#jensen ackles appreciation

[let-me-be-your-home]

This was the first time Jensen directed and I love how endearing he was about it. How shy, tired and a little bit daunted about it all. His proud smile at the end of a good episode finally done and the smile when he got the clap board 😍

#JensenWeek - Director Jensen Ackles

I’ll always love every episode Jensen directed of SPN. Because that was a show he lived since Day 1. But for Jensen & Jared to work again outside of SPN but as Director/Actor? So special 🥹 Loved this week of direction and the content we got.

#JensenWeek - Director Ackles

[whateverthedragonswant]

I'm finishing up my rewatch of season 3 of The Boys before I begin my SPN rewatch (got 2 more episodes left) and watching Jensen's performance as Soldier Boy just absolutely floors me.

It floors me because I've seen antis time and time again claim that Soldier Boy/Ben was essentially Dean in a superhero suit, that Jensen has one note acting, that he watered down the character by refusing to do scenes that made him uncomfortable (especially by one anti blog in particular who claims to be an acting expert, you know the one), and that his acting is very bland.

But in studying his performance because I'm studying the character (for writing purposes), these people couldn't be more wrong. I will admit that the only time I got a semi-Dean vibe from him was during the scene where Soldier Boy tells Butcher about his father. Which doesn't surprise me because Jensen himself said he leaned into the Dean/John dynamic for that scene.

But otherwise, I don't see anywhere where their claims hold any water. I mean, have you actually watched his scenes?

This scene is so important. Annie is getting ready to face off with this guy and even though she knows he's dangerous (after seeing he results of one of his explosions up close and personal), but she has no idea how dangerous, not really. This isn't Dean. This isn't Beau. This is the dangerous side of Solider Boy and had Hughie not intervened, there's a good possibility shit would have gone even more sideways. Especially, with Ben coming off of the confrontation with Countess, her hitting him where it hurts the most (meaning she tapped into one of his biggest insecurities. That explosion wasn't an accident (like NYC or even at Herogasm with the Twins). Ben didn't black out here. That's shown to us by there being no Russian trigger, despite him learning that Countess and his team handed him over back in 1984 and didn't even get paid for it.

I mean, look at this expression right here. His body is moving but his eyes don't. He's getting into position, ready to take out the next threat. Only when Hughie steps in and Annie's eyes dim does he step away, assessing her as not a threat. This is the weapon that is deadly enough to take on Homelander and no matter where you stand on Jensen as an actor, he pulls it off here.

The physicality he utilized in this role speaks volumes. And it's not about Soldier Boy being a Supe or being in a suit or having to look pissed off all the time (minus the few times he's amused). It has to do with how he embodies that character, carries him, and if he pulls it off. Spoiler alert: he did.

This scene exemplifies exactly what I'm talking about. I have watched it countless times and this part of it always sticks out to me every single time. Look at that expression, look at the eyes. Ben is not going all out to sell this belief let's call it to Hughie. He's giving him a look that says "this is the truth and you better believe it or else". He's not smiling for news cameras or doing propaganda or greeting fans of his movies decades prior. He's not selling the Soldier Boy is America's Greatest Hero image here. He's subtly threatening Hughie, and this is where he begins to have an issue with him. Because Ben wants to see himself as the good guy, something Kripke, Jensen, and the cast have talked about in promoting the season. In his own mind, he is the good guy; he's a legend in his own mind so to speak. He's bought the hype about himself. And anyone who doesn't see him that way is an enemy aka a threat.

It doesn't mean he doesn't know he's doing things that aren't right (as we saw in those outtakes of the 'Don't-do-drugs' commercial). He's very self-aware but he justifies it to himself because he's Soldier Boy and almost like Homelander always says, he can do what he wants. Not necessarily that he has a god-mentality that rivals Homelander's but everything is justifiable in his mind because he's a Supe, or more precisely the Supe, and he's protecting his country. And it also keeps that insecurity of being a disappointment at bay that he has from his childhood. It's all layered into his make-up so to speak. So not only is Hughie a threat (not physically obviously but to Ben's image of himself) but is also bordering dangerously close to reminding him of the very thing he hates: a mirror that reminds him that maybe his dad was right about him (not saying he was, I'm saying this is potentially what is running through his mind). So not only does it share a brilliant parallel between Hughie and Annie when it comes to Soldier Boy that eventually plays out beautifully in the Tower Scene in the finale, but it also is sewn into the issue between Hughie and Annie this season in their own relationship.

But the way Jensen plays that scene is phenomenal because if you watch it, you realize if Hughie says one wrong thing, he may be in trouble.

Which is then continued in this scene:

In this scene, Hughie is mentioning there's a lot of people inside Herogasm and here we get Ben's reaction to Hughie saying that. Then he tells Hughie as long as the people stay out of his way they should be fine. But again, watch how he says it, his expression, focus on his tone, his body movement. He clearly is not happy that Hughie says this (it literally is a continuation from the hotel room scene) and again has that subtle threat vibe, even with Butcher standing there (because let's face it, to him, even with temp V, Butcher is no threat). And of course, we all know the slap scene and the punch scene that happens later. Not only does Hughie get switched out for Ryan later on who Butcher ends up protecting from Soldier Boy, but it all plays out beautifully as all of the connections, overt and subtle, unfold throughout the season.

But back to Jensen's performance. There is so much to appreciate in how he fully embodied this character. And that's not saying it through an AA haze of "omg he's so hawt!" or "omg did you see his ass?" That's appreciating the amount of work that he put into this role when the cameras started rolling. He literally became Soldier Boy and he embodied him even outside of the suit.

As an actor, Jensen is very nuanced. He consistently adds in these little things that help make the character even more multi-dimensional than what is written on the page or what is called for int he scene and how it's blocked. This is why there is a certain small group of people on here that repeatedly talk about Jacting Joices, it's not just related to Supernatural or Destiel or Dean. It's about Jensen as an actor, as a performer, and how much he actually pours into these characters he plays. Whether it be the way he moves (or walks), or the expressions he uses, his eyes (yep, he does that too, see above), with his hands, even down to the way he delivers a line. All actors do this in their own way obviously, lean into physicality as well as their performance, but he definitely has his own unique style that I just don't see anyone else replicating. I think there's a reason so many people say no one else could have played Dean the way he could have for example. And if you watch his characters, really watch them, you'll see what he does each and every time. Even smaller characters like Jason from Smallville or Tom from My Bloody Valentine or Alec from Dark Angel. It's all right there on the screen.

So I guess my whole long point is I don't get why antis rip him apart when it comes to this role of Soldier Boy (other than being antis I guess) or say he can't act or that has no idea how to properly analyze his character because he actually did put a ton of work into this specific character (as well as all the others he's done) and you can clearly see it as you watch his scenes in the show. While I wish we could have seen Homelander and Soldier Boy go at it a bit more, and see Soldier Boy truly unleash that Alpha-ness of being the original Supe like had been talked about in promotions and interviews, it doesn't diminish that this character was fascinating and he brought it to life from the script in a way that complemented his own unique style as a performer.

tl;dr Jensen crushed Soldier Boy and Ben (yes, two different characters to embody actually) and I cannot wait to see more of him in any future Boys-related visual story telling, on the show or others.

[hologramcowboy]

I want to fall asleep tonight with this gif on my mind. I really adore the balance of perfection and imperfection, it’s just incredibly beautiful on so many levels. Besides, Jensen having sad eyes is my kryptonite, I’ll never not why but to me he looks like a weeping angel and that makes me teary eyed. 🥰

[hologramcowboy]

Is it just me or does Jensen sometimes genuinely look like an angel that is lost somewhere, just trying to find his way back home or something similar. Like an otherworldly soul.

