#winchester x reader series

[legalmente-loca]

An Angel In His Eyes

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Angel!Reader

Summary: Dean sees you as pure and himself as dirty. But you crave him and you must show him that there is nothing wrong with him.

Word Count: 3,115

A/N: This idea came from this image.

Tags/ Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, lost of virginity

You are perfect in his eyes. A real angel who fills his insides with grace. Anyone who saw you would say you were normal, just another girl looking for her way. But he knew the truth. Created centuries ago, your name too strange not to be given nicknames, heavenly gaze…

You were an angel.

A divine angel, a soldier of God, a warrior of heavenly battles.

And you were perfect for him.

You could see it in his eyes. Maybe you are not used to people's feelings, but you know how to read them. They are very easy to read. And Dean longed for you, in a way that made you feel unique. Being an angel of God was already something unique, but somehow, Dean made you feel more special.

But he also saw something in you that he could not shake off. Your innocence. What innocence? You are a warrior, you had blood on your hands, you had seen your brothers die and you had sought revenge for them. You had observed humans, their pleasures, their ailments, their perfections and imperfections. And likewise, Dean was the human who shined out from all the others. A soldier for his own father, like you. But a man nonetheless who longed for forgiveness. There was too much guilt inside him and as you got to know him better, you could see that he was even drowning in it.

And, of course you, as an angel, wanted to save him.

But he didn't want to be saved, he didn't see himself as someone worth saving.

That’s why he ignored you most of the time. Whenever you tried to get close to him, Dean would pull away. He would even start arguments with you just to have an excuse to get out of the room.

You see, Dean was fighting the lust he felt towards you. How could he not feel lust towards a sweet angel like you? After all, you were perfect. People interested you to a point where you wanted to gain knowledge about how they thought just to feel empathy.

He didn’t want to ruin that. To ruin something so perfect with his dirtiness, because he was dirty. He really was compared to you.

That’s why, when you walked into the motel room, he grabbed his jacket and got ready to leave for a bar where he would meet another woman. But you stopped him with your melodious voice.

“Wait. I want to talk to you.”

He turned around to look at you.

“About what?”

“Why do you seem scared of me?” You asked with clear confusion, tilting your head.

He shook his head in amusement and took off his jacket again.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“And why do you run away every time you see me? You don’t even want to talk to me. You know, I was one of the angels who dragged you back from doom.”

“I know, Cas told me.”

“So where does this fear I feel radiating from you come from?” You walked over to him.

He sighed. The war that was in his head downstairs was now in his head upstairs. He wondered if it would be a good idea to tell you how he felt about you. But he also thought that you wouldn’t understand, that he would have to explain it to you. How do you explain something that even you didn’t fully understand?

“Look, sweetheart…” He ran a hand across his forehead. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m hundreds of years old, my knowledge goes beyond that of any human.”

“Not in this field.”

You looked at him curiously. You knew about history, both human and celestial. You knew about plants and the other gods. You had watched how the different creations of humanity were created. What could he be referring to?

He noticed that you wouldn’t give up, so he decided to give in and tell you.

“I feel… Things for you.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well… Things like…” He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck. “Like lust.”

“Lust…”

You had known Lust, even fought they. You knew who they were and what they did, how they rented people out. Was that the whole big deal?

“That’s all?”

He frowned.

“All? Sweethearth, I just confessed something big to you.”

“Not really.” You shook your head. “You say you feel lust, that’s normal. You’re human, my vessel too. The attraction you feel towards this body is normal.”

“You don’t understand…”

He looked away towards the window. It was starting to rain, a strong wind had been present since the afternoon.

“I feel lust towards you, not just your body.” He returned his gaze to you. “I feel lust when I think about your gaze, not your eyes. When I think about the way you move, not your legs. When I think about the tone you use to speak…” His gaze ran from bottom to top until it reached your eyes. “I feel lust towards you, angel.”

You were speechless. This human didn’t feel things for your vessel, but for you… For you and only you.

You swallowed, the emotions were confusing inside you. And what do you feel for him? You wondered. And you remembered his laugh, his jokes, the way his green eyes looked in the light, and also in his darker form; when he hunted and killed without a second thought, without mercy.

You placed your hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“I have feelings for you too.” You murmured.

Dean gulped, clearly nervous. But no, this wasn’t something he could ruin.

He placed his hand on yours and gently pushed it away.

“I’m not good for you, angel.”

You tilted your head in confusion. A human no good for you? Well, yes, it was against all the rules. The fruit of your union would be cosmic chaos on its own. But you sensed he meant something else.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I’m a killer. My job is to kill. I’ve seen more blood than I have in my body and you… You’re an angel. I could never corrupt you like that.”

You held his hand. So that was it. Self-hatred.

“I’ve seen wars made up of bloodthirsty men,” You said. “Destruction of all kinds and cruelty throughout the centuries. I’m not afraid of you and your darkness, Dean. Because I know it really isn’t as bad as you think.”

He sighed and brought your hand to his cheek.

���You’re something from another world… You’re an angel.” He whispered.

You took another step forward and your gaze dropped to his lips. You ran your thumb over them before bringing your own lips closer and kissing them softly. But Dean pulled away from the kiss, at least at first. After a few seconds of looking into your eyes, searching for some sign of regret that he couldn’t find, he kissed you again. He moved his hands up your arms, moving up to your cheeks, where he caressed your skin with his thumbs.

It was your first kiss. You had never kissed anyone in any form, so you weren’t quite sure what to do. Dean seemed to notice this, as he guided you with his lips slowly and gently, taking his time to savor the moment and your mouth. You slowly walked back until your legs touched the edge of your bed, causing you to sit up. Dean stared at you, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

You opened your mouth and licked his finger without taking your gaze off of him. He groaned and closed his eyes for a few moments, trying to hold back. But you didn’t want him to hold back. You brought your hands to his belt and undid it before unzipping his jeans. But he stopped you, placing his other hand over yours.

“Are you sure?” He asked softly.

And you could only nod. Your angelic voice was lost in your throat. It was enough for him and he let you continue.

Dean let you pull his jeans down and you looked at the bulge between his legs, causing you to clench your legs together. He noticed this movement and smiled.

“You look so cute right now.” He looked down at himself and placed his thumbs inside his boxers, pulling them down until his cock sprang free.

You gave a small gasp at the sight. The red tip, glistening with precum, eager for you.

You reached up and touched him gently, running your slender fingers along his skin. He couldn’t stop the small moan that came from the back of his throat and he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t do that or it will be over sooner than we both want.”

You nodded and moved back on the bed until you were sitting on your knees. You held the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. You looked at him waiting for a reaction, your bra in full view.

“You are beautiful.” He murmured, looking at you in awe.

You smiled and shook your head.

“This is not my real form, Dean.”

“Yes, it is.” He said without hesitation. “Because it’s as beautiful as you.”

You tilted your head, but you didn’t have time to think about it too much as he took off his shirt and climbed onto the bed. He brushed your hair out of your eyes and kissed you softly again. His hands traveled down your body until they reached your bra, which he unclasped.

Your breasts popped free and a shiver ran down your spine. No matter how many moments you had lived, the sensations of now were unique.

Dean pulled away from the kiss and looked at your chest, his lips parted as he whispered something you couldn't quite make out, but you suspected it was almost the same thing he said before.

His hand ran along the edge of one of your breasts and you bit your bottom lip, feeling more moisture between your legs. Dean gently pushed you down to lay down, which you did.

You rested your head on the pillows and looked up at him. The light made him look like a God. Different from the ones you knew, but a God somehow.

He parted your legs and positioned himself between them before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Your body needs to be worshipped.” He murmured as he placed another kiss on your nose. “And that’s just what I’m going to do.”

He trailed his kisses down to your neck, where he licked and nibbled, causing you to let out small gasps from your pretty mouth. He continued down until he reached one of your breasts. He watched you intently as he took your nipple into his mouth and played with it with his tongue. Your breathing changed, your chest rising and falling faster as Dean continued to worship you. He bit down softly and pulled away slightly, tugging at your nipple until he released it from between his teeth until he moved to the other, giving it equal attention until both breasts were wet with his saliva and red from his bites.

He continued his way down your body, scattering kisses across your skin until he reached your waist, where he paused to look at you.

He wanted to know if you were still on the same page as him and you nodded.

“Good girl.” That comment made your legs shake. “Oh, you liked that, huh?” He chuckled softly and pulled your pants down.

Your panties were seen by him and he licked his lips. He could already feel your sting on the tip of his tongue, even before he leaned down and ran his tongue along your core over your panties.

You let out a moan and buried your head into the pillow. Your desire finally being satisfied, even though it was just beginning.

