”

She nods. “And how did that make you feel?”

I shake my head and draw a deep breath. It made me feel hot and wild. I was angry and hungry for him. Or for redemption, revenge, or victory. 

“It makes no sense. We interacted for like 10 minutes and I haven’t seen him since. That’s why I care. I can’t get him out of my head. I keep thinking of what I should’ve said or done instead of standing there like a deer in headlights.”

“Don’t let your pride rule you with him. He has no morals, no decency. You won’t win.” 

“You think I’m trying to win something.” 

She’s right. Maggie and I are a lot alike, but she’s smarter and more cautious than I am. Somewhere along the line, she learned a lesson I have yet to let sink in. She learned to resist a challenge and walk away. 

“Aren’t you?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“Let’s change the subject,” Maggie suggests. “Did you get that meeting rescheduled, or is it dead?”

I fill her in on my chat with Kimiko. Kimiko’s brother Kenji was gracious enough to reschedule for next week, and I decided it best to go up the night before and spend the night with her and Serge in case I have any other car problems. 

Maggie opens a second bottle of wine and we proceed with our binge of Dead To Me on Netflix. 

+

I’m face down on my weight bench, straddling the padded seat with his fist in my hair and his cock hammering me from behind. He’s saying things to me, violent, hateful words, calling me names.

My wrists are bound, I’m blindfolded, and I am so wet. So wet from his rough hands, the way he slaps my ass and hips and pulls my hair. His voice is deep and rich, and it dominates the atmosphere and my mind. 

He’s had me so many times already, and he wants more. He wants to devour me. He can’t get enough of me.

And I never want him to stop. He treats me like a whore, tells me I’m his whore, and I can’t stop soaking his cock and slicking up the bench. 

“You fucking love my cock.”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck me.”

I wake up in a sweat after a third night dreaming of him. I feel fractured and unlike myself. I’ve never wanted the kinds of things I’m dreaming about him. I’ve never wanted a man to degrade me or tie me up. 

And this man is a pig of a man. 

But I can’t get him out of my head.

I’m aching and breathless. My sheets are soaked from sweat and my pussy. I reach into my nightstand for my vibrator to soothe the twitching between my legs and rid him from my mind. I think about all the things that usually get me off, but he just keeps coming back around with big, rough hands and dirty words, and teeth that score my tender flesh.

I come silently, arching into my mattress, imagining his hands around my wrists and his cock driving into me hard.

+

When I told the newlyweds who live across the hall from my nemesis that I’d never been to our neighborhood bar, they invited me to join them for burgers and beers. 

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but Butcher’s is an institution. I literally grew up in this bar,” Annie tells me as her husband Hughie distributes sticky menus and napkin roll-ups. 

“I’ll get a pitcher,” Hughie says and heads to the bar.

“I like it. Thanks for bringing me.”

I glance around the space, taking in old pictures and carved sentiments in the wooden beams. It still smells faintly of cigarette smoke after decades of No Smoking laws have been enforced. It reminds me of my favorite New York dive bar.

“Well, I’m glad. I’m sure it can’t be easy to transplant to a place like Honesdale where everybody knows everybody.”

“You know, it hasn’t been too bad. Between you two and Maggie, I’m meeting all the neighbors and learning the ropes like a real local.”

I don’t mention the man who’s rapidly infiltrated every dark corner of my brain since we’re having such a nice time. I don’t want to spoil it, but you don’t always get what you want.

“Ugh, BJ,” Annie gripes, reaching for a menu even though she surely has it memorized. “He is so gross.”

I hazard a glance in the direction of her glare to see the bane of my existence waltzing toward the bar. 

“He better not fuck with Hughie,” Annie says, narrowing her eyes as he brushes shoulders with her groom. 

Hughie gracefully ignores the man’s obvious intention to needle him, gathers three chilled pint glasses and our pitcher, and rounds the crowd away from Captain Creep to return to the table.

“Who’s the kid?” I ask, finally noticing a quiet young man with BJ at the bar.

“That’s his son John. That kid’s been through the wringer with BJ and his mom. I don’t know why he still comes around; he clearly cannot stand the man any more than us.”

John’s smaller than his dad. He’s almost delicate-looking with a thick swath of blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He doesn’t have the swagger of the man next to him, and he seems to wish he were anywhere but here.

“MM, my man, it’s my boy’s 21st birthday! Get him a whiskey and a round for the house on me.”

“Hey.” Hughie settles the pint glasses on the table before filling each one, serving Annie and me first, then sitting down to pour his own. “John’s 21st. This oughtta be an interesting night.”

Annie tells me stories about babysitting John when he was a kid. He was sweet and gentle, quiet but curious, and his dad taunted him for it.

“He called his 6-year-old son a pussy.” She shakes her head. “Who does that?”

John slides into a barstool and idly sips his whiskey. A few of the older patrons wish him Happy Birthday, and MM makes a point to keep his water glass and popcorn bowl full while John’s dad struts around, flirting with every woman and slapping the backs of every man. 

It’s odd to see people react to him positively. Men, no matter their age, appear to admire him, and every woman he smiles at blushes and giggles. 

“They don’t know him like we do,” Hughie says. “Should we order? Butcher’s in the back tonight.”

I decide on the ”Terror,” a half-pound beef burger with taleggio, prosciutto, and peperoncini, medium-rare. Annie recommends the cheesy house fries with special sauce as a shared dish, and within 20 minutes, we have our food and a second pitcher.

A soft buzz from light American beer warms and loosens me up. In this state, I’m less critical of my thoughts about the man who’s starred in my most desperate and debased dreams this past week. 

He looks good. He’s agile and powerful, which is a spectacular combination. People laugh at his jokes. They gravitate toward him. They think he’s charming and handsome, and from the background of Annie’s stories, I learn that he’s not only a merc but a war hero. 