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Body Insecurity/Appreciation

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

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @roseblue373. 💜 It's a special one to me personally, being plus-sized myself and having gone through my share of insecurities. Wish I had one of these guys to make it better lol!~

Prompt/Request: Great job with the latest Dean/Beau/Ben reacts vignettes! I'd love to see one where reader has put on weight and isn't happy with their body, and how each would make her feel better!! IF the muse agrees, of course! ❤️

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to your body insecurity.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Established relationship, body insecurity (but also body appreciation), thicc thirty, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, spiciness/smuttishness.

Dean Winchester

You've started breezing past mirrors when you get out of the shower.

Because if you catch sight of your own reflection, you can't help but utter a sigh, your lips dipping into a frown.

In the privacy of the room you share with Dean in the bunker, you take a risk in unwrapping the towel from your body in front of the mirror.

You inspect yourself with growing dejection, noting all the places that are rounder, heavier, less firm than they used to be.

Looks like no amount of running down leads and killing monsters has been enough to keep you in shape.

Too much shitty fast food, too many times you indulged yourself with snacks and dessert alongside your foodie boyfriend.

"What'cha doin', sweetheart?" Dean asks. He steps into the room while wiping donut icing from the corner of his mouth.

Speak of the devil.

When Dean finally catches you frowning at yourself in the mirror, you inhale sharply and close the towel back up.

"Nothing. Just need to get dressed," you reply quickly. "Shower's open."

You try to offer him a smile, despite the pang of jealousy when you eye him.

He gave you the first chance at the shower after the latest case wrapped up, so he's still wearing most of his FBI suit, sans jacket. The white dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows, a few days of scruff neatly trimmed across his cheeks.

The man can cram an entire pizza down his gullet and wash it down with three slices of apple pie, not to mention countless beers. And still, Dean stays looking downright edible.

By comparison, you feel...fat. Like you've let yourself go.

You turn away from him to grab your well-worn sweatpants and an oversized shirt; you plan to change alone in the bathroom, but Dean grabs your arm.

"Who says you need to get dressed?" he says, popping his brows with a suggestive grin. He slips his arms around your waist, but your instinct is to shy away from his hold. You chuckle awkwardly and avoid his now curious gaze.

"Sorry, babe. Um...I'm wiped. I just want to get to bed," you say.

But Dean isn't fooled. His spidey sense is tingling, and his gut is almost never wrong.

His hand slides down your arm and grasps your hand, tugging you back into his arms. You utter a little gasp, but you ultimately smile at his familiar grin. There's a perceptive gleam in his eyes though.

"You know, seems like you've been pretty wiped lately," he says, raising a brow. "It's been a while since we, uh..."

He waggles his brows playfully, squeezing your hips. You want to smile, but you can't let yourself. You can't quite look at him either.

For Dean, it's another glaring red flag. His lips form a frown, and he dips his chin to find your eyes.

"Hey," he says. "What's goin' on? Talk to me."

His tone is so sincere, you have to blink against the sting of tears. Your lower lip wobbles, and Dean frowns in earnest. He presses a hand to your cheek and gets you to look at him with your watery eyes.

"Sweetheart, you gotta tell me what's wrong," he says, more gently, but serious.

Eventually, you're able to get it out. You can't bear the thought of him touching you, because lately, you can't even bear looking at yourself.

"I know I've been gaining weight, I just..." your voice breaks, and you gesture haphazardly at your body. "I'd get it if you're not really into this right now."

Dean's heart clenches. He's downright shocked at your confession, and more than a little disheartened. He presses a hand to your cheek and guides you to look at him.

"All right, hold up just one damn minute."

His calloused fingers gently brush away your tears, but his hands keep moving, slowly traveling down your body. They slide down your bare arms, skimming the sides of your breasts.

Your breath hitches. Your hand is still fisted over your beating heart, keeping your towel closed. His hands continue to move, molding to the curve of your waist over the fuzzy fabric.

"I'll admit, we've been pretty busy lately with everything we've got going on. But if you think that means I'm ever not into this delectable, sexy, voluptuous, goddess body you got rockin' the house?" he says, grinning that utterly Dean grin of his.

You bite your lip against a bubble of laughter. He's too fucking much sometimes.

Dean tugs you closer, until your hips fit snugly against his through his slacks. His tall, broad frame crowds you. His lips skim your cheek, then over your lips in a tease.

He squeezes the flesh of your hips, tender and sensuous.

Your heart flutters at the feeling.

"Mmm, I like you nice and soft," he murmurs against your cheek, close to your ear. "Feels that much better when I fuck you."

A small gasp gets trapped in your throat, while the gravel depths in his voice go straight to your pussy in a pulsing throb of warmth.

By the time he claims your lips in a devouring kiss, you're all too willing to let him peel your towel open, drop it to the floor, and guide you backwards onto the bed.

There he'll take his time, forging yet another mental map of every plush square inch of you.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a busy man. You understand that.

As Sheriff, his job demands a lot from him. He's also a father and has an ex-wife to contend with. (You knew that going in, and you've come to love Emily too.)

However, you can't help but start to take it personally when your sex life begins to suffer. He's often claimed being tired...but there's another suspicion that's been taking root in your mind, feeding your doubts and insecurities about how your boyfriend sees you, and about how you see yourself.

When you slip into bed at night, a kiss goodnight is all he gives you lately, before he's sighing deeply and closing his eyes, his soft snores soon filling the room.

One night, you try touching his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his bearded cheek. He hums at the pleasant feeling.

"You wanna...?" You trail the question in his ear, pressing more sweet kisses down his neck.

"Aw, sweetheart," he groans. "I'd like to, but I think I'd just smother you. I'm about to pass out."

You huff a laugh. You teasingly walk two fingers across his chest. "What if I make it easy for you?"

You shift onto your side. Resting a hand on his chest, you lean down to kiss him. He hums at the softness of it, but the more passion you try to imbue into each new kiss, Beau isn't as responsive as you would like. Eventually, you stop all together.

You frown, becoming disheartened. "You're not into this, I guess."

He opens his tired eyes, gazes up at you in apology. He opens his mouth to reply, but you beat him to it.

"You know it's been a month since we've had sex," you say.

Beau frowns, sliding a hand up your back. Only now does he notice, with appreciation, the familiar silky négligée you're wearing.

"Nah, that doesn't sound right," he says.

"Well, it is," you say. "I know you say you're tired, but I mean, you've had this job for as long as I've known you, Beau." Your eyes fall away from him. "So is it the job, or...is it me?"

Beau's brows furrow. "Now wait a minute."

The mere thought dredges up what's been plaguing your mind recently, and it has your throat tightening. Tears of embarrassment and upset well up in your eyes, no matter how much you try to push it down.

You push away from him and turn away, crossing your arms. You try not to look at yourself in what used to be your favorite lingerie.

You can't stand the extra weight you've put on, mostly in your hips and ass, but in your middle and arms too.

You've gone through your own stress at work this year, with less and less time to try and take care of yourself, along with making sure Emily gets to and from school, cooking for the three of you, going to PTA meetings when Carla can't make it (since Beau often can't), and every other proverbial hat you wear.

Beau follows you, sitting up and laying a hand on your back. "Sweetheart--"

"I know I've put on a few. Hell, more than a few," you admit, hastily wiping under your eyes. "God, I can't even look at myself right now, let alone have you--"

"Hey. You stop right there," Beau says, more firmly. He gets you to turn around with his hand on your shoulder. He doesn't like the way you're curled in on yourself, as if hiding your body from his gaze.

That, and the sight of your tears damn well break his heart.

He cups the side of your face gently and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, followed closely by your lips.

You don't want to melt, but you just can't help it. You cling to the front of his shirt and lean into his kiss, like you've been lost in the desert, and his lips hold the breath of life.

You almost don't realize it when his arms slip around your waist. He earns a surprised yelp from you when he gathers you close against his chest and rolls you underneath him.

You land against the pillows in a huff. You stare up at his playful smile, his green eyes glinting with amusement, with fondness, and also with desire as they roam over your breasts, barely contained by dark green satin and lace.