He continued to lick until he noticed your panties getting wetter and wetter, leaving a wet spot. He bit the fabric and pulled it down, patting your hips to signal you to lift them up. He slid your panties down your legs slowly, teasing you, and tossed them to the floor above his jeans.

He didn't beat around the bush and buried his face between your legs, licking and nibbling slowly at first, then faster. He licked like he was thirsty, like your grace was leaking out from between your legs and he wanted to collect it all.

You moaned and held the sheets beneath you firmly as you felt his tongue running over your purest place.

Then he gently inserted a finger, watching your expressions intently. He slowly slid it in and out of you, your walls squeezing him and he couldn't help but imagine his cock instead of his finger. That drew a whimper from him and he rubbed his face against your thigh before giving it a small bite.

He licked your clit as he pushed another finger into you and your eyes rolled back.

“Oh God…”

The name of your creator fell from between your lips as you felt a wave of pleasure rush through you from head to toe, making you shiver and tense your body, closing your thighs around his head as your back arched and your eyes turned blue making you believe that maybe you had teleported to heaven once again.

Dean moaned against your core as he licked up the last of your nectar. He pulled away and licked his lips as he watched your chest rise and fall in gasps with complete lust. He crawled up your body until he was close to your face and kissed you with more fervor than before. You moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself on your tongue.

“You were a very good girl.” He murmured against your lips. “And now you must continue like this, understand?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him. He let out a growl.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Dean…” You whispered.

“That’s my girl.” He placed a kiss on your nose.

He moved his body until he was more comfortably positioned between your legs. He held his member in one hand while resting the other on the mattress beside your head.

“Tell me how much you want this.” He rubbed his lips against your cheek while rubbing his cock against your folds. “C’mon, tell me.”

“I want it so bad. Please, Dean, give it to me…”

He placed one last kiss against your lips and slowly pushed the tip of his member into you. You moaned louder, the sensation taking you by surprise. You held onto his arms tightly.

“That’s it…” He murmured, his breath against your face as he went a little deeper. “You’re doing so well.” He scattered kisses all over your face to relax you.

You felt a sting, at first. More of an annoyance than pain, but that faded as he pushed another few inches in. You felt a trail of your grace run through your body.

“Dean…”

“That’s it, baby.” He kissed your lips, to which you responded gladly.

He reached the bottom and you felt him touch your cervix. He stilled, cursing, waiting for you to give him permission to continue. And you did, nodding and holding him tightly, your foreheads together.

He pulled out of you slowly, leaving just the tip inside before he entered again. You moaned and frowned, your breathing quickening as you felt him part your inner walls. He started to have a steady rhythm, your juices staining your thighs and his pelvis. The rain getting stronger outside.

“You feel so good, baby. Like heaven itself.” He rested his elbows on the sides of your head as he kept up his pace.

“Faster.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, please.”

He nodded and placed a kiss on your cheek before going faster. You moaned louder and your eyes rolled back.

“Oh, fuck.” Dean cursed. “You’re so tight I can barely get out. You don’t want to let me go, do you?” He exhaled a laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t move away.”

His movements turned into thrusts, the bed beginning to rock and hit the wall.

You turned your face and noticed the cross that was on a wall beginning to bounce.

“Oh, God, Dean.” You whimpered.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby.”

He took your chin in one hand, guiding your face to his again, kissing you passionately as he continued to pound into you.

You felt that trail run through your entire body again, and your eyes lit up. Dean watched in fascination as your eyes turned blue. That trail surrounded your body, and this time, Dean could admire it.

You arched your back and pressed yourself around him, causing him to moan and swear he saw the shadow of your wings expanding across the bed.

“T-that’s my good girl. C’mon, cum for me.”

You moaned his name, and your angel power exploded, the trail becoming too bright for Dean’s mortal eyes. He had to close them, but his movements didn’t stop, though it’s not like he could move too much since you were practically squeezing him tightly.

Dean came shortly after you did, his cum filling you, staining your walls and spreading out.

He dropped down beside you so he wouldn’t crush you, both of your breaths panting as you tried to get back to normal. He looked you up and down and leaned in close to you.

“You okay?” he murmured, running his hand through your hair.

You looked up at him and smiled tiredly.

“I’m doing great…”

He laughed and pulled your body closer to him, your head on the side of his neck, and you breathed in his scent.

“Was this okay? No regrets?”

You shook your head as you traced lines across his chest.

“None. And you?” You looked up at him.

Dean smirked and wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“Nah.”

You laughed and snuggled into his body. Dean grabbed the sheet and covered both of your bodies.

“So… now what?” You asked.

“Now what?”

You shrugged.

“So… How does this go? Did it just happen this time, will it happen again or… Will it turn into something more?”

He looked down at you.

“Oh, this will definitely turn into something more.”

He hugged you tighter and placed a kiss on your hair.

You smiled and closed your eyes. Being an angel might give you a lot of knowledge in many things and innocence in others. Having a relationship with a human would go against the rules of heaven and The other angels would probably talk behind your back. But you didn’t care. You had Dean.

Dean Winchester One Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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[thesilmarillionblog]

WASTE ── series masterlist. (COMPLETE.)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 61.102

Warnings: +18!, SMUT!, loss of virginity, unrequited love, heavy angst, hurt, drama, jealousy, sexual tension, painful, confessions

Trope: Friends to Lovers Ao3 Link is here.

♱ Waste: Chapter: 1 ♱ Waste: Special Chapter 1

♱ Waste: Chapter: 2 ♱ Waste: Special Chapter 2 (Soon)

♱ Waste: Chapter: 3 ♱ Waste: Special Chapter 3 (Soon)

♱ Waste: Chapter: 4

♱ Waste: Chapter: 5

♱ Waste: Chapter: 6

THE PLAYLIST 🎧

1- Waste by Kxllswxtch

2- It Takes A Lot to Know A Man by Damien Rice

3- Honeythief by Halou

4- Now the One You Once Loved Is Leaving by Lydia

5- Deathbeds by Bring Me the Horizon

[ultravi0lence14]

WELCOME TO THE BUNKER

dean winchester x angel!reader

1.5k | angst, enemies to lovers, szn nine

summary: waking up inside of the winchester’s bunker, you quickly start to realize that only one of the brother’s want you around their home.

WHEN ANGEL FALLS IN LOVE

“damn, she sleeps like a log.”

your mind was starting to wake up, the faint sounds of a gruff voice piercing through your veil of sleep. your eyes peeled open like worn out book pages, taking their time as you brought your hand up to shield your retina’s from the blinding lights.

how long you’d been asleep was a mystery to you. your body felt well rested, but it also felt like your bones had been dormant for years. the plush material beneath your body felt like a cloud, having you realize that the winchester’s had probably laid you to rest in a bed of sorts.

“dean!” you heard another voice exclaim softly in shock, a thud being heard from an unknown source. “she fell from heaven for christ’s sake, i’d also be asleep for a week.”

a week? was that how long you’d been asleep for? yeah, you fell from the sky at an inhuman speed, but you didn’t expect to be out for seven days.

when your eyes finally decided to peel open, a cream and industrial space was there to greet you. the winchester’s bunker is where you expected to be, but you didn’t plan on it being this nice. from this room alone, it seemed massive, and you were starting to already get overwhelmed.

it didn’t help that two large bodies loomed over you. as the clutches of sleep let go of your weak body, it didn’t allow you to realize that it was sam and dean who were hovering over you. so in a fit of fear, you leapt up in bed, shocking the brother’s to jump backwards as you scooted towards the headboard.

your eyes were widened in fear; even as your brain registered that it was sam and dean in the room with you. wether it be the aftershocks of the fall or adjusting to being awake after seven days you didn’t know, but your body couldn’t help but cower back as sam reached out towards you.

“hey, it’s okay.” sam spoke softly, coming to stand by the bedside while kneeling to be close to your frame. “we aren’t going to hurt you.”

the wide eyed fearful stare you gave sam softened as his reassurance sunk in your bones. all you could do was nod, looking from sam to his brother who didn’t share as soft as a reaction as sam did. “where am i?”your voice was soft, yet the gruffness of dean’s impending response hardened any of your feathery words that remained.

“our bunker,” his arms were crossed across his chest as he stood at the foot of your bed, looking down at you from his nose as he silently judged your presence. “in kansas. not a lot of supernatural creatures know about it, so don’t go flapping your gums and telling everyone.”