It’s nice to feel something other than the overwhelming angst and shame I’ve felt all week. He affects people; it’s okay. I’m not an outlier. I just have to ride this out.

We finish our food, and I excuse myself to the restroom. There’s a vanilla candle burning on a table beside a well-loved armchair, a basket with single-size toiletries, pads and tampons, condoms, hand soap, and lotion. Definite homey vibe.

As I step through the door back into the hallway, I’m jolted from my chill by a deep voice.

“Look at you all caszh and relaxed.” 

He’s propped between the men’s and women’s, so close I brush his arm when I whirl around to connect the voice with a face.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

“Hmm.” He pushes off the wall and turns into me, backing me against the closed door.

“There’s that flush,” he murmurs. He does that thing with his finger again that made me smack his hand away earlier this week. This time, I let him.

“Is it because I scared you,” he pauses and catches my eye. “Or something else?”

I close my eyes and let my head fall back to the door, feeling the heat and buzz of a potentially malicious yet certainly pleasurable outcome. He slides a knee between my thighs and skims a heavy hand over my hip, nuzzling against my throat with a low chuckle.

My breath catches in my chest under the hand he has pressed there, holding me in place, keeping me where he wants me. Ire swirls and rises from my gut, and I grip his t-shirt in my fists to yank him into the restroom.

“There she is.” He stumbles backward with a grin as I throw the lock.

“Shut up.” I push him to sit in the chair before climbing astride him and diving in.

His lips are plush and demanding, his beard is soft, and his mouth is superheated and whiskey-wet. He’s hard and hot everywhere I touch as I tug at the button and zipper of his jeans. His hands roam over denim and my cotton t-shirt. He nips at my lips and toys with the button of my jeans.

“Fuck,” I growl, pushing out of his lap to get my pants down.

Before I know it, he’s spun me around, and he’s shimmying my jeans and underwear over my hips and down my thighs. He slumps into the chair and fits a condom over his length, then juts his hips forward to give me a place to rest. One long arm wraps my middle, and he slips two fingers over my wet slit. The wide pads of his fingertips swirl around my clit, and I brace my hands on the arms of the chair. Then he’s teasing me with his hard cock, rutting underneath, making me squirm. 

When he finally pushes inside, I shout and groan from the stretch and insane rhythm he’s keeping on my clit. I go off—ride him, pumping my thighs and elbows, using his arm around my middle for leverage. 

In less than a minute, I’m coming. One second later, he’s on his feet with me on my knees in the chair. He forces me to bend and hold onto the back, grips my bare hips, and pushes inside me again. He’s muttering, grunting, and, god, he’s hitting that spot with every thrust. 

“Come on, Brandy,” he gasps. “Lemme feel that tight little cunt come again. Make me come.”

I reach down between my legs and press over my mound, relishing his measured thrusts. I’m booze and fuck drunk, and my ears are ringing. His hands tighten on my hips, and we both come, swearing and howling.

Chapter Two

What did you think? Reblog to share if you liked it! And let me know your thoughts. xox

More Soldier Boy | MJ's Master List

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Wade has been bitten and turned by a group of vampires they ran into. It was an accident but needless to say he was not having a good time. He's desperately thirsty and everything is far too loud. Logan smells delicious and Wade is fighting himself not to latch onto the man's neck and drink him dry.

They knew it would be out of his system in less than two days, thanks to the healing factor, but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck (HA!). Logan had left to go do something, leaving Wade to curl up in his bed and try not to rip his ears off.

Loud sounds and him already didn't mesh well, and now the volume was turned up to a thousand. This wasn't even mentioning the mind-numbing need for blood. He could barely think straight. Wade didn't know how long he had been in this position and didn't really care to know. Logan came back and opened the door to check on him at some later nebulous point.

"Wade? Woah! Are you ok? What happened?" Logan hurried over, tone worried. Wade just whimpered and curled in on himself more. Logan laid a hand on his back trying to comfort him and Wade just whimpered again.

Logan hesitantly sat next to him on the bed. "Wade, you have to tell me what's wrong or I can't help." Logan told him softly. Wade peaked up at him from under one of his arms, eyes wide and pupils blown. Logan inhaled sharply.

"Too loud." He muttered, near silently. Logan understood completely, enhanced senses were fun until it was too much. Logan had seen Wade be overwhelmed by noise before and he knew this must be so, so much worse. The merc was shaking like a leaf, his breath uneven and choppy.

Logan opened his arms to him in a silent offering. Wade didn't hesitate as he wrapped himself around the feral man. Logan purred softly trying to soothe Wade but it didn't seem to help much. 

The merc had buried his face in Logan's neck and unconsciously started inhaling his scent and the smell of the blood right underneath the surface of his skin. Wade didn't even realize he started drooling as he sucked in the heavenly scent of rushing blood. 

Logan's purring skipped slightly as he felt the wetness of saliva on his skin. “Uh.. Wade? He asked hesitantly. Wade hadn't heard him. He couldn't focus on anything but the scent of blood and his hunger. His mind screamed he had a perfect meal right here and all he needed to do was sink new fangs into it.

Latch on and drink it dry, new instincts screamed and Wade could feel himself salivate more. Logan could feel his heartbeat tick up more, “Wade? He asked again. 

Wade darted out his tongue to taste flesh and whimpered softly at how heavenly it was. Logan went dead still, unsure of what the hell to do. He had stopped purring completely now. He felt suddenly like running and he didn't know why.

(continue on Ao3)

Tags: @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @misscrissfemmefatale @pink-jelly999

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Yes, that

“and when they get castiel back from the empty he’s happy and at peace with being vocally in love with dean even if dean doesn’t love him back—” WRONG!!! castiel conveniently has to leave for seventeen super important solo hunts in a row and fakes amnesia and throws his phone into the ocean so dean can’t track him!!!