"I've been neglecting you, haven't I?" he says. His voice is a low, earthy drawl as his gaze rakes over you. His big hand runs down your side and over your hip, then down your bare thigh, squeezing soft, tender flesh. He slips that hand under the satin night gown.

His hand can't span your entire thigh, but it's not for lack of trying. Your heart beats a staccato rhythm at the way he looks at you, your breath hitching when his thumb dips between your legs, brushing against the damp, silky fabric of your panties.

"It's not because I don't find you sexy as hell. Believe me, darlin', I do," he says. "You're so fuckin' beautiful, especially when you're all laid out for me here."

And he means what he says. You know it by the hardness you feel pressing against your hip. You slip your fingers into his hair with a sigh.

He bows his head to press kisses along your neck; down and down, he noses at the thin strap of your night gown. His path of kisses continue, and he indulges himself by dipping his tongue between the valley of your breasts.

"Filling out this lacy little thing so nice," he murmurs into your skin.

Your upset has turned to abject relief, but you still have to blink away the remaining urge to cry.

You let out a slightly tremulous breath.

"Oh, yeah?" you ask.

Beau pauses. He pulls away, just so he can look up and meet your eyes. He still finds insecurity in yours, so he meets you with a kiss filled with heat and intent.

He's now wide awake. He plans to take his sweet time taking you apart, inch by inch.

In fact, in the back of his mind, he also plans to do better about letting his deputies help him out more at the precint so he can have a better work-life balance.

(Because going a whole damn month without the taste of you is "no bueno," in his words.)

Soldier Boy (Ben)

The man may not be very patient, or particularly perceptive, but he's not an idiot.

At least, not about sex.

He knows that you've been feigning tiredness, and generally avoiding his touch.

What's strange is that you haven't been avoiding him. You still cook for him, still share conversation with him, still insist on having him spoon you on the couch while catching him up on the past four decades of TV shows and movies.

But when he begins to sneak a hand under your oversized shirt (an old one of Ben's), caressing your hip, then dipping down to your softer stomach on the way to your panties, breaking your concentration from the movie as unease laces down your spine.

You grab his wrist on reflex, instead lacing your fingers together.

"What's the matter now?" he asks.

You look over your shoulder at him and find him frowning at you, a divot between his brows. You don't manage to hold his gaze for long.

"Sorry," you say quietly. "I'm just, um, tired."

Ben doesn't believe you, and he's direct when he calls you out on it.

Reluctant to put what you've been feeling into words, you pause the movie and leave the couch (and him) behind.

Ben is annoyed enough to follow you (and underneath, he hides an edge of concern). The conflict leads into the bedroom, where you're still unwilling to open up.

He finally stops you from walking away from him, pinning you against the dresser by your hips. He practically looms over you as he demands an answer. He knows you're hiding something — something that's had you reluctant to let him touch you.

"Is there something you wanna tell me?" he says, a raw edge of warning in his tone. "What, are you fucking somebody else?"

Shock flashes in your eyes, making you angry. "What? No!"

"Well, you seem to be getting your fill somewhere, and it hasn't been from me--"

"Are you fucking serious? I'm not..." Your lips purse. You're actually hurt that he would hurl that accusation your way--and it couldn't be farther from the truth.

You tug your long shirt downwards and cross your arms, but it's more like you're hugging yourself, shielding your body away.

Ben's brows furrow a little bit more.

Eventually you get it out; you haven't been feeling up to being intimate because you're having a hard time even looking at yourself lately.

"I know I need to, um, get back in shape," you say, taking in a shaky breath to try and steady yourself. Your throat constricts, the beginnings of tears stinging your eyes. You want to look at anywhere but at Ben. "I just haven't had much time, with everything going on. But Annie gave me this guide on some different diets, like intermittent fasting, Keto--"

"Fasting," Ben intones. "What, you wanna fucking starve yourself? What the fuck is Keto?"

You sigh, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"No, not starve myself. And Keto's just..." The idea of trying to explain the new diet craze to your boyfriend is too daunting a task to consider. "Never mind. The point is, I have a plan. My hips, my thighs, my ass--"

Ben squeezes your hips at the mention of them. He happens to like the softness.

"Yeah, you've got a little extra. So fucking what?" he says, his voice deep and exacting as his gaze roams over your body. "Just gives me more to hold onto when I'm fucking you."

You utter a shocked laugh. "Ben!"

He grins lazily, and he turns you this way and that, admiring you from all angles. In his eyes, he doesn't find a side he doesn't like. You can't help but blush hotly under his gaze.

"Sweetheart, do whatever you want if it makes you feel good. But you don't need to starve yourself." His hands move to your ass, squeezing a bit harder on the plush flesh.

A yelp escapes you; he's pressing into you from the front as well, and you feel him heavy and already half-hard against you. You grab onto his arms for stability as your breaths quicken.

His attitude kind of surprises you, even though it soothes the frayed, insecure part of your soul that wants to be as beautiful and attractive in his eyes as he is in yours.

Ben is literally a super soldier. You're actually kind of jealous. The man can drug and booze hard and eat whatever the hell he wants, but his super metabolism just seems to absorb it into his washboard abs.

(The more you think about it, the more you want to smack him.)

Nothing about him isn't hard and lean, muscle and strength.

Only his hands have a measure of gentleless when they're holding you like this.

"I've just got so many stretch marks now," you begin to complain, in an emotional whisper.

He snorts. "And? You think it's anything I haven't seen?"

At that, your head tilts in consideration. Butcher's Granny Fucker remark comes to mind. You bite your lip against a smirk.

Ben crooks a curled finger under your chin. He guides you to meet his eyes, before he lures you into a lusty kiss.

It's somewhat rough because of his beard, but you still smile afterwards, leaning against him now.

"Ain't nothing about you that I can't handle," he adds, all smirking and cocky. To prove his point, he hooks those strong hands behind your thighs and lifts you onto the dresser.

You gasp and cling to his shoulders. From there, he makes quick work of ridding the oversized shirt from your body, revealing you to the cool air and his hot gaze.

You take his face in your hands and bring him in for an even steamier kiss, your heart lighter and trembling with anticipation.

You've held yourself from him long enough, Ben thinks, and he has every intention of devouring you right on your old dresser -- before you two even get to the bed.

AN: 😮‍💨 I feel like each of these could've been even longer with their own one-shot loll. I wrote the Midnight Espresso-verse for Dean, partially to explore what his relationship would be like with a plus-sized reader. 💖💖

Let me know which one you liked most this time!

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

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Beau Arlen Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist 

Dean, Beau + Soldier Boy Tag List (Part 1)

If you would like to get notified every time I post a story, feel free to follow my side blog @zepskieswrites with notifications on so you don't miss out. 💜

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

@thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @riteofpassage77

@deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @sanscas @mxltifxnd0m @suckitands33

@kaleldobrev @spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @trashmoutth

@globetrotter28 @adoringanakin @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @tayl0rfanatic

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @everything-is-all-clear

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @chernayawidow @mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky

@my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @cookiechipdough @sixxteenbullets

@tmb510 @syrma-sensei @artemys-ackles @malindacath @mrsjenniferwinchester

[dulcescorderitas]

sex tape with jensen

the camera is already on, its little red light burning steady as it waits, patient, unjudging. you don’t know why that tiny pinprick of light feels so alive, like it’s staring straight through you, like it knows the secrets you haven’t even whispered yet. you’re standing there in the middle of the room, legs barely steady, that oversized hoodie of yours swallowing you up like armor. it smells like him—like jensen. his cologne, his skin, his warmth, all soaked into the fabric.