“dean!” it was like sam was conditioned to say his brothers name like that; shocked and full of distaste for how his brother was acting. “the poor girl just fell from the freakin sky, she’s probably confused. why would that be something she’d plan on doing?”

sam’s reprimanding had you shrinking back into the bed, making you realize how unwanted you were here. it wasn’t that sam didn’t want you around, it was just dean clearly didn’t want you there. if sam had to scold him so much, his animosity towards you was probably very high.

wringing your fingers together, you looked down at your bandaged hands as you attempted to pick at the skin around your fingers. “i don’t have to stay if that’s what you want, dean.” you mumbled, looking up at him as he stared you down. “i can go like cas, figure out how to live in this world alone.”

sam’s hand grasping yours had your head turning sideways, neck stiff as you tried to look him in the eyes. “no, you are welcomed here.” his words were steady, assured, like what he was saying was a fact. “we want to help you, that’s what cas wanted. so stay in bed for a little while, and when you’re ready, i’ll show you your room.”

you couldn’t help but feel a sense of something wondrous flow through your body. you weren’t too keen on emotions yet, but castiel had explained to you what some of them were and what they meant; and you were pretty sure you were feeling a sense of gratitude towards sam winchester.

he didn’t stay for much longer, briefly mentioning how he was going to find a room close to him or dean’s for you to stay in before he departed. with a blanket of silence falling over the room, you could finally take a moment to really sink into your mind and understand your emotions.

this was a new experience, and honestly, you were rightfully nervous. it was going to be hard, adjusting to having no grace and no angelic powers. you couldn’t fly, and you couldn’t heel people. you also felt a strange rumbling sensation in your stomach, and you were faintly sure that meant you were hungry.

everything was so new, and you realized that you had to figure out how you were as a person. all you’ve ever known is being an angel, how to be apart of a team and how to serve heaven. but now, you were your own person, and you could figure out whatever you wanted to be or who you were.

the world was still new to you, and you didn’t understand most of the things sam or dean talked about, but you were willing to try. you’ve been alive for millennia, yet you never truly lived.

falling was truly a blessing in disguise; because now, you could really enjoy life, and understand what it’s like to be alive.

“sam is the nice one y’know.” dean’s voice coming from the rooms entry had you jumping, eyes widening as you whipped your head to where he stood. his arms were crossed as usual, and his eyes held their usual steely gaze. he didn’t look happy, yet you weren’t surprised, for a sour expression was all he seemed to dawn around you.

visibly gulping as he descended towards you, your voice scratched against your throat as you attempted to talk to him. “i mean no harm dean, i swear.” the words came out in a croak as you attempted to plead your case, yet all dean could conjure up in response was an eye roll.

“i’m not stupid feathers,” the name didn’t come out tender, not like how cas would call you sweet pea. it came out demeaning, like he believed you to value yourself as some higher being who felt above him and his brother. “i know how you angels work, and i won’t allow you to come in here and judge me and sammy. if you thought i’d let you get away with being a bitch, then you are very wrong.”

his words made your lips quiver, eyes widening even more at his crude words. his entire life was centred around people leaving him, showing they never really cared. it wasn’t shocking that he didn’t trust you, that he would build such high walls around his emotions, that you wouldn’t even be able to get a peak inside. yet his words still left a stinging sensation on your gut, leaving a sour feeling in your chest.

“why are you so mean?” the words came out like a childish plea, a solemn whisper that had you reprimanding yourself at how dean made you feel like you were nothing. you were an angel for heaven’s sake. truly, you were above him. but you never thought like that, never believed that different species were placed in a tier.

castiel could be right sometimes. you were too sweet, a true angel. rightfully deserved of the description that people gave your kind. you believed that everyone should be treated equally. and like cas, you were too kind for your own good. so with dean standing above your rested frame, eyes cold as they stared at you, you attempted your last breath at making him see your true intentions. “you don’t even know me. i’m not like the other angels, i promise.”

all dean did was laugh, a bitter sound that scratched at your ears. “your promises mean shit to me, sweetheart. come and talk to me when you and your kind do something other than ruin me and my brothers lives.”

with that he stalked towards the door, not even letting you get a word in before he pipped in one last comment from the door. “try and stay far away from me, feathers. because if you try and piss me off, i’ll show you how mean i can really be.”

“is that a threat?” you wearily replied, trying to show some confidence as you weren’t up to be mistreated. you might be a kind person, but that doesn’t mean you were going to let people walk over you.

“no,” dean replied coolly, hand on the door frame as he was one step from being out of your sight. “that’s a promise.”

when you were finally alone, it suddenly set in that cracking dean winchester was a lost cause. he was cruel. a mean man that didn’t care about anything but what catered to him. sam was an honest and nice man, and if you would have to learn how to live by tip toeing around dean with his younger brother, then so be it.

TAGS: @floralscented @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @ostaramoon @haunteres @fallbhind @rubyvhs @foolinthera1n @taurus0queenie33 @vaiieydoii @jasvtsc @bitchykittenconnoisseur @galacticalllcafffeine @pascal-rascal424 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @fayeisuppose @angel-inspiredblog @geisterfvhrer @bluemerakis @si1ver06 @drqstqr @wh0s-ra3 @supernatural-bangtanboys @whump-loverz @mostlymarvelgirl @d3anwinchesterswife @youdontknowe @oceanolokys

*sorry chat, i kinda made dean a raging bitch. but i swear!!! he will change!! we all know our man and his trust issues!!!

[allthosepeopleilovetofangirlover]

DATING DEAN WINCHESTER HEADCANONS

Dean is the guy who'd pretend that he's the best in the entire universe, but he'll get nervous if he ever sees someone slightly more attractive than him.

He loves to watch movies with you, even more so if they're of his choice. Cuddling on the couch in the Bunker and watching a movie is his favourite evening activity, and he's constantly looking at your face throughout the movie to see if you like it or not.

Dean doesn't want you to accompany him on hunts, especially if the creature you have to hunt happens to be particularly dangerous, like a vampire or a werewolf.

He'll never try to control you, but he will get insanely protective of you and you have had many arguments based on that.

Arguments that almost always get resolved by angry sex or intense makeout sessions.

But for the ones that don't, you two eventually find your way back to each other.

He'll never admit it, but he loves it when you treat him with affection and give him flowers.

If it wasn't obvious, Dean is touch-starved, and you figure it out very soon into your relationship. You make sure to give him reassuring touches ever so often, especially in the times of stress.

Dean is very grateful for those touches, and keeps reciprocating the gesture, but in a much wilder way.

He is very possessive, and will glare daggers at anyone who stares at you for too long. Men who know him know how dangerous he is, and how well he can fight, so they stay away from you. But the strangers who try to look at you in any way other than respect, Dean will not hesitate to throw punches.

For all his playboy ways, he's extremely loyal to you. Will not even look at any other girl when you're in the picture. You're the only one he wants and needs.

Dean likes to pull pranks on you. They're harmless, obviously. He loves to see that adorable expression on your face when you don't know what's wrong when you're being pranked. Once you realise it however, it doesn't take a lot of time for that expression to go from adorable to angry.

You love to pull pranks on him as well, often teaming up with Sam to teach his older brother a lesson. Sam loves it, and though Dean pretends to be angry and offended, he's laughing on the inside.

Frequent rides in the Impala, especially when it's drizzling and a cool breeze is blowing. He just likes to go on long drives with you, no distance is too long with you by his side.

Dean tells you stories of his childhood, yes, even the bad ones. The good ones to get a good laugh while the bad ones for you to get more acquainted with his reality, to know who he really is.

He had taken a lot, and I mean a LOT of time to open up emotionally, it was extremely difficult for him to not be guarded at all times. But nothing is too difficult when it comes to you.

Now, he opens up to you and talks to you about how he feels, instead of hiding his real emotions behind corny jokes and sarcasm.

Whenever you get mad at him, he immediately gets to know and tries his best to make sure that you aren't mad, the process including more corny jokes but you learned to love them anyway.

Sam loves the way you have a positive effect on his brother, how you calm him down from both anger and stress, how you make him less reckless and more affectionate.

The most important thing however, is the fact that you make him less self-destructive. He takes a lot of care of you, but along with you, he has started to learn how to cherish and love himself as well.

You bring out the best in him, and he brings out the best in you.

You're his yin, and he's your yang. Both of you wouldn't have it any other way.

[rubyvhs]

who’d believe? | dean winchester

summary. dean finds you six years after you ‘died’. tags. wc 2.3k, car sex (just fingering), angst, mentions soulless sam. lailas notes. this is for my ‘stuck on you’ by meiko square for @jacklesversebingo + actually got inspired by @little-diable ‘s not a ghost fic. so so beautiful and i think everyone should go read it! ++ for my 500 celebration, so happy i got to it so quickly && the title is the translation of the song title. and most importantly, beta’d by the incredible @copperboom82 who made it much more readable and enjoyable.