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underrated dean face journey, tbh

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

beg for it — soldier boy x reader

warnings: MDNI, rough oral (male receiving), misogyny, degradation, soldier boys cums a lot?, basically porn without plot.

welcome to horny town, fellas.

"Pretty please can I have it?"

You're on your knees with a puppy dog look in your eyes. Lashes thick with mascara bat at the man towering above you in all his naked glory. It seems you've kept your bottom lip between your teeth for too long when you taste copper, mixing with the saliva practically dripping from the corners of your mouth.

"Please?"

Soldier Boy doesn't answer you. Instead, he presses your cheeks together and shoves the mushroom tip of his thick cock into your mouth through the O-shaped space he's created.

His cock fills your mouth slowly, the base of it dragging along your velvety tongue, to hit the soft piece of flesh dangling down the back of your mouth. You feel your lips stretch wider and wider as he bucks his hips forward.

The thick girth of his cock reaches down your throat, making the muscle bulge out from outside. He moans at the warm, velvety texture of your mouth, hand leaving your jaw to push your head down on whatever portion of his cock remained out.

Soldier Boy almost shoots his load as you look up from between his thighs. Your doe eyes are wide and filled with tears, nose situated in the bush of curly raven hair around his cock, letting you inhale his manly scent every time you try to struggle for whiffs.

"Look at you so full of my cock," he smirks satisfiedly. "Letting me use that pretty mouth like a pussy to empty my balls in."

You moan at his dirty words, the noise only adding to his pleasure.

"Stupid cockdrunk whore," he grunts, thrusting into your mouth while pushing your head backwards.

Soldier Boy's grip on the sides of your head is light, but determined. It's not like he wants to crush you, but only to remind you that he very well could do it. 

He has your head trapped between the bed and his strong thighs, fucking your mouth to his pleasure— rocking his hips as you gawk and gag on his thick cock.

Honestly, it's sweet fucking music to his ears.

The wet, sloppy sound of him fucking your throat echoes in your ears. Your lips are stretched wide around his cock. Your eyes are watering, your vision blurring. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but take it, take all of it.

Your hands find his thighs, a plea for mercy, for even a second of breath. But it is rejected instantly.

"Oh, no, no, no." Soldier boy tuts, hips never missing a beat. "You're gonna take this goddamn cock like you were fucking born to. You hear me?"

He pistons his hips, slamming into you, again and again, his balls smacking against your chin, his cock hitting the back of your throat, bruising it raw. Spit drips from the side of your chin onto his balls and legs, creating strings between you.

He's close, you can feel it in the tense cords of his neck, the way his breath hitches, the brutal pace of his fucking. Then, with a final thrust, he lets out a roar, his cock pulsing in your mouth. Hot, salty cum explodes onto your tongue, spilling over your lips, pouring down your chin, and dripping onto your heaving breasts.

"Fuck, fuck!"

He withdraws suddenly, fisting his cock hard and fast over your face until thick ropes of his cum land on your face, painting it white.

Soldier Boy looks down at you, a sneer on his lips, his cock still hard, still glistening with your saliva and his cum.

"Clean yourself up," he growls, reaching for the cigarette lying on the side table, and putting it between his lips. "And next time, don't be such a fucking tease."

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❤️❤️❤️

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 1 coming 21/02 🇦🇺🕕

Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn’t looking for a mate. Not only does he think he doesn’t deserve one, but the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain’t real. He still has free will, and saving you from monsters is just another part of the job.

The demons in your life, though? They’re closer than he realises, more personal, and his inner alpha won’t let him leave you behind with them. But can Dean embrace everything that comes with claiming someone? 18+ only MDNI

Tags: omegaverse, soulmate AU, pregnancy, strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort, SMUT, breeding, claiming, knotting, nesting, angst, fluff, endgame is Dad!Dean (and the parenting skills we all know he has), Protective!Dean, (dual POV), somewhat of a fix-it

WARNING: This story implies/references some potentially triggering topics including domestic violence and abuse, sexual assault, a past miscarriage (chemical pregnancy), and follows the journey of how the characters deal with it. Please consider these carefully before reading. I can’t stress this enough!

A/N: This all started out as a one shot idea of Dean playing with kids and nerf guns. That one shot hasn’t been written yet because my brain wanted to know where the kids came from, but Dean will get his hands on a nerf gun in this fic. —————————————————————

CHAPTERS

uploading weekly on Fridays 🇦🇺🕕

Chapter 1 - Yearning (21/02)

Chapter 2 - Harbouring

Chapter 3 - Confronting

Chapter 4 - Familiarising

Chapter 5 - Languishing

Chapter 6 - Domesticating

Chapter 7 - Honeydaying

Chapter 8 - Disconcerting

Chapter 9 - Ruminating

Chapter 10 - Saddling

Chapter 11 - Containment

Chapter 12 - Sentiment

Chapter 13 - Derisionment

Chapter 14 - Announcement

Chapter 15 - Dissappointment

Chapter 16 -

Chapter 17 -

Chapter 18 -

Chapter 19 -

Chapter 20 -

TIMESTAMPS TBA

EXTRAS/RELATED

Writing Game Snippet

100 Followers Celebration Sneak Peak

—————————————————————Please Remember folks, abuse isn’t always physical. It’s also not easy to admit when you’re going through it, or sometimes even realise. Look after yourselves, and keep an eye out for signs from those you love. ❤️ —————————————————————If you'd like to be tagged in this series or any of my other works, please let me know, or you can add yourself HERE

I’ll be tagging all the lovely people signed up for my DEAN TAGLIST too, of course 🥰

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

I need this to be a fic where Dean is a dragon who hoards books and Castiel is a librarian who finally discovers how all the towns books are being stolen. Dragons are magical and can shape change after all. Solution? Dean lives in the town library.

Image is not mine.

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

This is so so good. You have to read it. It’s so cute and adorable! Yes, there is a touch of smut but not till the end and Dean is so giving.