“you sure, y/n?” his voice is low, gravelly, dipping right into that soft spot inside your chest where all your nerves live. he’s standing so close, his body towering over you, and god, he’s warm. you feel the heat of him even though he hasn’t touched you yet. not really. his hands are on either side of you, just hovering like he’s giving you a second to run if you need to.

your voice comes out in this tiny little whisper, like it doesn’t know if it’s allowed to exist. “yeah. i’m sure.”

he smirks, just the edge of it, like he knows you’re lying a little, but not enough to stop. his hands finally drop to your waist, big and sure, and you swear you feel the world tilt under his touch. “you’re nervous,” he says, more like a statement than a question. his thumbs rub slow circles into your hips, grounding you, like he’s reminding you he’s here. “but that’s okay. i’ve got you.”

you nod, too fast, too eager, because what else can you do? you’ve always trusted him, and tonight shouldn’t be any different. right?

he pulls back just enough to tug at the hem of your hoodie, looking down at you with those sharp, playful eyes that see right through you every damn time. “off,” he says, simple, commanding, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “let me see you, sweetheart.”

your hands move on their own, tugging at the fabric until you’re pulling it up over your head. it’s not graceful—it never is—but he doesn’t seem to care. his eyes are locked on you, watching as the hoodie hits the floor, leaving you standing there in just your pale pink panties. you shiver, arms instinctively crossing over your chest, like maybe you can hide.

but jensen doesn’t let you. his hands are on your wrists in an instant, pulling them gently down to your sides. “uh-uh,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. “don’t do that. don’t hide from me. you’re beautiful, y/n. you know that, don’t you?”

you shake your head, biting your lip, your eyes darting anywhere but at him. he laughs, low and rough, like you just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “guess i’ll just have to show you, then.”

before you can even process what he means, his hands are on your hips, pulling you closer until your body is pressed against his. his fingers dip under the waistband of your panties, brushing against bare skin, and you let out this tiny gasp, your hands clinging to his biceps like they’re the only thing keeping you upright.

“there she is,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, and you feel your whole body shiver at the sound of his voice. “my sweet girl.”

he guides you back toward the bed, every step slow, deliberate, like he’s giving you a chance to stop this if you want to. but you don’t. you can’t. you sit on the edge of the bed, your knees pressing together as you look up at him, wide-eyed and unsure.

“lay back for me,” he says, his voice softer now, like he’s trying not to spook you. you do as he says, your heart pounding as you stretch out on the bed, the comforter cool against your bare skin. he follows, climbing onto the bed with this cat-like grace, his hands planting themselves on either side of your head as he leans over you.

“you’re so damn pretty, y/n,” he says, his voice thick with something you can’t quite name. his fingers trail down your arm, over your side, tracing the curve of your hip. “and you don’t even know it, do you?”

you shake your head again, swallowing hard, your breath coming in shallow little bursts. he smiles, leaning down to press his lips against yours, soft and slow at first, like he’s savoring you. but then it deepens, his tongue sliding against yours, his teeth catching your bottom lip, and it’s like the whole world tilts on its axis.

“mhm a nd you taste so sweet,” he murmurs against your lips, his hand sliding down to hook under your knee, pulling your leg up around his waist. “you’re perfect.”

you feel his other hand between your legs, brushing over the thin fabric of your panties, and you can’t stop the soft whimper that escapes your lips. his touch is light, teasing, and it’s driving you insane.

“look at me, y/n,” he says, his voice firm but gentle. you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the way he’s looking at you—it’s like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. “you’re mine. you know that, right?”

“yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i’m yours.”

“damn right you are,” he growls, his fingers hooking under your panties, pulling them down your legs.

jensen tosses your panties to the side without even looking where they land, his eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing that matters. his gaze is heavy, dark, filled with this raw, unfiltered hunger that makes your whole body tremble. the camera’s still rolling, its red light blinking steady like it’s alive, watching, and for some reason, the idea that it’s capturing all of this makes your stomach flip.

“spread those legs for me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low and commanding, a rasp that shoots straight through you. he’s kneeling now, his hands sliding up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he pushes your legs apart. the cool air kisses your bare skin, and you’re so fucking aware of how exposed you are—how exposed the camera is making you—but the way jensen looks at you makes it impossible to care.

“jesus christ, baby,” he breathes, sitting back on his heels for a moment just to look at you. his tongue swipes across his bottom lip, his hands tightening on your thighs. “you’re fucking perfect. every inch of you.”

you whimper, trying to press your legs back together, but he doesn’t let you. his grip is firm, unyielding. “uh-uh. don’t hide from me. or the camera. i want it to see how gorgeous you are when you fall apart for me.”

his words make your whole body flush, heat pooling low in your belly as you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “jensen, please…”

“please what, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. he leans down, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, soft and teasing, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. “use your words.”

“please touch me,” you beg, your voice barely more than a whisper. “i need you…”

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. and then his mouth is on you—hot, wet, relentless. his tongue glides through your folds, slow at first, savoring you, before he sucks your clit between his lips, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

you arch off the bed, a strangled moan tearing from your throat, your hands flying to his hair, tugging hard. he groans at the tug, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body, and his hands grip your hips tighter, pinning you down as his mouth works you over like he’s starving.

jensen pulls back just long enough to look up at you, his lips shiny, his chin glistening with your slick. “look at you, y/n. look at how good you’re doing for me.”

you force your eyes open, your gaze flicking down to meet his. the sight of him between your legs, his hair messy from your fingers, his lips swollen and wet, sends a fresh wave of heat through you. he smirks, his fingers sliding through your folds, spreading you open. “you’re so wet for me, sweetheart. so fucking wet.”

he pushes one finger inside you, slow and deliberate, watching your face the entire time. you gasp, your head falling back against the pillow as your walls clench around him. “fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters, adding a second finger, scissoring them inside you. “this pussy was made for me. wasn’t it, baby?”

“yes,” you moan, your hips bucking against his hand. “it’s yours, jensen. all yours.”

“damn right it is,” he growls, curling his fingers inside you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. his thumb brushes over your clit, and you cry out, your body shaking, your nails digging into his shoulders.

he doesn’t stop—not when you’re trembling, not when you’re gasping, not when you’re falling apart under his touch. the camera catches every second of it—the way your back arches, the way your legs shake, the way you scream his name as you come undone, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

he doesn’t give you a chance to recover, pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean with a low groan. “fuck, you taste so good,” he says, his voice rough with desire. “but we’re not done yet, sweetheart. not even close.”

he stands, towering over you, and you can’t help but watch as he unbuttons his jeans, shoving them down along with his boxers. his cock springs free, hard and thick, and your mouth waters at the sight of it. he catches the way you’re looking at him and smirks, stroking himself slowly, deliberately. “see something you like?”

“please,” you whisper, reaching out for him, your fingers brushing against his thigh. “i need you inside me.”

he climbs back onto the bed, settling between your legs, the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance. he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hand threading through your hair. “i’m gonna fill you up, y/n,” he murmurs against your lips. “gonna make you mine. and the camera’s gonna catch every second of it.”

he thrusts into you in one smooth motion, and you cry out, your back arching as he fills you completely. he groans, his head falling to your shoulder, his hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. “fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, pulling out slowly before slamming back into you. “so fucking tight.”

he sets a relentless pace, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. the camera catches everything—the way your body moves under him and the way you cling to him.

“look at me, y/n,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes nearly steals your breath. “you’re mine. say it.”

“i’m yours,” you gasp, your nails digging into his back as he fucks you harder, deeper. “i’m yours, jensen. only yours.”

he growls, burying his face in your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin. “that’s right, sweetheart. you’re mine. and i’m gonna make damn sure you never forget it.”

taglist: @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @benscumgluzzer @wlovefromjade @cevansbaby-dove @gibson-g1rl @impala67rollingthroughtown

[hologramcowboy]

Iconic Dean. 🧡

Dean Winchester in Supernatural: 1x04 Phantom Traveler

[doeinlace]

lace & dress up

pairing jackles x controversially younger gf!reader warnings: none, sassy jackles lmao a/n: this piece of work was inspired by @dulcescorderitas

you’re sitting on the floor of your closet, one he had built for you after you complained there wasn’t enough space for your coats. the carpet is soft under your bare legs, the lace of your dress a little scratchy where it bunches at your elbows. jensen’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you sift through your shoes like this is some kind of sacred ritual.