You were never really a bar type of person, mostly because of the loud noise and smell, other than that, you liked a good party. But you decided you needed to celebrate getting your dream job, or, okay, whatever, your friend is forcing you to. 

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she said, handed you your outfit and went outside to get the car started, not even giving you time to reject the idea. Though the second you stepped foot in the lively place, you were glad you came.

The drinks and music were exactly what you needed; a nice night out with no responsibilities. And especially no men (at least none like those you work with, you're honestly over them). 

An hour into dancing with your friend, two more strangers join you. When the last song ends and another less 'pop' and more 'rock' one starts, they suggest going out to smoke for a second. Despite not once in your life trying it, you agree. 

You should really work on saying no.

Thankfully you're sensible enough to refuse when they try to hand you one, just standing next to them, linking your arm with your friend's. "Where do you work?" You ask one of the girls. She has shorter red hair that almost reaches her shoulders, black eyeliner and a septum piercing. In other words? Fucking sexy.

"Police." Your eyes widen and you stand up straighter. "Oh, stop it! You're fine."

You laugh but shake your head, "No, no, that's not what I meant, you're just so— cute, I guess. Wouldn't have taken you for the assertive cop type."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, dismissing the thought. It's obvious she gets it a lot. "Saw the hottest guys today, by the way—"

Her friend interrupts, beautiful brown pin-straight hair, pale skin, a gorgeous smile; "God, he was pretty. And his brother too…”

"Oh yeah. Agent something and Agent whatever, I don't remember, I was too busy looking through the shorter one’s shirt." You all laugh, a sway in your demeanor. You're pretty sure it's the alcohol that's got them saying all this but it's funny either way. 

"Yeah, he was amazing. Like, those green eyes, honestly—" Your smile drops fast. Green eyes had always been somewhat of a trigger for you ever since Dean, especially that specific beautiful shade. Then again honestly everything's been a trigger: hunting, black cars, vintage cars, food, pie— you could go on.

"Oh and the way he walks? The little outward bounce of his leg, so cute!"

You shift, a little uncomfortable. How many guys do you know with bow legs, green eyes and are cops? They're probably not allowed to tell you he's FBI. 

The red-haired girl touches your arm making you jump. "Shit, you okay, honey? You seemed out of it."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, just reminded me of someone. Old…" Dean. 

There he is. Alive and in the flesh. You don't become a hunter and not hear about the Winchesters, you, on the other hand, fly under the radar. Especially since you try to stay away from any and all hunters.

But you heard nothing of how gorgeous he has grown up.

The girls catch your drift mid-sentence and look back to see what you're staring at. A dumb-struck Dean. "Oh! Agent…" Her friend elbows her stomach and Dean doesn’t peel his eyes off of you to speak.

"Right, yes. Hi, Officer." 

She blushes under the dim light but Dean apologizes before breezing past them and holding your arm roughly to drag you away behind the bar. Your friend makes sure to motion to you if you need help before you let her know she should just get back inside. It’s pretty damn obvious you know the guy.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You let out a shy smile, "Dean, hey, how are you?"

"'How are you?'" He mocks, letting go of your arm aggressively, "'how are you?'"

"Is that not what they say anymore?"

"Are you serious?" He seems to enjoy repeating sentences much more than when you last saw him. "I looked for you, I mourned you." You mourned him too, in a way. 

You and Dean were acquaintances, occasionally hunting together until you stayed at Bobby's place for a week and he came to visit coincidentally. You both started talking more that night, exchanged phone numbers and became somewhat friends. 

Sam left for Stanford and you guys stayed together more frequently. Sam came back and you 'died'. Not on purpose, obviously, but Dean thought you died. You did, for a second, before you were brought back for some twisted, fucked up reason. Not that you knew it but if you did you're sure it would be fucked up.

By the time you woke up Sam and Dean had been long gone and your body had been buried. Didn’t burn your bones like he should’ve, no. He buried you. You're not sure which is worse.

"Look, I don't know what happened—"

"What does that even mean? You magically come back to life; you fucking call me! Ever thought of that?" A thousand times. 

But Sam had finally decided to come back and hunt with Dean, Dean buried you, and so, you'd reasoned he was fine. You knew that if you were Sam, your body would've been preserved in the Impala for months before he'd ever allow himself to do that, to put you six feet under. The fact that he didn’t hold on to you had to mean he was okay.

But neither of you deserve more guilt. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"That's really rich. Real rich comin' from you. Grieved you for goddamn years. Six." Huh, that's a lot longer than you’d have thought. You were sure it would be six minutes. You knew he cared about you, but Deans also a 'what's done is done' kind of man.

"I'm—"

"If you apologize, I'll kill you. Again." You're about to crack a joke but his glare sets you off. Oookay, tough crowd, whatever. 

"I wanted to call, I swear I did," how do you explain to the king of 'I don't deserve good' that you don't deserve him. He'll think it's a cruel joke. "I didn't know if you'd want me to reach out, I thought you were moving on with Sammy, okay? Going on with finding John. Me calling wouldn't have made a difference."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "I went to hell." You bite your bottom lip between your teeth. He sighs, a mix of emotions on his face. "You knew?" Your nod makes him turn around in anger (disappointment? hurt?), kicking the cardboard box as far as it'll go, another plastic one breaks and you flinch at that one. 

In your defense, everyone knows.

"I couldn't do that to you and Sam, you moved on, Dean, I heard about you and Lisa and Ben—"

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Hunters talk. And he knows it. He turns around in an angry haze. "I didn't fuckin' move on, alright? I did what Sam wanted me to do when I didn't have you. Because my goddamn brother was in a cage with Lucifer, and now he's walking around without a soul!" He raises his voice until it gives out and so does his breath. You can't help the way your heart clenches, not even because of the words, but the tired look behind Dean's eyes. 

Subconsciously, you move forward until you can hug him, and like he always used to: Dean throws himself into it, his head in your neck as he breathes you in. "I missed you." He whispers. 

You don't believe how easily he's adjusted to this. If you were in his place you wouldn't hesitate to kill him, thinking he's a demon or a shifter.

He chuckles, his whole body rubbing against you. "Haven't hugged anyone like this in— ever. Was waiting for you." 

He's never been safe, always made everyone else feel protected, you could only hope you built a safe place within yourself for him. You're at least close.

"I missed you too, De. Every single day, I swear."

You don't know what about the sentence sparks anything in him, but it does. He pulls away to smirk and push you against the hard wall. You gasp, doing nothing but turning him on more and giving him an entrance to your mouth. 

He kisses you like he's lost his mind. He has.

His touch is electric as he pulls you closer, the heat of his body searing your skin, the raw intensity of desire saying more than words ever could. The kiss evolves, turning feral, almost carnal. He holds you, firm but tender, and rediscovers your mouth like a starving man. He is, he hasn't tasted you in… ever. 

This is your first kiss with Dean, but the explosive chemistry between you makes the blood scream in your ears. It was never a secret that you and Dean were more than just hunters to each other, and it seems you dying was his last straw. 

"We— Dean, can't here—" 

He agrees. Or he doesn't. He's still kissing you and you're not sure if either of you are breathing. 

Eventually he lets go. "Yeah," he whispers against your lips, moving for another kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, leaving a peck and panting out, "right." 

"'M sorry." God, why are you apologizing? Why are your bodies so far away?

He shakes his head, moves away (even if it looks like he's struggling to do so), "it's fine, what— you were here with friends? Are you staying?"

"Are you asking me to not stay?" 

He smiles, leans down for another kiss and you decide to say goodbye to your friends now or else you're never getting the chance. 

"De, someone can see—"

"Don't overthink it." He says, burying his head between your breasts, kissing, biting, licking and loving all the noises you're making. He groans into your skin, nipping at a particularly sensitive spot that has you moaning out loud. "God, sweetheart, love that sound."

He moves his hands to your waist, thrusts his hips once, checking your reaction. A little tremor passes through you. Eyes hood over. 

"Can't believe you're here, and all for me." 

"Yes," you breathe, resting your forehead against Dean's, overwhelmed by his words and how close his hand is to your inner thigh. "Please."

"If I slide my hand up your skirt, will I find you dripping wet for me?" Another shudder shakes you gently. 

"Yes."

When he grips your knee and your neck, closing your lips with a kiss while his other hand travels higher, you start feeling your pulse hammering in your ears. The windows start misting over, giving you privacy— not that you particularly believe Dean cares. 

Dean moves his seat back, then pushes you until your shoulder blades hit the steering wheel so you're more comfortable, your legs bent on either side of him, hands braced against the door and his chest. 