The author is an amazing writer. You have to check them out!

WE BUILD OURSELVES ON AO3

an android walks into dean’s shop.

Rating: Explicit Words: 5420 Tags: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Androids, Android Castiel (Supernatural), Science Fiction, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Wire Play. Enthusiastic Consent, Robot/Human Relationships, Robot Sex

“I know it’s illegal for androids like Seraphs to have a sentient mind.”

“Perhaps I’m not sentient.”

Dean laughs. “Cas, I play with robots all day long that can carry on conversations just from algorithms. No one even remembers when machines couldn’t beat the Turing test. But there’s something about connection between real people, you know? You can’t fake that.”

“People,” Cas repeats.

“People, of the ‘sentient, intelligent entity’ type.”

Cas smiles. It takes them both by surprise and he looks a little shy when Dean grins back.

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Only One More Week

And then we start our second round for the Cas Dean Crossover Bang. This round will be fic first, art later (the good old classic)

This is our official schedule! And this is our rules.

BUT WHAT DO YOU GUYS CONSIDER AS A CROSSOVER???

One of our awesome mods explained it like this:

CROSSOVER: Dean and Cas meet Buffy and Angel AU/FUSION: Dean is a slayer and Cas is a vampire with a soul.

Both are acceptable for this bang

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

THE DOOR IS OFFICIALLY OPEN

Did you ever want Dean to be the Captain of the Enterprise, or Cas being the sexy Doctor from your favourite medical drama? Maybe you wanted Dean and Cas team up with Magnus from Shadowhunters or solve a case with Mulder and Scully? Then you don't need to look any further because this is the bang for you.

Dive into the CasDean Crossover Bang with us and sign up now for our second round:

Sign Up HERE and join our DISCORD

Please also read our BANG RULES!

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

This is so so good! Gotta read it! Two of my favorite authors @bleuzombie and. @valandrawrites wrotea fic for @destielaureversebb

You gotta read this awesomeness.

“Darwin Never Tried This” 

Authors: @valandrawrites and @bleuzombie Artist: @kayliemalinza

Rating: Explicit Archive warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Length:  10,755 words Tags:  Monsterfucker Dean Winchester, Creature Castiel, Weird Biology, If you squint there's plot Relationships: Dean/Castiel

Summary:  While tracking a chupacabra, Dean stumbles upon a clutch of glowing orbs. One stands out—its playful, almost sentient behavior intrigues him. Struggling with loneliness, Dean begins to connect with the mysterious orb and its strange companionship. What starts as innocent curiosity and lighthearted interaction blurs as the bond between man and creature becomes something forbidden.

Link to Fic | Link to Art

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Exodus 3:2

Author: stayawake @9x20 || Artist: @medicatedmaniac

I had the absolute best time and immense privilege of working with stayawake @9x20 for this year's @destielaureversebb who took my art and made a masterpiece

Do you love priest!Castiel? Maybe a little age difference, religious imagery, and a touch of blasphemy?

🔥⛪🔥 read it here 🔥⛪🔥

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Owned -Part 2

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Never tell Ben you owe him one. Because he'll make you work for it.

Warnings: 18+! mdni, Sex, teasing, dirty talk, ...

English isn't my first language.

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

I let out a nervous laugh, the sound shaky, but it seemed to amuse him. He watched me with that devil-may-care grin, clearly enjoying my discomfort, and the way my attempt to flirt fell short.

“How am I supposed to give you a nickname when I know nothing about you?” I asked, trying to regain some control.

He lifted an eyebrow, as if he found my question both amusing and charming. “What do you want to know, baby?” he asked, his voice low, teasing, as his hand slid over my thigh. The way his fingers brushed my skin sent a shiver through me, the motion slow, calculated, like he was savoring every second of this.

I shifted uncomfortably, not entirely sure of what I was doing. But then I noticed his shoulders tense slightly. He sucked in a sharp breath, and I felt it.

That’s when I realized—he was reacting to me. To the way my body was pressing against his.

I could feel it, unmistakable now, the hard bulge growing beneath me, pressing against the thin lace.

My pulse quickened. My lips parted slightly, and I bit my bottom lip in a futile attempt to keep myself in check.

I didn’t want to feel this excitement, but I did.

My hands moved to his chest, fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the taut muscles beneath. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak.

“Where are you from?” I asked, my voice sounding too shaky to be mine.

“Philly,” he replied, that smirk never leaving his face.

“Siblings?”

“No.”

“Parents?”

“Father.”

“Close?”

“No.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t done yet. I couldn’t help myself—questions bubbled up, and I asked, “Why me?”

His gaze darkened, his hand moving a little higher on my thigh. “You owe me,” he said, his tone even, almost like a warning.

I lifted my brow. “Right..."

He looked me dead in the eyes, his expression unyielding. “And I had my eye on you the entire evening.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Why?”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. His touch still lingered on my skin, and the air between us crackled with tension. But I wasn’t backing down. I needed to know more about him—about Ben.

“Why the army?” I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling in my chest.

He hesitated, like he was searching for the right words, before he spoke. “My dad hated me.” His voice was clipped, but there was a rawness to it that caught my attention. He didn’t want to make it sound sad, but I could hear the pain beneath the surface.

I sat back, not caring about the hard bulge pressing against my thigh. I tried to focus on the question, not the feeling of him under me.

“So,” I said, my voice almost too calm, “basically, you’re the most loved man on the planet, but because of your daddy issues, you’re afraid to turn out like him, and be alone, so you seek out girls who owe you favors, just to fill the void even though you clearly have his anger issues?”

The teasing gleam in his eyes faded in an instant. A dangerous intensity replaced it, and his grip on my hips tightened.

“Who the fuck are you to judge me?” he growled, his voice low and menacing.

I flinched slightly, but I didn’t look away. I needed to apologize. I wasn’t trying to hurt him, but I wasn’t backing down either.