“you’re not even listening to me.” his voice is amused, the same way it always is when he catches you in your own head.

“i am,” you hum, reaching for the dior mules, black with pink soles, the little bows at the front. you slip one on and stretch out your leg, admiring it under the dim glow of the chandelier he insisted was too much when you picked it out. “what were you saying?”

he exhales, stepping further into the room, kneeling down in front of you. his hands are warm when they skim up your thighs, settling just below the hem of your dress. “i said,” he murmurs, “that you don’t need another pair of shoes.”

“i do.” you slip on the other one, settling back on your palms. “they’re different.”

he huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but his hands stay where they are. neither of you are in a rush to move.

"you gonna let me take you to dinner, or are you just gonna sit here all night playing dress-up?"

you grin, tilting your head. "both."

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Just Too Important - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: They're back! They're obsessed with each other! Ben once again is proving that he's the grumpiest old man to ever grumpy old man! Enjoy!

Title from Snooze by SZA

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary/Warnings: You and Ben head to Costco. Takes place about two months post-series.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, Ben being old, pre-established relationship, mentions of smut

There were only five things Ben had ever really fucking loved. Loved with his whole goddamn existence, so much he could probably kill himself with it if he tried.

He’d loved his mom. Loved her in a simple, pure way that he’d probably taken for fucking granted. She had been secure. The only person Ben had known wasn’t going to hate him for being a fuck up or problem. She’d pleaded with his father when Ben had been sent away. Kept in contact with him when she wasn’t supposed to. Still thought of him as just Ben, even when he’d given her every reason not to. Ben had loved his mom because she was his mom. He’d grieved her in drinks and silence when she died, and known that—compared to what he’d been before—she would’ve been proud of him now. Living a life that wasn’t violence and glamour. A life that was just stupid fucking ease and perfection, with a beautiful wife and smart son, in a comfort he’d never imagined he’d get to have.

He loved the movie Legally Blonde. His wife was never allowed to fucking know that.

He loved Ryan. The kid was a fucking genius, and Ben wasn’t sure how the hell Homelander had a single hand in creating him. He was kind and smart and determined, and a purely good fucking person. He’d been born from a long line of deeply fucked men, but he read books and cried when the dog died in a movie. He fucking loved school, and liked people, and tried so hard to be normal that Ben was sometimes worried he’d hurt himself. Ryan never needed to fucking apologize for having powers. He never needed to feel guilt for the shit Homelander had done, and never needed to repent like Ben had. He was just a fucking kid. A kid who sometimes woke up crying because he’d had a nightmare about his father—because they all did—and who’d apologize for waking Ben after. Ben really wished the people he loved would stop fucking apologizing to him.

He loved dancing. His wife already knew that one, but Ben was pretty damn sure she didn’t know just how much he loved it. It was reliable. Simple. Something his mother had made him learn, and something that he could use to make his wife fall into his arms and giggle against his chest. A way to use his body that wasn’t for destruction, an excuse to touch Her until she gave him a perfect, happy smile, and he somehow loved her more.

Because that was the thing Ben loved above every other goddamn thing in the universe. Loved more than the universe. The universe was fucking pathetic compared to how much Ben loved Her. Every single fucking thing about Her. How She smile and laughed and moved through the world. How goddamn kind and clever and perfect She was. All Her big fucking words and Her smart fucking mouth and Her sharp, beautiful features. How She was a fucking brat and a problem, and Ben would never want her any other way, because he was the luckiest fucking pussy in the world for this menace of a woman to love him back half as much as he loved Her. Lucky that She trusted him, looked at him like he was some sort of fucked up savior, and always touched him like she could never do anything better with her hands.

She was perfect. She was a fucking goddess, and every time Ben reminded Her of that she’d flush that pretty color and bury her face in his arm. Right where she goddamn belonged.

You can’t just say that, Ben-

I can say whatever the fuck I want, Sunshine. He’d press a kiss to the top of Her head, squeezing his hold on Her body. I fucking love you, and you’re a goddamn miracle. These pussies should be grateful to be in your goddamn presence.

I think you’re a little bias. She’d mumble between their heads, but Ben would hear the stumble of Her heart, feel her lean further into his body, and he’d smirk.

I don’t fucking care. He’d tangle a hand in Her hair, tugging it back so she was looking at him with wide, blown out eyes.  You’re fucking perfect. 

She’d smile at him, and Ben’s ribs would bloom and glow with how fucking beautiful She was. How She was all fucking his, to care for and tend to and love. For the rest of goddamn time, Ben got to fucking have Her.

You’re such a dramatic cunt, Benjamin.

He’d chuckle. You fucking love it.

And that would be the end of it. Wherever they were, Ben would find a place to fuck Her in peace, she’d cum all over him—filling the room with a million colors and dancing lights, bursting into flame and screaming his name—and Ben would make sure that she understood. Really fucking got that Ben had never been good at loving things, but loving Her was the easiest thing in the goddamn world. That he’d love Her until the world was fucking razed and scorched and She wasn’t there to love anymore.

Even then Ben would probably just fucking follow Her. That might be the only thing that one day got him. If She figured out a way to die, she wasn’t going to do it without Ben at Her side. She was alive inside of him—infinite and holy, fucking stronger and brighter than the goddamn sun—and Ben never wanted to know a life without Her again. 

She’d hate the idea of Ben going just because She went. She’d shove his chest and snap that he’d need to keep living without her, because she loved him too much to want him to die. And Ben would roll his eyes, grumble an agreement, and keep fucking knowing that if they went out, they were going out together.

Everything was so fucking beautiful when Ben had Her to share it with. Without Her he’d just be an old fucking asshole, chasing Her in shadows and songs, sitting at Her grave until he worked out how to turn the stone back into the only person in the world that really fucking mattered.

It was a damn good thing they were both immortal.

The world would not fucking like it if Ben had to keep living without Her.

He’d do anything for Her. He’d burn countless worlds to ash, then rebuild them just for Her to have. He’d refuse to destroy things, because She was good and would never want anyone to be in pain in Her name. If She demanded it, he would keep living, but he’d drive himself mad trying to bring Her back.

He’d learn to raise the dead. To find wherever the fuck She’d gone and pull her back to his side, where he’d keep Her safe and happy and smiling.

Christ, he’d do anything just to make Her smile.

He’d even let Her drag him here, to this massive square building that seemed to be some weird sort of grocery store. 

But Ben didn’t remember grocery stores selling TVs, or mattresses, or toys. Grocery stores didn’t sell watches. Or fucking pills and makeup, just a few aisles apart. 

Where the fuck are we. He muttered between their heads, and She looked back to him with an amused grin.

You drove us here, Ben.

Because I value my goddamn life, Sunshine.

Shut up-

No. He leaned down, kissing the space between Her eyes with a grin. Tell me where we are, brat, or I’ll fuck the answer out of you.

She wrinkled Her nose at him, even as Ben heard Her heart flutter slightly. No obviously public sex, you horny old cunt-

I never said we’d fuck in public, darling. This place is fucking huge, I’d find somewhere private, and then make you all dumb and pretty on my cock. Ben winked at Her, and Christ, she was beautiful. Wide, glossy eyes and a parted mouth, already putty in Ben’s hands just from his fucking words.

We’re at Costco. She said, a little breathless between their minds. It’s a superstore. 

Ben frowned. That didn’t make any damn sense, and he’d have a lot of time to fuck Her later. He needed to understand what in Christ she was talking about. 

What the fuck is a superstore. Did they figure out how to shoot up buildings with V and nobody fucking told me-

She laughed, wrapping Her arms around his neck with a shake of her head. No, Ben, it’s a physically large store that sells, like, everything.

Everything.

Pretty much, yeah. She shrugged. That’s why we’re here.

Ben nodded slowly. For the house.

Exactly. She smiled, Her voice soft and teasing between their minds. Good work, Pretty Boy.