"Dreamed about this," He says, his voice low and husky. The way his eyes are raking over your body, you're not even sure you're supposed to hear him. "Thought about this everyday for six years, sweetheart. Now I get to have you." 

He glides one finger between your lips, sliding up and down slowly. “Such a pretty pussy,” he groans, eyes focused between your legs and you fall over, your head on his chest, before he pushes you back against the steering wheel, "nu-uh, wanna see it. Wanna see how wet you are for me, baby."

You have so much to say— a lot of apologies and 'I miss you's’ and so many more beautiful words and kisses and you want to tell Dean that you care about him as much as he does you and why you left—

He dips two fingers inside you. Curls them immediately, and just like that, he finds your most sensitive spot. 

You half pant, half moan, the words 'Dean, oh my god, please' a jumbled drowned-out mishmash because he starts torturing your clit, his thumb rubbing perfect circles, hard and fast, reducing your bones to liquid. But when you're right there, he eases away, lazily pumping two fingers in and out. 

He smiles, exhaling a content breath as his gaze zeroes between your thighs, ignoring your pleas. "Yeah? you wanna come, darlin’?" the pet name and the question both bring out a loud moan you didn’t know you were holding, your hips involuntarily moving against his fingers until he stops you. you’re about to whine again but he increases the pace, crooking his fingers inside you while his thumb rubs your clit, and that’s all it takes.

The orgasm rips through you, powerful, relentless, so intense you think you might just black out. You’ve never felt so boneless in someone's arms, until your head falls right into his chest as he works your pussy, the sensation easing off and then coming again like waves crashing against the shore.

Dean doesn't stop. His fingers are rough, his thumb still being put to good use, and the release lasts so long. So fucking long you think you have an out-of-body experience. 

It takes a minute until you're able to breathe anything but his cologne. When you can, you sit up slightly and move into the seat next to him, thankful for the lack of a console to separate you since you don't get very far, just lay your head on his chest. 

He kisses your head. You can even feel his smile against the kiss until you notice the bulge of his pants and frown. You quickly get up and Dean's entire face falls. "I'm sorry, I didn't think—" 

Dean grabs your wrist before it makes it halfway to his dick. "This isn't an exchange, sweetheart." Your entire body is like jelly, you can't move and you're pretty sure if you try sucking Dean off, you’ll pass out. But it feels… rude. "You're spent. I'll get you home so you can take a hot shower, and we'll pick this up again when you're ready. How about that?" 

You can't fucking believe your luck. Dean wants an 'again'. 

[sylvia-plaths-fig-pie]

Quiet days ♡ Sam Winchester

Moments like this were rare.

Moments where the world stopped for just a moment, and it felt like maybe, just maybe there was peace and quiet. Well, almost anyways.

You knew what awaited you when you woke up. You knew there would be a mew string of bodies, and other salt and burn or a demonic possession. But right now you were being selfish. You'd earnt it, or at least that's what you tell yourself in order to enjoy these moments.

Sam was still asleep, his arms tightly wrapped around your waist, his hair slightly messy, an imperceptible smile on his face.

It was rare moments like these that you longed for.

It had been almost three months exactly since you and Sam actually admitted how you felt about eachother. It was years in the making. But then one night after a particularly hard hitting case everything was laid out. You finally showed hom your cards.

And that was the fist time Sam Winchester kissed you.

His lips soft and delicate, trying to communicate everything that he couldn't say, eveything that was simply too much for words to convey. Years of longing and hope finally came to fruition.

It had been bliss ever since. Well, as much bliss as can be afforded on the road. But you had eachother, and that was all that mattered.

"What you thinking about?" Sam mumbled pulling you closer to him woth his arm tucked around your waist as he placed a kiss on your hair.

"Nothin'," you sighed, surrendering yourself to his embrace.

"Love?" The name rolled of his tongue as if he'd been calling you this his whole life, it still made you blush, maybe that's why he always called you love. "Talk to me, even if it's utter nonsense I still want to know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours."

You turned in his arms and looked him in the eyes.

"It's just, this is all I ever wanted," you paused, drinking in his early morning smile, "The white picket fence, kids and a dog, the perfect life, a normal career. All of it means nothing if I dint have moments like this with you. Moments of slow peaceful bliss."

His eyes softened as he began to smile.

"God I love you," he mumbled as he tilted his head to kiss you.

His lips brushing yours for just a second when you began to pull away.

He began to pout, gazing at you with his infamous puppy dog eyes that made you simply melt. "what?" He questioned, feigning hurt.

"Brush your teeth, you have morning breath." You commented, smiling ever so softly.

He rolled his eyes and groaned at your remark as his head fell back onto the pillows melodramatically.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled tucking his head into the cruck of you neck pulling you impossibly closer.

Moments like this may be rare, but they were one of the most precious thing in the world, second only to the brunet man who lay beside you and saw his whole world when he looked in your eyes.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Rumor Has It

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: minor angst

Summary: Your boyfriend is a well-known street racer who will never back down from a challenge. When someone new comes to town challenging him, he’ll do anything to come out on top… and that includes giving you up.

Square Filled: street racing (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Harry straps on his racing gloves as you’re watching him from your spot on the bed. He spent the last two hours getting ready for what will be a disaster waiting to happen. Your boyfriend is known for his love of cars. There is a group of guys that pick a spot in every city and race their precious cars. It’s illegal as shit and nearly gets someone arrested every time they do it, but there is no stopping him.

He quickly climbed the ranks of being one of the fastest yet riskiest racers this town has ever known, and now there aren’t many who want to go up against him. These days, he races with friends in a friendly game rather than for money. Not this race. This race is different. Someone new came into town last week and has been passing rumors to everyone.

Rumor has it that this man is a beast. Rumor has it that no one has lost against him. Rumor has it that someone like Harry is child’s play compared to the men he’s been up against. The racers always pick a desolate part of town to race in knowing there won’t be anyone on the road to block them, but not this man. He’s known to race in the open with other cars on the road.

Not once has he crashed and not once has he been caught. His name has been filtered through every town he’s been in, and it managed to reach all the way to your small town in the middle of nowhere. Of course, as soon as Harry found out that he was coming to town, he had to challenge him to a race. There is something Harry wants, and he’s going to make sure he gets it after he wins this race.

Harry’s good but he’s not Dean Winchester good.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you ask. “Do you not realize who you’re going up against?”

“I’ve been preparing for this all week. I can do it.”

“You’re either going to lose or get caught. The police have been cracking down on these races lately.”

Harry turns and glares at you through his shaded glasses.

“The only one who is going to get caught is Dean. I don’t need you worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”

Normally, you never go to these races because you don’t like them. In one race, someone crashed into a pole and lost his life. It was cold outside and he slipped on a patch of black ice. Ever since that, you’ve been asking Harry not to race. Still, he won’t listen to you. Lately, he’s been dismissing your every thought. He’s been more distant since Dean got to town, and you tell yourself it’s because of the race. Dean will leave soon and he’ll go back to being yours.

Why is it that when you think about that, you become empty inside?

Harry is a good boyfriend but he’s not the best. He’d choose racing over you any day. Why do you stay with him, then? Maybe being in a relationship with him is better than being alone. If you think that, you shouldn’t be in a relationship. What else are you going to do? You moved to this town for Harry so your entire family is on the west coast.

You can’t go back to them no matter how much you’re hurting here.

The only reason you’re going to this one is because of Dean. You can’t help but be intrigued by the mystery surrounding the man. You’ve heard he’s a ladies’ man and oozes sex appeal. Guess you won’t know until you see him, huh?

You and Harry leave for the race that’s happening on the outskirts of town. There is a guy who runs in Harry’s circle whose father is the chief of police. He knows he won’t be sticking his nose in their business tonight because of some case they’ve been working on for weeks, so this race should be free of police. There is already a crowd forming when you get there, and an even bigger following since Dean is here.

Harry’s prized race car is a 1987 Chevy Monte Carlo SS that he only uses whenever he’s racing. She hasn’t let him down since, but you think that’s all going to change. Dean’s prized possession is a 1967 Chevy Impala that Harry has always wanted. It’s one of his dream cars. The fact that Dean has one and is flaunting it here pisses Harry off.

Harry leaves your side and approaches Dean with the intent to trash-talk him. The crowd forms around the two men, and you stand on a few rocks to get a better view of Dean. His back is turned to you but from what you can see, he is a beastof a man. Tall, muscular, and not at all fazed by Harry’s attempt to shake him down.

“Is this supposed to make me fear you?” Dean chuckles.