“I’m sorry.” I lowered my gaze, my heart hammering in my chest. I was close to saying something that might make everything worse, but I had to push through.

I felt a slight victory as I saw the anger flicker in his eyes, but I wasn’t done yet.

“I just…” I took another steadying breath, moving closer to him again, “I just wanted to know Ben... not Soldier Boy.”

His expression hardened, and I saw the muscles in his jaw tense, his tongue pressing against his cheek in frustration. But still, I didn’t stop. I moved my hands up to his neck, my fingers brushing against his skin as I cupped his face, forcing him to meet my gaze.

His eyes were still stormy, but something shifted between us, something raw and vulnerable.

I leaned in slowly, my hips pressing against his as I whispered into the air between us.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, my lips hovering just above his before I trailed my lips across his neck, brushing over the strong muscle there. “I didn’t mean to hurt or offend you.”

I kissed him there, my breath shaky. I pulled back slightly, my chest rising and falling rapidly, and I looked up into his eyes.

“I’m lonely, too,” I said, barely a whisper, but it felt like the heaviest truth I’d ever spoken.

“Have you seen yourself?” He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a jolt of electricity through me. "You could have any man."

"You could have any woman, why me, there where plent of women at the part?"

“I don’t want a child, Baby. I want a woman. Curves and all. Real curves, a woman who looks like a twig with big tits is a fraud.”

I bit my lip again, trying to steady myself. God, he knew exactly what to say to make my body react.

And I hated how much it was working.

I felt Ben's hand move from my thigh to my ass, almost covering the entire shown flesh. I couldn't help but to close my eyes at his warm touch.

"Want me to make you feel good, baby?"

"Yes," I said whining.

His fingers moved over the lace, while my chest still lay flat against his. He looked at my face while he teased me.

I felt his fingers mover underneath the fabricand a soft "oh," sound left my mouth.

I could feel his fingers move, curling teasing. my face hides in his neck and he grumbles a deep laugh, "Oh no baby. Look at me. I need to see the flush on your cheeks.

I felt his fingers getting coated before he slide inside. My mouth opened in pleasure and he took it as an invitation to kiss me deep.

His to tongue forces itself inside and I couldn't help but to suck on it, clearly to his liking.

He let go of me and pushed me back. straight up. "Open wide baby." His finger moved over my lips, as a obeyed his request and sucked his fingers clean.

My eyes rolled back, never in my entire life did I experienced anything like this and found it incredibly hot.

Ben’s hand moved over the lace covering me, his fingers teasing, testing. And then—*rip.*

The delicate fabric tore apart like it was nothing in his grip. My breath hitched, my whole body tensing as cool air met my now-exposed breasts.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my hands flying to his chest, but he didn’t stop me—didn’t force me down. He just watched me, his dark green eyes locked onto mine, waiting.

“Hope you didn’t like those too much, baby” he murmured, voice thick with amusement.

I swallowed hard, heat pooling low in my stomach. I should have been angry. I should have said something.

But all I could do was stare at him, heart pounding, as he ran his fingers over the now-ruined lace, his smirk widening.

His hands reached up, slowly sliding the bunny ears off my head. He tossed them aside carelessly, like they were never important to begin with. But his attention never left me.

Then his mouth was on me.

Soft, heated kisses trailed along the newly exposed skin. His lips pressed firm, teasing, before his teeth grazed against my skin.

A sharp nip.

I gasped, my fingers curling against his shoulders, and into his hair, but he only hummed in satisfaction. His mouth found my nipple, sensitive, and his tongue swirled over it, soothing where his teeth had just been.

My breath stuttered, my body betraying me, arching into his touch.

"Fuck," he muttered against my skin, his voice rough. "You're too easy to mess with, baby." I arched my back, my fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt. “Ben… more.”

I felt him smirk against my skin, his breath warm, teasing. “That’s my girl.”

Before I could react, he shifted, laying me down on the couch effortlessly. His body hovered over mine, his weight pressing me into the cushions in a way that made my stomach tighten with anticipation.

His lips moved lower, dragging down my collarbone, over my ribs, his kisses growing rougher, wetter. Every inch of my skin he touched burned.

Then—*rip.*

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask. The rest of the lace barely held together before he tore it apart, leaving me completely bare beneath him.

A sharp gasp left my lips, but he only groaned in response, his mouth picking up where his hands had left off.

By the time I realized what was happening, his hands were gripping my thighs, spreading me wider as his breath fanned against my core.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “Look at you, Baby. Already soaked, just for me.”

Heat flooded my face, but I had no time to feel embarrassed before his tongue swiped through my folds, slow and deliberate.

I choked on a moan, my fingers flying to his hair, tugging.

He groaned against me, the vibration sending a sharp jolt through my body. “Yeah, you like that?” he murmured, licking into me again. “So fucking sweet.”

I whimpered, my thighs trying to close, but his grip only tightened.

“Nuh-uh,” he chuckled darkly. “You wanted more, Baby. So now you’re gonna take it.”

His tongue flicked over my clit, his pace maddening, building me up only to slow back down.

“Ben—” I panted, but he didn’t let me finish.

“God, you’re so fucking needy,” he groaned, fingers digging into my thighs. “Beg for it, Baby. Let me hear how bad you want me to ruin you.”

The mouth on that man—filthy, teasing, and entirely too good at wrecking me.

His lips brushed against my skin between each slow stroke of his tongue, but he wasn’t satisfied yet. Not until I said it.

His fingers teased at my entrance, just barely pressing in before pulling away again. A wicked chuckle left his lips.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he murmured, his breath hot against me. “C’mon, Baby I wanna hear it.”

I was already trembling, my body thrumming with need, but I still forced the words out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Ruin me,” I breathed, my fingers tightening in his hair. “Ruin me for another men.”

The second the words left my lips, he rewarded me.