Shut the fuck up, brat. Ben pulled Her half up his chest, kissing her until he got a breathy moan, and leaned back with a smirk. What do we need.

I, um… She blinked at him, her eyes a little glazed as Ben just grinned at Her. Fucking Christ, She was perfect.

Need some help there, Sunshine?

Fuck you-

Ben laughed, squeezing his hand on Her waist. No obviously public sex, darling-

Shut up. She muttered, and Ben’s grin only grew, because She tangled her hand in his and leaned further into his body at the exact same time. I made a list.

A list-

For what we need. And, She shot him a stern look, rising slightly on Her toes to hold his gaze. We’re sticking to it. No buying things we don’t need, just because you see them. 

Ben frowned. Why the fuck would I get shit we don’t need-

Because you’re a child, my love.

I am not a fucking child-

Yeah, you are. She gave him a soft, teasing grin, and Ben really didn’t know how to actually be annoyed with Her. Not when She was so goddamn beautiful, and looking at him with such adoration, and felt easy and happy around his skull. You’re a massive fucking man baby, Benjamin, and you’re going to see something shiny and try to buy it.

Fucking- I’m not a goddamn pussy with no self-

She pulled him into a slow, deep kiss, half climbing up his chest and molding into his arms fucking perfectly, and he groaned. She’d given him a blowjob before they left the house—Ryan was off at school for the day, and She was a horny fucking problem—and Ben could still taste himself in Her mouth. Mixed with coffee and chocolate, and Her. Always just fucking Her, smiling against his lips and safe in his arms. He could feel the cool metal of Her wedding ring when she tangled her fingers in his hair.

They had to finish this shopping shit right now, so Ben could carry Her to the car and fuck her stupid in the back seat.

You’re my man baby, Pretty Boy. She said between their minds, and leaning back to give him a wide, perfect smile. I love you.

I love you too, Ben grunted, leaning down to kiss to Her brow. You fucking brat.

She hummed, Her smile wide and unrestrained on her beautiful face. Ready?

Ben nodded, grabbing Her hand and pressing one last kiss to Her knuckles. There was Her ring. Both of her rings. Physical fucking proof to anyone who looked that She loved Ben. Wanted him. Fucking adored him. 

If She needed Ben for shopping, he’d walk with Her and do whatever she told him to. She’d know what she was doing. She always knew what She was doing, because she was a goddamn force of nature, and if Ben had a say in it, he’d make sure everyone did what she told them all the fucking time.

They didn’t—because most people were stupid fucking dumbcucks that Ben wasn’t allowed to just fucking kill—but they should. All of this post-Homelander shit would be so much easier if everyone would just fucking listen to Her. 

And Ben knew how hard She was working on it. How She was calm and collected when she testified before congress and recounted all the shit that fucking pussy had done to Her, but always fell apart after, sobbing and shaking in Ben’s arms. She’d crawl over his body and bury Her face in his chest, he’d feel fucking sick, and wish he could bring Homelander back to life just to fucking kill him again. Everyone demanded too goddamn much of Her, and she always gave it because she was too fucking good, and if all She asked for was Ben to go shopping with Her, he’d do it a billion fucking times.

Anything to make Her tap her fingers because she was picking out wall colors and not because she had to explain how She’d killed Sage. Anything to make Her flush because Ben was kissing her neck in the lamp aisle and not because a bunch of old fucking pussies wanted unnecessary details about Her alleged relationship with Soldier Boy.

It wasn’t fucking alleged. They were goddamn married. They had a son and owned a house together.

A house they needed to put things in. And decorate. And make theirs. So if that was what this trip was about, Ben could fucking do it. For Her.

It started simple. They needed more furniture, they found it. 

“We already have most of what we need,” She muttered, pulling Ben through the store. “It’s mostly decorations now. If you see something you like-“

“I’ll like whatever the fuck you like.”

She let out a long sigh. “That not helpful-“

Ben grunted Her name, spinning Her around in his arms and dropping his brow to Her’s. 

“Ben-“

“Listen to me.” He held Her gaze, drawing firm circles in her hips. “I could give a fuck what our house looks like, as long as you like it, and there’s no goddamn blue.”

“But it’s your house too-“

“I don’t fucking care.” He grunted. “I’ve told you, Sunshine, we could be living in a fucking dumpster, and I’d be good.”

She scanned over Ben’s face, and sighed. “Can you promise you’ll at least try to find one thing you want?”

“Deal.” Ben kissed Her, dipping her slightly in his arms and keeping Her tucked to his side when they pulled apart.

For Her, he’d try to find one thing. It couldn’t be that fucking hard. This place was huge. 

At first, there was nothing. She had opinions on the colors and style of their house, and Ben mostly just watched Her be perfect and smart and happy, grumbling low agreements and kissing Her until she smiled whenever he got the chance. That was what he cared about. Not whatever the fuck rustic or sleek meant. Not about what shade of green their bedroom should be, or if they should have the bird or sunset painting, or if a glass vase was better than a ceramic one. 

“Just lie and pretend you have an answer-“

“No. I don’t fucking lie to you-“

“It’s a vase, Ben. I’m not going to freak out and burn the building down because you lie about liking a vase-“

“I don’t give a fuck about the vase.” He snapped. “My job is to buy you the damn flowers-“

“Well,” She raised Her brows, giving him a pointed look. “Where can I put the flowers, if I don’t have a vase?”

Ben scowled. “Smartass.”

“You love it.” She gave him a sweet smile, and he really fucking did. “Choose a vase, Pretty Boy.”

Ben rolled his eyes, glaring between the options, and decided they were both fucking stupid. “No.”

“Benjamin-“

“Get that one.” He pointed to a third, smaller one. It was the same color as Her eyes, and had little golden patterns. He didn’t hate it. “It’ll fit on the dresser.”

She paused, tapping Her fingers on Ben’s arm, and nodded slowly. “Okay.” She gave him a wider, purely fucking adoring smile, and Ben felt his whole body grow radiant. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.” He grumbled, kissing the side of Her head, and a dam broke inside of him. 

Suddenly, Ben had a lot of fucking opinions. A red carpet would look fucking stupid in the living room, and Ben didn’t want a weird, twisting lamp on his bed stand. They’d get the shower curtain with little octopuses—octopi, Benjamin—because they made Her smile, but Ben would give MM a fucking blowjob before he used as towel with ducks on it.

“But they’re cute-“

“No.” Ben snapped, grabbing a stack on plain, monotone towels, and dumping them into the cart. “They’re fucking towels, Sunshine, they only need to dry us off.”

“I know, but look at them!” She held the ducks up, giving Ben a pretty pout that was designed to fucking kill him. “Please? Just one?”

Ben scowled. She knew what the fuck She was doing. Looking so fucking beautiful and leaning into his body and making Her sharp eyes soft just for him. He couldn’t say no to Her. He’d never really want to, anyway. Not when he grabbed the towel, tossed it in the cart, and Her smile had the same effect as fucking heroine.

“One.” He grunted. “Because I fucking love you, brat, you get one.”

She kept smiling at him, holding his face between Her hands and kissing him right on the nose. “Thank you, my love-“

Ben rolled his eyes, and dragged Her into a longer, firmer kiss. Until She was a sighing and humming and melting into him, before grabbing Her hand and tugging her to the next isle.

They got shampoo—Ben tried to pick his own out, She looked like she was going stab him or set him on fire, and he decided to let Her handle that shit—a bunch of picture frames, and a lot of useless decorative shit that they didn’t need. Small potted plants that would have to be kept out of the bedroom, a fuck ton of books that She’d probably already read, and some nice, dark green plates. 

Ben took over for groceries—that might be the only place in the world where She didn’t know what the fuck she was doing—and he kept it simple. Pancakes. Ice cream. Bagels. Strawberry cream cheese. Coffee. Chocolate. Something called Lunchables that Ryan seemed to like. Apple sauce, because on worse days that was all Ben could get Her to eat, and he’d be damned if he let Homelander keep haunting them like that. Whiskey. Burger patties-

“You know there’s only three of us, right?” She was hanging off of Ben’s arm, giving him an amused look as he tossed a second bag of apples into their slightly overflowing cart. “And we can come back if we host dinner with the team.”