“No, but you better watch your back, Winchester,” Dean smirks but he doesn’t say anything. “Care to make this interesting?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“A bet on who wins. If you’re not scared, that is.”

“Do I look like the kind of man who gets scared?”

The crowd whispers to each other at his comment, and Harry glares at him. You push past the crowd to get to the inner circle where you have a full view of Dean. Damn, he looks even better from the front. Sharp jaw, short hair, and bright green eyes. Harry might be threatening him but there is a mischievous glint in Dean’s eyes.

“Alright, Winchester. If I win,” Harry looks around the crowd and smirks, “I get your Impala.”

The crowd gasps and chatter picks up. There is no way Dean will ever give up his precious car, so most think he will back out on this deal. Dean knows he’s going to win but it’s amusing to play Harry’s game. His eyes scan the crowd and they land on you, and you freeze from the intensity of his gaze. There’s something… primal… with the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re his prey but you know he won’t hurt you if he catches you.

“Okay,” he draws his gaze back to Harry, “if you win, you get my car.” Again, the crowd gasps. “If I win,” he looks at you with a smirk, “I get your girl.”

“Fine, yes, she’s yours. Take her.”

You gasp at the audacity your boyfriend has for just giving you away like you’re property or something to own. Someone blows a whistle and the crowd disperses to the side since the race is starting. People push past you but you seem to be rooted where you stand. You can’t take your eyes off Harry.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” You look at Dean who winks. “I don’t lose.”

You find your footing and step back to the sides where everyone else is. Harry and Dean get in their cars and start them up. Harry revs his engine loudly to show off but Dean stays calm. He doesn’t win races by being cocky. The race is twenty miles long, and there are people every couple of miles to track their progress who will then report back to the announcer so he can inform the crowd what’s going on.

The person who whistled whistles again and they’re off. Dean and Harry take off down the road, the crowd cheering for both of them. Half think Dean is going to win while the other half cheers for Harry. Harry passes the fifth mile first with Dean right behind him, but Dean passes the tenth mile first. They’re neck and neck with one passing the other constantly. Once they reach ten miles, they have to turn around and come back, so that’s what they’re doing now.

You bite your thumbnail nervously as you wait for someone to come around the corner. Do you want Harry to win? Absolutely not. You can’t stand the idea of him getting his way after he pulled that shit with you. Do you want Dean to win? Maybe? Maybe he’s the reason you’re looking to end things with Harry. He’s the courage you never knew you had.

The entire crowd falls silent when they hear the rumble of an engine approaching. Five seconds later, the sleek black Impala comes racing around the corner, picking up a shit ton of dust. The crowd erupts in cheers knowing Dean is going to win this race. Harry is less than half a mile behind him but it’s too late. Dean crosses the finish line and screeches to a stop. He hops out of the car and stalks over to you.

Harry’s scar screeches to a halt right next to Dean’s car, and he gets out with an angry red face. Dean grabs your waist and pulls you in, kissing you deeply. He slides his hand into your hair and holds your head steady so he can control every aspect of the kiss. To say you’re surprised is an understatement. He’s a great kisser, better than Harry, and you’re wondering if he’s like this in the bedroom.

“Call me when you break up with him,” he says when he pulls away. “You might be my good luck charm.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

He walks toward the crowd and accepts his victory while Harry hangs behind with his close friends. You touch your lower lip and watch Dean reap the rewards. Yeah, Harry’s gone. He’s no one compared to the great Dean Winchester.

x

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[bluemerakis]

┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ I’m not going anywhere ❞

⤷ Part 2/3

⤷ Read part 1 here

⤷ Word count: 15.9k (I’m SO sorry 😭)

[18+ ONLY!!]

═════════════════

PAIRING:

S3!Soldier Boy x fem!reader

WARNINGS:

Cussing, mild angst, mild harassment of reader via side character, described violence (nothing intense), reader being a baddie (as she should), fluff, spanking, pet names. Lmk if I forgot any! :))

SYNOPSIS:

As you make all the preparations for tonight’s plan to flee the Russian compound, you run into trouble that forces you to confront your Supe nature.

The Boys arrive shortly after to help you free Ben, where you discover that he has a new, deadly power.

Unresolved tension forces yourself and Ben to split from the rest of the group and find your own way out.

═════════════════

From the sidelines of the testing room, you watched with wistful eyes as the heavily armed guards streamed inside and fanned around Ben’s entrapped figure. He put on a display for them, writhing between the chains and hurling out all manner of insults to convey his disdain of the Russians. You knew the emotions were true, only more dramatised for the sake of make-belief; it was any other day, not the last.

Through the planned commotion, Ben slipped you a discreet glance, and you caught the slightest dip of his chin before his head was forcibly pressed against the table by one of the guards. Your heart ached at the sight of his fully-pinned figure, more guards streaming in through the door and swarming about him like an exploded hornet’s nest on the prowl for its next victim. One of the braver men came up to press an arm across your boyfriend’s neck and slapped an oxygen mask over his flaring nose and mouth, then with a single flick of the mechanism, Novichok gas streamed into the chamber.

As the nerve agent buffeted Ben’s unwilling airways, the guards had to fix his head in place with great effort as he attempted to dislodge the mask with grunts of protest. His lungs were desperate to reject the debilitating gas with strong fits of coughing, but his effort was to no avail.

You watched as the Supe’s frantic movements began to dwindle, the anger framing his eyes softening with his wilting glare. He blinked many times to try and fight off the haze, but it consumed him entirely— finally stilling him into a docile puppet. His eyes lolled to the back of his head, his lids clamping shut to preserve his dignity while the clatter of chains against the steel table settled at last.

And just like that, the super-abled, invincible brute that was Soldier Boy had been subdued.

The guards held their formation for a few seconds longer, the mask suffocating half of Ben’s face emitting the last of its gas for good measure. Once they were certain that he was asleep, they slowly began to release their hold on him, the oxygen mask removed from his face. The last guard to go was the one still holding Ben’s limp head, and when he was given the go ahead, he released it without a care, causing it to topple to the side to face you.

You grimaced at the lack of respect they showed his comatose form—yeah, he was extremely short of a saint, but he was still a person, one who’d been subjected to years of torture and experiments that should have killed him at any point. If there was anything that could’ve warranted some ounce of respect, you’d have settled for that fact alone. But you couldn’t have much of a say in the matter when he was only supposed to be your experiment.

Besides, in your line of work, you’d be speaking from the place of a fucking hypocrite—what’s a little rough handling compared to repeatedly stabbing poisoned needles into his arm, just hoping it doesn’t kill him?

Taking in a deep breath, you lifted your chin slightly with a great effort to appear unfazed by the entire ordeal. You couldn’t help drinking in Ben’s expressionless features, though, noting that for the first time since you’d known him, he looked almost peaceful. You hoped that he was—that he’d been swept into some or other dream to help him pass the time of this dull, inhumane routine. You recalled the dream he’d told you about only an hour earlier, the one where’d you’d both been an entangled mess within his bed.

Despite the crude way he’d painted the picture, it had been a rather fond milestone in your relationship. It was the first time Ben had found it in himself to man up—as ironic as that sounded—and admit with his own two lips that he loved you.

You walled off your thoughts as the head guard appeared at your side, your attention shifting to where they brought in a rolling table and lined it up beside the operating table. You watched as the guards slowly began to undo the chains wreathed around Ben’s sleeping figure.

“Did everything go smoothly?” The head guard asked, his voice muffled beneath his all black ensemble. His shoulder lined up beside yours as he turned to watch Ben’s unloading beside you.

You heaved a subtle sigh through your nose, head fixed forward as you watched them shovel your boyfriend’s body onto the rolling table with a spiteful lack of care. Not having the energy to speak, you offered a mere nod.

Thankfully, your response was satisfactory enough, the guard returning your nod before he left your side to bring up the rear of the patrol rolling Ben toward the exit. The Supe’s arm was dangled over the side of the table, and your eyes latched onto the plaster you’d placed before he was moved through the doorway and the sight was ripped from view.

But the image lingered in your mind. Never again would you have to place another plaster—or needle—in his arm. Come tonight, there’d be no need to because you’d both be free of this rotten hellhole.

The testing room became eerily quiet as you were left alone to bathe in your emotional haze. There were a few routinely things you’d have to do before tonight’s escape. You glanced over your shoulder at the case you’d left on table, the one that had born the experimental compound you’d injected into Ben. It was standard procedure to return the case to the experimental lab following each session, along with completing a written log about the process—vitals, patient response, any hiccups in the administration.