A sharp groan rumbled from his chest as his fingers finally pushed inside, stretching me open. I gasped, my head falling back against the couch as pleasure crashed over me.

“Good girl,” he praised, pumping his fingers in slow, deliberate strokes. “Fuck, you feel perfect.”

His tongue flicked over my clit again, and my thighs tried to squeeze together, but his free hand pressed me down, keeping me wide open for him.

“You asked for this," he said darkly, curling his fingers just right, making me cry out. “So don’t you dare hold back now.”

His words never stopped, a steady stream of praise as he pushed me over the edge. My whole body trembled, pleasure crashing into me so hard I could barely breathe.

I was still gasping, trying to recover, when I heard him stand. My heavy-lidded eyes barely registered the sound of fabric hitting the floor before he sat back down—now completely bare, stroking himself lazily.

I swallowed hard.

His eyes were locked on me, dark and full of hunger. “First time?” he asked, voice rough.

I nodded weakly. “I mean… what you just—yeah, I never knew that was a thing.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “Liked it?” I felt my cheeks heat up, but I still nodded.

His thumb dragged over his tip, spreading the bead of precum there, and my stomach tightened at the sight.

“Ever given head?” he asked, tilting his head. I shook mine. His grin widened. “Come here.”

His hand wrapped around my wrist, pulling me forward until I was kneeling beside him on the couch. My pulse pounded as I stared at him—at all of him—unsure of what to do next.

He must’ve seen the hesitation in my eyes because he reached up, brushing his thumb along my lower lip.

“Do what you did earlier,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. I blinked. “What?”

“With your tongue on mine” he clarified, his grin turning downright wicked. “Show me how bad you wanna be my good girl, baby.”

I did it—I took as much of him as I could, though with his size, it wasn’t much. My tongue swirled, my lips stretched, and I could hear his sharp inhale, feel the way his muscles tensed under my touch.

But before I could settle into a rhythm, he moved. I barely had time to react before he hauled me up, flipping me effortlessly over his shoulder.

“Ben!?” My voice came out panicked, my body tense. His grip firm, possessive. I barely had time to process it before he threw me down onto the bed.

I bounced against the plush mattress, my breath catching in my throat as I looked up at him. His eyes were dark—dangerous. Like a predator that had finally caught its prey.

And God, I loved it!

His broad chest rose and fell with deep, heavy breaths, his gaze raking over me with pure hunger.

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with anticipation.

A shiver ran down my spine, but I didn’t look away. Instead, I smirked, tilting my chin up slightly. “Then show me.”

His grin widened—sharp, wicked. “Oh, I will”

“But first,” Ben murmured, his voice dripping with authority, “turn around, baby.”

His finger made a slow turning motion, and I swallowed hard before obeying.

I shifted onto my stomach, my breath hitching as I felt the cool sheets against my heated skin.

“Face down,” he continued, his tone rough yet teasing. “Arms in front of you.” I moved, my fingers gripping onto the nearest pillow.

“Ass up, sweetheart.”

A shiver ran through me at the command, but I followed it—arching my back, lifting myself for him, feeling completely exposed under his gaze.

Then… nothing.

I waited.

Seconds stretched into what felt like forever. I could hear his breath, slow and measured. Feel the heat of his presence behind me.

But he didn’t touch me. Not yet. I squirmed slightly, impatience creeping in. Then, finally, I felt his fingers skim over my skin, slow and deliberate.

“There’s my good girl,” he murmured, his palm smoothing over my lower back, down to my hips. “You look fucking perfect like this.”

*smack*

I jumped up but his hand pressed me back down. "Nah ah, didn't tell you to move baby girl."

Ben shifted behind me, his warmth blanketing me, his presence overwhelming. His grip tightened on my hips, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp when he thrusted in with one smooth motion.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “Look at you… so needy”

I clenched the pillow beneath me, my body already aching for him. His touch was firm, possessive, like he was taking his time claiming me. Every brush of his hands sent sparks shooting down my spine, teasing, testing how much I could take.

Then he moved—slow at first, just enough to make me squirm, to make my breath hitch. I whimpered, arching into him, and he laughed.

“Already so desperate,” he taunted, his fingers trailing up my back before gliding back down, his nails scraping lightly over my skin. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

I nodded, pressing my face into the pillow, my fingers tightening in the fabric.

“Use your words,"he growled, his hand landing a sharp slap on my thigh. I gasped, a shiver running through me.

“Y-yes,” I managed, my voice shaky. "Yes, what?”

“I—I wanted this,” I admitted, barely able to get the words out. A satisfied hum rumbled from his chest. “That’s my girl.”

Then he moved again—rougher, harder, his grip on me unrelenting. I felt every inch of him, the strength behind each movement. My body jolted with every sharp snap of his hips, pleasure and pain blurring together into something intoxicating.

I was unraveling fast, my legs trembling, my voice breaking into breathless moans. But Ben wasn’t done with me.

His hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back just enough for his mouth to find my ear. His breath was hot, teasing, sending a fresh wave of heat through me.

“Go on,” he urged, his voice dripping with amusement. “Beg for it."

“Ben—” I choked out, my entire body burning, overwhelmed.

He *tsked* in disapproval, his grip tightening. “That’s not begging, sweetheart. You can do better.”

I swallowed hard, my pride warring with my desperation. But I knew what he wanted. And God help me, I wanted it too.

“More,” I whispered, my voice trembling. Then louder—“Harder—please.”

A low groan left his lips, his hands roaming over my body like he owned it. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He rewarded me immediately, his movements turning punishing, relentless. My breath came in ragged gasps, my body trembling under the intensity of it all. And the whole time, his mouth never stopped.

“Taking me so well, baby,” he rasped, his fingers sliding up my stomach before gripping my waist again. “Such a perfect little thing for me.”

I whined, my fingers twisting in the sheets as pleasure built higher, hotter, so intense I could barely think.