Ben frowned. “You told me Butcher was hosting-“

“He is. I’m saying that’s why we don’t need so many-“

“We need to be fucking prepared.” Ben muttered. “Shit happens, Sunshine, and I’ll be fucking damned if I let us go hungry-“

Ben.

He grunted Her name, glancing down to see open, obvious amusements painted over Her pretty features. 

Are you fucking Cold War prepping.

Shut up.

She snorted. Holy shit, you are-

I said shut the fuck up. We need to be goddamn careful, and it’s my job to make sure you and Ryan are safe-

That’s not your job, Ben. She sighed, giving him a soft smile that lit up his whole fucking body. But, if it was, you already do an amazing job, without being an old, paranoid dinosaur. And remember, She squeezed his hand, raising Her brows slightly. Ryan’s literally invulnerable, and I fuck an atomic bomb every day. We’d be fine.

Ben scowled, but put the third bag of apples back. We fuck at least three times a day.

I know. I’m there.

You fucking start most of it-

You’re just proving my point, Pretty Boy.

Shut up.

From there, She made him go look at fucking pants and shirts. Only so She could send Neuman orders for their specialized, supe-proof clothing, but still needing Ben’s actual fucking opinions. He didn’t fucking care about clothing, and he trusted Her with his fucking life, so she ended up making most of the choices as Ben grunted in approval. 

They were almost done. And this had been fun—he’d never tell Her that, but he was also pretty damn sure she knew—but Ben wanted to go the hell home. To drop all this shit in the doorway, carry Her upstairs, and fuck Her until she screamed his name so loud all the glasses in the house fucking broke. 

All that was left was getting something called a Roomba.

“What fuck is that thing.” Ben muttered, frowning at the metal disc in Her hands. It just looked like fucking junk.

“It’s a robot.”

“A fucking what.”

“Robot. Robot vacuum. It’ll clean the floor-“

“That circle is going to clean the floor-“

“Yep.” She glanced at the label on the shelf. “Do you think we need max power? I don’t really know what average power would do- Ben-“

He’d grabbed the robot—fucking robot—from Her, and was examining it. He didn’t know what the hell he was looking for, only that he wasn’t finding it.

“Ben-“

“This thing is not a fucking robot.” He muttered. “Robots aren’t real.”

“They very much are real, old man.”

“There’s not a chance in fucking hell this thing can clean a floor-“

“Well, it does.” She took the circle back, placing it into the cart and giving Ben a teasing look of disbelief. “Are Roomba’s really going to be the thing that gets you about the 21st century?”

He scowled. “They’re not fucking real, Sunshine-“

“Benjamin, my love.” She moved to stand right before him, holding his gaze to Her’s with amusement dancing all over Her perfect face. She was so fucking beautiful. “You can throw nuclear energy with your brain, pick up trucks with one hand, and I’ve seen you jump off a building without flinching. We’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected. When I orgasm, I make both of us hallucinate. This,” She pointed to the so-called robot. “Cannot be the thing that gets you.”

Shut up, brat. Ben rolled his eyes, kissing the back of Her hand before glaring around the rest of isle. Are all of these things fucking robots.

No, these are just normal vacuums.

Does this place have other robots.

Yeah, probably.

Ben’s eyes narrowed. Where.

———————

You’ve made a grave error.

You don’t think you’re ever going to leave this Costco. 

After the Roomba, you’d shown Ben robotic litter boxes, and drones, and a smart speaker. You’re pretty sure that’s where you’d went wrong. 

“This thing can hear me?”

You’d nodded, watching him with a small smile you were having a hard time fighting. To any passerby, Ben would’ve looked furious, but you know him. Know that right now, his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes meant that he was shocked and confused. 

It helped that you could feel it, pricking on his skin and cloudy around his head. It was kind of adorable. 

“It can hear all of us.”

He’d scowled. “Why the fuck is it listening-“

“So you can tell it what to do. Here, look- Alexa? Play Steely Dan.”

“Playing- Steely Dan.”

Low music started to fill the space, and you’d had to bite your cheek to stop the snort at Ben’s expression. He’d looked like he’d been shot. It had been adorable. 

And now, two fucking hours later, you didn’t think you’d ever get sick of that expression on his face. He was like a five-year-old loose in a candy shop, walking from aisle to aisle and asking you grumbling questions about various technologies and appliances. If you’re being honest, the only time you’ve seen him look close to this was whenever he’d fuck you. It was a similar expression of pure, raw joy and wonder, but devoid of all the darkened, animalistic need. 

“What the fuck are these?”

“Security cameras.” 

Ben frowns. “They look like fucking doorbells.”

“They’re both.” You say, resting your head against his chest, and he nods slowly.

“We should get one.”

“Ben-“

“For fucking safety, Sunshine, it would be damn insane not to have cameras when all those fucking pussy Homelander supporters are still out there-“

“I agree, my love.” You smile at him, forcing yourself not the climb into his arms as his concrete concern and resolve wrap around you. “That’s why I asked Hughie to install some already.”

Ben pauses, something hot and sore flaring on his skin. “Why the fuck did you ask Hughie.”

“He’s a tech nerd, and Annie said he’d know the best ones to get.” You kissing the underside of Ben’s jaw, humming against his skin. Next time, I’ll ask you, Benjamin. It’ll be so fucking funny to watch you try to install them.

Ben scowls, adoration flaring in his chest as the soreness eases, and you manage to walk him away from the doorbells. 

Most of the afternoon has mostly become walking Ben away from things. For some stuff, it’s easy. Noise canceling headphones wouldn’t work on him. You don’t need a slightly larger TV, because your current one is perfectly fine. You don’t have the space for a hot tub.

“What about these.” He points to the third golf set, and you sigh.

“Ben, you hate golf. You’ve told me it’s a weak fucking pussy sport.”

“And it fucking is, but these things can be damn good weapons-“

“We are not buying weapons.”

“What if someone fucking breaks into the house with a gun-“

“You and Ryan are bullet proof, and I can’t be killed-“

“What if it’s a fucking supe-“

“Then you can blast them with your special sauce, and they won’t be a supe.” You wrap your arms around him, raising your brows. “We’ll be fine, Ben. No golf clubs.”

He scowls, and moves on. 

From the golf clubs. And the iPad, and other security cameras, and air hockey table.

But other things are harder. 

Because you make a second mistake. You agree with him that you should buy a generator, because it’s practical. But what Ben learns is that you can say yes to things. And now you have an ice cream maker, an air fryer, a truly unreasonable amount of batteries, and lawn sprinklers.

And a vibrator, because Ben had grabbed it, shoved it into the cart, and raised his brows in a silent challenge.

You’d sighed. Ben, I don’t need-

I’m going to have to travel, Sunshine-

I know, but I think I can keep it together until you get back to fuck me yourself.

Or. Ben had winked at you, and you felt his hunger spread in your gut. We could do that Zoom shit, you could imagine that thing is me. He’d lowered down, starting to leave wet, sloppy kisses up your neck. And I could tell you exactly how I’d want to fuck you. How I’d play with that perfect fucking pussy until you were begging for me, then I’d stuff that smart fucking mouth with my cock and start to finger fuck you, make your squirt on my hand while you choke on my dick-

You’d buried your face in his chest, muffling your whimper in his shirt. Jesus fucking Christ, Ben-

You like that, darling? Like thinking about how I fill you up, how fucking good I pound into that pussy, how I make you cum on my cock and hands and face-

You’d agreed to buy the vibrator, but mostly because if he had kept talking, you might have climaxed just from Ben’s voice.

You should’ve left Costco an hour ago.

But Ben still doesn’t seem to be done yet.

“How the fuck are they doing that.” He mutters, poking remote and watching the LEDs shift from green to pink to yellow for the fifth time. 