You were tempted to forsake it all out of spite. A harsh scolding and beating for failure to comply would matter little if you weren’t here to receive the punishment. But you knew you couldn’t risk the extra attention of getting caught in misconduct—couldn’t let your emotions get the best of you when there was so much riding on your role in tonight’s plan. So you held your breath, not without scorn, and marched over to collect the case before leaving the room without so much as a last glance back.

There was no detail worth remembering about that place—if anything, you hoped its image would fade within short time.

The day was still young. With far too much time to kill, you’d fulfilled your duties by returning all the equipment to its due place. You’d been in and out of almost every room of the compound, where you’d made a point to start discreetly packing a branded corporate backpack you’d nicked from the clothing and gear room. You’d begun loading it with necessary supplies—a first aid kit, medication, clothing, even managing to procure a set of burner phones for yourself and Ben.

Throughout it all, you’d kept your pace brisk to minimise interactions with the far too chatty employees of the establishment. The last thing you needed was to get caught in conversation with a loaded and somewhat illegal backpack in clutch.

To wrap up your tedious responsibilities of the day, you were bent over one of the tables in the compound’s common room, logging all the details of your session into the designated book. The bitter aroma of filter coffee hung in the air, which you breathed in with eager appreciation. As much as this place sucked, the coffee had always been good—great, even. There’d been a pot brewing before you entered the room, and you only hoped that the person who’d put it on wouldn’t return while you were still around.

The backpack was laid between your feet as you scribbled away busily, keeping the details of your time with Ben as subtle and concise as possible. Your hand dragged along the paper to terminate the log with your signature, and just as you set the pen down with a tired sigh, a heavyset pair of boots pounded into the room.

Your heart seized on the spot with a heartfelt fuck.

“Hey, you,” an all too familiar voice greeted.

You glanced over your shoulder to confirm the worst of your suspicions, where you were faced with the guard that’d gotten into a spat with Ben. He had the beginning of light bruising all around his nose that had bloomed up the route of his sinuses, light purple crescents propping up both his eyes. You had to fashion great restraint to avoid grimacing at the sight. You were surprised he’d walk around with such a visual admittance of defeat in the first place, as opposed to signing off early and hiding out at home until the bruising wore off.

“Oh—hey,” you pushed out tensely, turning your body to fully face him before leaning your backside against the table. You crossed your one leg in front of the other and used your furthermost heel to try and slide your backpack beneath the table, bidding internal prayers that his attention wouldn’t stray to your restless movements. “Finishing off your shift?” You asked, eager to hold his attention.

The guard must’ve noticed your gaze lingering on his bruises for a few seconds too long because he dragged a hasty palm over his face before cradling the back of his neck out of hot embarrassment.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he insisted. “I’ve always been a big bleeder and bruiser—my mother used to tease me about it when I was a little boy, always falling and scraping my knees. I used to look like I’d come back from a war,” he laughed behind an almost expectant stare, so you forced a chuckle to entertain his babbling.

He took a step toward you, and there was far too little space between your bodies for your liking. “Anyways. . . would you, uh, maybe like to have a coffee with me? There’s enough in the pot for two, and I wouldn’t want it to go to waste. It should be done soon.”

You glanced over your shoulder at the brewing pot in the corner of the room, then turned back to him with a polite smile. “I appreciate that, but not tonight. It’s been a long day, to say the least. I really just need to get home and crawl into bed.”

With another smile, you leaned your hands against the table, fingers beginning to tap at the wood impatiently. Get the fuck out of here already, you groaned internally, ankle feeling at the fabric of your backpack.

During work hours in the compound, no employee was allowed to carry around baggage. It was a safety precaution to ensure no items would be stolen. All baggage had to be checked in and out at the front desks, where the guards—guards like him—would do a thorough search to ensure nobody had nicked anything time-worthy. And then the baggage would be checked into a personal locker for the entire day until closing time.

Nothing coming in, nothing going out.

The only exception is the branded backpack you currently carried, which was often used to transport equipment between rooms of the compound. But they were typically reserved for the technician assistants—as is their job to lug around equipment for the more important personnel. And you had no business carrying one around at this hour of the day, anyway—most of the employees would’ve already signed off and headed home with no further work to pursue.

It made you suspicious, to say the least. Getting caught with supplies like medication and burner phones would warrant you a one-way ticket to a good beating. There would be no passable excuse you could pluck from the depths of your ass to cover yourself against that.

You needed to get out of here. Now.

The guard looked briefly offended by your rejection, but was quick to blink away the expression before lifting a hand to wipe his nose incredulously.

“Okay—yeah, of course,” he sniffed, briefly glancing off to the side. When he turned to look at you again, he crossed his arms as he did a sweep over your figure. “Well, shouldn’t you be off, then? You seem pretty comfortable, unless you’re not in a rush to get home to a boyfriend?”

You could have scoffed at his transparency, but with a man like him, you doubted that he’d take it well, and you had no idea whether anyone would be around to hear you scream. Not that you had real reason to be afraid—you were a Supe well within her abilities to protect herself. Only, very few in the establishment still knew that. You’d been around for far too long, watching as other employees came and went with the years while you remained tethered by emotional obligation. A done deal. Love.

Besides, you liked to keep your business on the down-low, it was safer that way. Most of the employees here were as anti-Supe as most of the world—and why wouldn’t they be? This entire operation was quite literally founded on experimenting on the super-abled. There was no remorse, or love for Supes to be found here.

You tried to pass a nonchalant shrug. “I guess I’m not in a rush,” you admitted tensely, extra hyperaware of the backpack you’d now managed to successfully push beneath the table.

The guard took another step closer, now directly towering over you. “Then you could stay for that coffee, yeah?” He prompted, his voice low and dripping with distasteful intent. “No boyfriend to get back to, right?” He added more softly, teeth flashing with a lewd grin. You caught his eyes flickering down to your lips.

No way in fucking hell. Standing a little taller, you returned his gaze firmly. “No, thanks,” you reiterated, holding your ground as he glared you down. You refused to be intimidated by him; he’d have to know that, too.

The guard looked eerily thoughtful. “All right,” he relented, but his cornering position didn’t falter. “Just one last thing, though. . .” He trailed off with a smugness that tugged at your patience. You knew he was playing some sort of twisted game, and he wanted you to take your turn.

“What’s that?” You pushed out disinterestedly. You expected that he’d try and find some other angle to knead that would get you to relent to his harassment. But what he said next was far from expected, your body seizing on the spot as your heart plummeted to the depths of your chest.

“You think I didn’t notice that little bag you’ve been sneaking around the entire day?”

Your breathing became shallow, and you couldn’t do anything but watch as the guard bent his head to creep his lips close to your ear.

“I’ve been watching you all day.” His breath was hot against your chilled skin, setting off your instinct to flee. “Now, I could be asking you what you need all of those things for. . .” His hands came to trap your body on either side of the table. “Or, we could come to a little agreement, and I’ll let your little rule-breaker slip, hm?”

You craned your head away from his lips, turning to face him with a scorching frown. “Get the fuck off of me,” you spat lowly.

The guard looked mildly amused. “Or what?” He challenged.

Without replying, you lifted your hand from the table, palm facing skywards as your fingers began to curl with malicious intent. The guard’s attention flickered down to witness your gesture with clear confusion etched across his battered face—but the confusion was quickly turned to panic as your fingers began to draw into a slow first, and the Supe that you’d buried deep within you all those years ago began to resurface.

At the will of your fist, you watched the vessels of his eyes begin to thicken—gutters of red paving way through his pearly sclera until it struck his dark pupils, causing them to dilate uncontrollably with each passing second. His throat began to strain, the air in his passages thinning into non-existence until he could do nothing but splutter and gag on his empty lungs. The warm colour in his lips began to drain into a lifeless shade of blue, matching the veins that rose along his neck and face like prominent ant trails.

And then his strength began to falter.

The guard staggered backwards and fell to his knees, hands flying to grapple at his throat in desperation, as though he could grab ahold of the oxygen currently fleeing every cell of his body and hold it hostage for his exploitation—to continue fuelling his pathetic, abominable existence.

You pushed yourself from the table with your remaining hand, bending over briefly to snatch up your backpack before stringing it over your shoulder. Your other hand was drawn into a fist so tight that your skin began to whiten, almost rivalling the shade of pale that the guard currently wore. And you didn’t relent as you closed in on him, not even when you felt the first trail of blood flee your nostrils, and tasted the acrid, iron tang along the walls of your throat.

The guard glanced up at your approaching figure through bloodshot eyes, his expression a primal fear that only a situation of life or death could coax from you. The veins tracing his entire body became so prominent that they could’ve exploded with a single flick of your finger—and you were tempted.