“Mine,” he muttered, almost to himself, his hand trailing down my spine. “No one else is ever gonna have you like this.”

I should’ve been scared of how possessive he sounded. Should’ve fought back, teased him for it.

But I couldn’t. Because deep down, I liked it. And he knew I did.

Ben wasn’t satisfied yet. I could feel it in the way his grip shifted, how his movements slowed just enough to make me whimper in frustration.

Then suddenly—he pulled away.

I barely had time to react before he flipped me onto my back, his hands gripping my thighs as he spread me open beneath him. His eyes burned into mine, dark and wild, as he pushed my legs up, draping them over his broad shoulders.

“Needed to see you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Wanna watch that pretty face when I ruin you.”

Heat rushed through me at his words, and I barely had time to take a breath before he started moving again—deeper this time, the new angle making me cry out. My hands shot out, gripping onto his arms, his shoulders, anything to ground myself.

Ben groaned, his fingers digging into my thighs, his pace relentless. He was watching me, drinking in every little reaction—every gasp, every moan, every way my body responded to him.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his voice rough. “Look at you. So fucking perfect like this.” I couldn’t even speak. My fingers curled against his skin, desperate, pulling him closer.

“Ben—” I whimpered, my breath shaky.

He leaned down, pressing his weight over me, his body flush against mine. His face was in my neck, his breath hot, his lips teasing over my skin between ragged groans.

“Tell me how bad you need it,” he growled against my throat, his teeth grazing my pulse. “C’mon, Baby, say it."

I gasped, my nails digging into his back. “I—I need it,” I stammered, voice breaking. “Need you...”

A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat, his movements turning desperate, wrecked.

“Fuck—” He buried his face deeper into my neck, his breath ragged, his body trembling against mine. “That’s my good girl—taking every fucking inch like you were made for me.”

His filthy words sent me spiraling, my whole body tightening around him. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along my throat, my collarbone, groaning my name like a prayer.

I felt him stutter, his grip on me tightening—his lips right against my ear as he finally let go, wrecking me completely with a final, breathless whisper:

“Mine.”

**

I don't know what happened but hours later I woke up. Still in that bed, Ben must have shifted us, his hands on my shoulders drawing circles on me. I look up he is staring at the ceiling.

"I guess I owe you know." He murmured. I sit up, "What?"

He looked at me, "You gave me more than I meant to take baby girl. You where right. I just wanted your time that evening, but you gave me the entire night and your body. "

" Well..." I said sitting up. Moving my hips over his, feeling we were still naked. "I can think of something." I tease while my thumb move over his lip, and me biting mine.

He chuckles deep and flipping me over. "I would love nothing more that to taste you again." He said cupping my pussy, I hissed. "But you're a little sore baby girl. I might have been a little too excited."

I pulled him closer. "Give me a few hours." I said right before kissing his lips. He grinned is overly charming grin. "I don't mind spending time with you.... here... naked. In my bed..."

"Baby girl."

--

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @writtenbyhollywood @spnaquakindgdom

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Write Hangout in the Discord server!

Tomorrow, Manta Ray Laili (@spn-fanfic-reblog-writes) will be hanging out in the general voice channel of our Discord server, just to chat with you!

What time will it be for you:

UTC - Sunday 16:00

Los Angeles - Sunday 8am

New York - Sunday 11am

London - Sunday 4pm

New Delhi - Sunday 9:30pm

Melbourne - Monday 3am

This will be different than our usual chats, in that it will happen in our general voice channel instead of our general chat (text) channel. It’s a chance to chat with other Pond members about story ideas, share WIPs, encourage each other, and bounce ideas around more freely than you can in a typical text chat.

Don’t worry if you don’t wanna talk! Voice channels have a text chat channel, so you can participate without turning on your own microphone if you don’t want to.

RULES TO LIVE/CHAT BY:

You must be a Pond member to participate. (Joining is easy! Just fill out this form here.)

No hate. Everyone��s opinions must be respected. (Ship and let ship!)

No NSFW images or text, as some Pond members are under the age of 18 and we want all members to be welcome. (If chat turns NSFW, we have text channels we can move to!)

Come hang out and have a good talk with your fellow Pondies!

Have questions about this or anything else? Send us an ASK or send a private message to one of the admins below!

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[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Never Alone

Beau and Y/N have been friends since he moved to town. He liked her more than he admitted. And when she didn't answer her phone after he learned she lost a loved one, he got worried.

A small one shot story for my dear friend @jackles010378 just know that I'm here for you. 🤍

The knock at the back door was firm but hesitant, just like him. I barely registered it, my mind too clouded by grief, my body too heavy to move. The warmth of the fireplace flickered across my tear-streaked face, but I still felt so cold.

I didn't hear the door open, but I felt him before I saw him. The familiar scent of leather and cedar surrounded me as soft footfalls brought him closer.

"Aw, sweetheart," Beau murmured, his deep voice tinged with concern.

I couldn't look at him. My throat burned from crying, my chest tight with the weight of loss. But I didn't resist when he crouched beside me, his strong arms wrapping around me without hesitation.

I clung to his shirt like a lifeline, gripping the fabric with shaking fingers as he held me close. His body was warm, solid—safe. He smelled like the outside air, his cologne lingering beneath the scent of fresh coffee.

"Should've called me, Y/N," he said, his voice low, regretful. "Hate seein’ you like this."

I couldn't answer, just buried my face into his chest, fresh tears soaking into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. His jacket was gone now, tossed aside so he could pull me in tighter.

His hand moved up and down my back in slow, steady strokes, grounding me. Every now and then, he pressed a kiss to my hair, murmuring something I couldn't quite make out—but it didn't matter. It was the comfort I needed, the silent promise that I wasn't alone.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours—I wasn't sure. But with each quiet moment, my breathing slowed, the shattering pain inside me dulling just enough.