“Semiconductors.” You say, trying not to look like such a dopey, lovesick idiot as you smile at him. “We do have to go home soon. Ryan’s almost done with school.” 

Ben grunts, grabbing one of the LED light strings and holding it up for you to see. 

You take it from him, kiss his cheek—your lips barely brushing his beard before he’s moving you to his mouth, and you almost fall over—and place the box in the cart.

The total amount of money you’ve spent today is disgusting, but the grin on Ben’s face makes it worth it. All of this is so fucking worth it, because you’re happy in such an average, normal way. You’re happy because Ben’s happy—glowing and furious in your whole body—and he’s everything. He grabs you a chocolate bar in the checkout isle without you asking, and insists unloading everything into the trunk himself.

“Go wait in the car, Sunshine-“

You shake your head, trying—and failing—not to gawk at him. So goddamn handsome the broad daylight, muscles flexing as the moves bag after bag, all yours to climb like a tree when you get home-

You won’t have to get until your get home.

Ben chuckles as you stare at him, and the moment the last bag is in the car he grabs you by your wrist, tugging your back into his chest and slamming his lips down to yours. It a rough, heavy kiss that probably isn’t appropriate for a parking lot, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. Ben’s love is strong and focused and everything in the world that matters. He’s swaying you back and forth in his arms, grinning as he nips at your lower lip and tugs a little at your hair, and you don’t think you’re ever going to get enough of him. Of how forceful and bloody and devout his love is, just in broad daylight when you’ve done nothing but smile at him. 

When he pulls away, neither of you bother to fully separate. Ben grins at you, and you smile at him, and when he brushes a little hair away from your face you do the only thing you can think of, and kiss him again. Softer this time, moving your hands to hold his face, allowing yourself to feel so purely safe and warm in the best place in the world. In Ben.

Because you know this will never fade. The love for him in your body that only grows more and more powerful with every passing moment. That you’ll always feel Ben’s love for you, no matter if you’re resting in heaven—caged between Ben’s body and a bed, sleeping or fucking or just smiling at him—breaking down in a hell you’ve visited countless times in life and will visit more in sleep, or standing somewhere domestic and mundane. 

You have a life now where you get to be domestic and mundane. Where you get to make out with your husband in a public place, until someone rolls down their window and wolf-whistles, and you have to restrain Ben from picking up their car and throwing it across the lot. Where you get to drive home with Ben’s hand on your thigh and your head resting on his shoulder, and you get to act like that’s all your life has ever been.

It’s all it will have to be now. 

For the rest of your life—which will likely be simply the rest of time—all you’ll have to do is be domestic. You don’t think you can be mundane, not when Ben grumbles something and you can feel his love spark and flare in his chest, or when you park the car and Ben carries all fifteen of your heavy bags inside at once without even a grunt. You can’t be mundane when, the moment he puts the bags down, you jump on him, he fucks you against the kitchen counter, and you burst into a flame that sets off the smoke alarm and drenches you both in the sprinklers. 

But you can be domestic. You can dry off and cook dinner with Ben—like a normal husband and wife probably do—and let him wrap his body around you and kiss that spot on your neck until you give up on focusing and ride him on the floor. 

You can eat with Ben and Ryan, try not to laugh as Ben works out how the ice cream maker works, and curl in Ben’s arms on your couch. Watching TV and sitting easily in the dark.

Ben can tilt your head back for a deep, slow kiss, smirking against your lips when you moan, and mutter your name like a prayer.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says, rubbing firm circles on your thigh, and you let out a long, slow breath as you flush.

“I think you abuse that word, Benjamin,” you mumble, and he shrugs.

“I don’t give a fuck. You are.” He frowns, turning you to face him in his lap. “I fucking love you, Sunshine, you’re my whole fucking world-“

I know. You smile, leaning down for another, softer kiss that makes Ben groan in your mouth and the whole world start to get a little hazy. I love you, too.

He grunts, but doesn’t bother to do his usual pushing about how you still don’t get how much he loves to you. You do get it. You can feel it, and it’s the most powerful thing in the world. Sometimes you worry Ben doesn’t understand how much you love him. How you can’t even begin to picture a world where you’d never clawed your way through blood and grime to find him. How you can feel his love and resolve and care all the time, and your own love is so eternal and vast you could probably power a universe with it. 

But you’ll have all of time to fight with him about who loves who more. 

Right now, everything can just be Ben and you on a couch, eating ice cream, and knowing that this—You and him, burning together—is forever.

End Note: Had to make the smart speaker an Alexa. We are in an Amazon based universe. I don’t think they sell Alexas at Costco, but we’ve established that Costco sells whatever I want it to sell. So, Alexas.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask! (Separate from main taglist)

Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd @sthefferrete

@lyarr24 @deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @Ambiguous-avery

@elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @heyimolive @alwaystiredandconfused

@kamisobsessed @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @Jackles010378 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @immastealurkneecaps

@star-yawnznn @Chi-raz @Lori19 @wynnthewynnder @fultiana-kh @woaheasytig3r

@lovelywebber

[4ever-feral]

My lord someone needs to sedate me, when he falls back on the wood post with the bloody eyebrow plus the tie and jacket 😩🤤

[let-me-be-your-home]

Jensen Ackles Appreciation | Happy Birthday Jensen Ackles 

[whateverthedragonswant]

I love how fandom wars are going on for the past 48 hours, the anti's vs AA's, and it really picked up in the last 24. And amongst all of that squabbling and melting keyboards, this is the Jensen content that gets posted for the holiday weekend:

...this man cracks me up. What a legend.

[hologramcowboy]

https://x.com/ixwysty/status/1829811264421257292

🧡

[angel-fruitcake]

✨please take a moment for some Destiel/Jenmish nose appreciation✨

those are some mighty fine sniffers

[dotthings]

Watching videos of Jensen and Rob singing Everybody Hurts at SNS. Misha quietly sneaks in at the back of the room under cover of darkess to listen. Jensen filming Rob singing just because he wants his own personal footage of his talented friend being talented. Jensen making hearthands. <333

[feelingthedisaster]

so, me and my mom's bonding activity is to watch shows together, so this means i get to hear her live commentary and opinions. i made a list of my favourites

(disclaimer: this doesnt mean i agree/support what she said)

she talked about jared padalacki and jensen ackles's hotness through supernatural, but not like who's hotter or aged like wine/aged badly, she talked about it in an analytical sense: how the producers used their physical attributes for views and how it changed their portrait as the fans reacted/the actores aged (she says sam started as the 'pretty boy' of the show but as it progressed it stopped)

she insists the actor of eddie was going through some health issues during the filming of season six of 911. her reasoning is that they didnt show his abs as much as they did in the previus seasons so they were covering something up (yep, she went "im not seeing my regular order of firefighter abs, something is wrong")

on the same lane, she also says he got better bc they did show his abs more in season 7

"is this by netflix, right? the intros are all the same"

she diagnosed castiel with autism (she is a psychologist btw)

intense staring at me when rosa diaz came out as bi (which i obviusly ignored)

*watching the harry styles fanfiction movie* me: "dont you ever do that to me" / her: "all your faves are dead"

a lot of complains about the recycling and predictability of the plot of supernatural

an incredible awkard car conversation about lockwood's survivor guilt (we googled his backstory) as the reason of his reckless/almost suicidal actions [she clearly did not want to add to the conversation but i guess the psychologist in her had to]

spn s8, aaron flirting with dean scene "they are making dean gay, arent they?" (didnt tell her anything, there some things you gotta let them figure out on their own)

*edwin payne exists* "well, that's a repressed gay"

[context: we watch shows in english with english subtitles but we are not from a english speaking country, she learned english when she was young and i currently go to classes] me: "i dont need to study for the english test i have tomorrow, i just need to watch one more episode. in fact, tv is actively studying for the listening comphrension part" / her: "right, then im not procrastinating work, im just helping my daughter study for her test then" / "right" / "right"