Beau shifted slightly. "Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick with concern. I didn’t lift my head, just kept staring at his chest, my vision blurred with fresh tears.

He brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. His knuckles skimmed my cheek, his fingers lingering just long enough to make me shiver. Then, his thumb moved, wiping away the tear that had slipped down my skin.

I finally looked up at him. His green eyes, usually so bright with mischief or that easy charm of his, were dark, serious. Searching. He was looking at me like I was something fragile, something he wanted to fix but didn’t know how.

For a second—just a second—I swore he leaned in. His breath was warm against my face, his lips parting just slightly. My heart stuttered, caught between grief and something else entirely.

Then, just as quickly as the moment came, it was gone. Beau pulled back, clearing his throat, and reached behind him. The scent of something warm and familiar hit my nose.

"Figured you wouldn't eat," he said softly. "Brought your favorite."

I pulled back just enough to look up at him, his green eyes filled with something I couldn't quite name. Worry? Affection? Something deeper?

I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Beau."

His lips quirked in that soft half-smile he always gave me, but his eyes stayed serious. "Always, sweetheart."

And in that moment, with the fire crackling beside us and his arms still around me, I knew he meant it.

The silence between us wasn’t heavy—it was comforting. Beau sat beside me, his hand rubbing slow circles on my back as I forced myself to take small bites of the food he’d brought. I wasn’t hungry, not really, but I knew he wouldn’t leave until he saw me eat something.

He didn’t rush me, didn’t say a word. Just stayed close, letting me lean into his warmth.

I glanced at the clock. It was late. The kind of late that made the world feel quieter, softer. I hesitated before looking up at him, knowing I shouldn’t ask, but the words slipped out anyway.

"Beau, can you stay?"

He turned to me, his green eyes unreadable for a moment. Then, that slow, soft smile spread across his face, the one that always made my chest tighten.

"‘Course, darlin’," he murmured, his Texan drawl softer than usual. Then he pulled me in, wrapping me up in his warmth, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of my head.

And just like that, I melted.

I let myself sink into him, resting against his chest as his hand resumed its steady, soothing motions on my back. His heartbeat was strong, steady—a quiet reassurance that I wasn’t alone.

I closed my eyes, breathing him in. Knowing hum being here, with me was all I needed to get through this.

--

Taglist:

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @writtenbyhollywood @spnaquakindgdom

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

A SIMPLE TOUCH

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader

Summary: Annie still has reservations about Ben, and you dating him for that matter…until she sees it.

AN: Surprise drabble! Dipping back into the BMD-verse for a sec. Chronologically, it's set sometime after In the Dark.

Prompt from @lifeonawhim: The reader is physically affectionate. (BMD) Ben sees this, tries to give her that comfort, and it just surprises everyone—how Ben is a source of comfort for her, even though he’s quite literally the strongest man.

Originally posted on Patreon: 1/01/25

Word Count: 600

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Break Me Down Masterlist

Annie was loyal to a fault. For that reason, she was still skeptical about Soldier Boy—about Ben, even after Vought Tower collapsed.

You might’ve been living with him now, but that didn’t mean he was safe, or even a good enough man for you.

She watched you closely in concern while the team filed onto the small private plane. It was set to take you all from northern Pennsylvania back down to New York. You weren’t injured, but in a way, you were still walking wounded.

The rogue supe that the Supe Affairs team was called in to catch had destroyed an office building. You, M.M., and Frenchie had saved a handful of people while Ben and the rest of the team handled the supe. But a young woman slipped right through your fingers off a balcony, falling to the pavement from three stories high.

You still remembered the look of shock cross her face. It was frozen there, even after her body lay prone on the cement. Her blue eyes, perfect mirrors of didn’t see that coming.

That was the picture you couldn’t get out of your head.

Now, you were moving slow, your face tired and drawn. Annie was about to ask if you were okay, even though she knew the answer full well.

Ben reached out his hand to you first. He was ahead of you in the aisle, having put his carry-on bag and yours in the overhead bin. You looked at his hand, and then up at him.

“Come ‘ere,” he said, his voice deep and steady. It steadied you, along with his hand around yours. He guided you not into the seat next to him, but onto his lap. By now he’d changed out of his suit, leaving him in jeans and a dark gray sweater you picked out for him, rolled up to his elbows.

Annie sat with Hughie across the aisle, but she had you and Ben in the corner of her eye. She marveled at the way he was holding you, seeming to know you needed the contact. With a sigh, you allowed yourself to lay against his chest while his warm hand ran up and down your back. A simple touch was all you needed to relax in his arms.

“Don’t mind me. Just gonna sleep for about ten years,” you murmured against his chest. You laid a hand over his heart, silently thanking him as your fingers drifted back and forth.

Ben’s lips quirked upwards. “Just try not to drool on me. New shirt, you know.”

Despite yourself, that managed to make you smile, huffing a laugh. You shoved his shoulder in retaliation. “I don’t drool.”

He knew for a fact that you did, but he just smirked. He sunk his fingers into your hair and inhaled the familiar floral scent of your shampoo.

“Get some shut-eye,” he rumbled. “We’ll be home soon.”

His thumb brushed your cheek, encouraging you to rest. So you did. Your eyes closed on you after you let go of a deep, even breath.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a nothing moment. This was a man who had crumbled two skyscrapers and scarred Hughie for life. (He’d never be able to listen to Air Supply again, pretty much for as long as he lived.)

And yet, maybe it meant Annie could stop worrying so much about your judgment where Ben was concerned.

Only much later, she would realize that this was the moment she actually started to trust him.

AN: I want to get back into BMD world for a longer visit, hopefully soon. 💚💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Next in line, we have a fun, fluffy, angsty, smutty, 3-part Christmas special, Love Actually:

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system. At least, you hope you can, before he meets the rest of your dysfunctional family on Christmas Day.

▶️ Next Story: Love Actually

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