You came to a stop directly before his pathetic form, not bothering to stoop to his level as you spoke. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” You taunted. “Hypoxia—the very oxygen in your body slipping away until all your systems begin to shut down—slowly, in agonising sequence.”

You began to prowl a circle around his dwindling stature for dramatic effect as you pressed on.

“First, your brain’s cells will die, and you’ll become all confused and disoriented until you’re as dumb as a fucking vegetable. Your heart is the next to go, taking everything down with it. And then, your lungs will start to fail, forcing you to breath deeper and deeper with the desperation to latch onto a single breath. . . but no matter how hard you try, I just won’t allow the air back in. It’s excruciating—” you paused as you watched his body begin to rock with violent convulsions, “—but I don’t need to tell you that, do I?”

You circled back to the front of his body, drinking in his frail effort to stay upright through the spasms—desperate to preserve what pitiful sense of pride he still possessed. You tilted your head mockingly, the first trail of blood fleeing your nose to splatter onto your shirt.

“And do you know what the best part is?” You continued scathingly. “There’s not a damn thing you can do about it—not when it comes to me. All you can do is watch. . . and die.”

Foam began to spill at the corners of the guard’s mouth, his eyes so comically red that it felt like an enactment of the rage he currently bore you—and the sentiment pulled through in his furrowed brows and twisted snarl. You could see the disgust in his expression—a look that practically screamed fucking filthy Supe. Rather a Supe than a rabid fucking animal—and he’d been rabid way before this attack.

“Word of advice,” you pushed on—not that he’d live to follow it. “Maybe don’t fuck with the hand that controls the very air you breathe.”

With a single, thorough jerk of your first, you heard the distinct pop of flesh as you tore through the walls of his organs, the tissues deflating into his sure death. Suddenly, all his movements halted, and there was a single, detestable glint in his eyes before they glazed over with a lifeless stare. His hands toppled to his sides, acting as a domino effect that sent his soulless body to the floor with a hard thud.

You glared at his corpse for a few seconds, the fist you’d held onto finally releasing to reveal leaking, red crescents carved into your palm’s flesh. Trails of blood streamed from your nose and into the hard line your lips had pressed into. You swept your tongue along the flesh to clear it away, swallowing back the thick clotting in your throat. You lifted your aching fist to wipe away the blood trickling from your nose, your lips falling loose to exhale softly.

It’d been years since you’d channelled your abilities, and to such an extreme extent, no less. You felt the way your body trembled, your own breath falling slightly short with the beginning of fatigue, but exhilaration kept your jittery legs firmly rooted. It felt good to tear through that wretched man—and you knew that it shouldn’t have, but it did. It felt. . . powerful.

In all the years you’d been trapped here, you’d had anything but power. Every aspect of your life had been controlled by the Russians, and you’d had no choice other than to be swept along with their will. Your gaze dragged back to the guard’s corpse.

But not anymore, you affirmed silently. Not anymore.

With a single, disdainful sniff, you stepped over the guard’s lifeless body, leaving his shredded flesh to drown within the puddle he’d bled.

You made for the room’s exit, and behind you, the pot of brewed coffee let out a shrill whistle.

ミ☬彡

In the holding room, you were leaned against the tank that currently hosted Ben’s sleeping form. The steel was warm against your back as it whirred with all the mechanisms trapping him in a steady sleep, and you had to shift a couple of times to prevent the burning of your skin. The heat soothed your goosebumps, but did little to settle the nagging anxiety within.

An hour had passed. More like twenty rough minutes—but it had felt like ages since you’d left that guard’s body in the common room and made a hasty beeline for this hold. It was already moon-high—most of the employees would have long since called it a day and gone home. So the chances of the guard’s body being discovered at this time were low—you knew this. Yet you kept waiting for that door to come toppling down, armed forces streaming in to beat you onto your knees and make you a live experiment alongside Ben. If you’d survive their outrage to begin with.

Besides you, the only other souls currently roaming the property were all banished to the outskirts, doing perimeter checks and walking tedious lines to ensure nobody would be getting in—or out of this compound. No employee had the reason or desire to stay in the building past closing time, so there was no need for the guards to do a last sweep within before setting up the nighttime perimeter.

Fatal flaw, in your humble, biased opinion.

But your eyes had been glued to that entrance for so long that you could still see the door carved into the darkness behind your lids every time you blinked. Your arms were crossed against your chest as you waited, as if to cradle the unsteady heartbeat in your chest, while your index finger ticked away busily at your bicep.

Shortly after arriving here, you’d taken a second to tend to and bandage the hand you’d unintentionally bled raw during your fit. Your palm still ached with the memory of your furious grip, but you tightened your hold on your arm in the desperate attempt to numb the area into painless submission. It didn’t budge.

Eventually, you found it in yourself to tear your gaze away from the door, your head buckling to take in the view of the floor. You caught a glimpse of the blood stain in your shirt. Almost as if that had reminded your body to pay you the repercussions for overexerting your abilities, you felt a light trial of blood trickle from your nose. Your bandaged hand flew up to catch the red droplets, and you held your fist against your nostrils for a few seconds to absorb the rest of the clot.

You gave a hard exhale through your lips, your patience wearing thin with both your weakened body and the anticipative wait. You dropped your hand back to your side, still feeling the faint, sticky glaze of blood within your nostrils. But you ignored it, almost hoping your body would grow bored with punishing you and ease off for a while—just until The Boys broke you and Ben out of here.

You had no idea when they would arrive. The initial phone call that had started this entire ordeal hadn’t exactly been detailed—it was more of a quick in and out—instructions first, questions later call. And oh, the ambiguity of the plan drove you insane.

On the other side of the room, you heard the scrabble of Jamie’s nails against his glass enclosure. That wretched hamster had seen better days. You figured he was the sort of pet Ben could get along with—if their shared trauma of being experimented on was reason enough to bond.

Suddenly, a heavy clank sounded against the door of the main entrance, which instantly plucked you from your thoughts and had you drawn into a defensive position before you could process the entire situation. Another loud clunk rattled the steel, then another. It sounded like the adrenaline currently pumping your heart to an all time high.

Whoever was behind that door didn’t sound passive. Your paranoia got the best of you as you imagined Russians guards waiting to storm the room. Had somebody found the guard’s murdered body and alerted the nighttime patrol? You knew you should have done a last sweep of the compound before hightailing it toward the hold—perhaps you’d missed an employee, and now you’d have to pay for leaving a loose end uncut.

The door finally relented with one last thud, and it gave a low, trembling creak as it slowly descended to the floor—the scene so cinematically dramatic. It landed with a deafening clunk, a dust cloud exploding to conceal the doorway. You waited tensely, expecting to see the Russians stream through with defences ablaze at any second.

So, this is it, you ridiculed silently. This is how I go out. A bitter smile spread your lips. What had all these years—all the suffering been for, if not to pave way for a happy ending? Did you and Ben not deserve it, after everything?

Tsk. Fate, thou art a heartless bitch.

But the first man to step through the haze was tall and heavyset with dark, messy hair and a thick beard—but most importantly, lacking a guard’s uniform entirely. The sight laid your internal monologue to rest. You wouldn’t be dying today.

The newcomer narrowed his eyes and did a scan of the room. When they landed on you, a devilish smirk hitched up the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” he called out in a thick, English accent—the same one that had driven you crazy through the digital line. He took a dramatic step past the collapsed door, his shoulders rocking side to side before stilling to face you. “‘Ello there, Love. Fancy finally meetin’ yer in the flesh.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you spat out, all the breath you’d been hoarding in anticipation channeled into that single sentence. “Ever heard of a fucking knock?” Your tone was hostile, but your hands fell to your side with relief, your heart rate beginning to settle into a steadier rhythm.

The dark-haired man glanced around him with calculation—likely scanning for any hidden traps or accomplices, then popped a glance to where the door laid needlessly discarded onto the floor. He turned back to you with a done deal grin, hands spreading in an innocent gesture.

“Sorry ‘bout tha’, Love,” he chuckled, that charming smirk becoming far too comfortable on his rough features. “But it do make for one diabolical entrance, done it? And The Boys don’t deserve nuffin’ less.”

As if that did the trick in summoning the rest of the group, more figures slunk through the door to take up formation behind the Brit—a dark-skinned man with distrust woven into his features as he glared you down, a tall, scrawny, kid that looked as jittery as a hostage, an Asian girl that glanced about the room with interest, and a fair-skinned man with what looked like a mullet in bad taste.

The Brit tossed a nod in your direction. “We haven’t formally met. Name’s Butcher,” he said, strolling further into the room to make better acquaintance.

You trailed closer to meet him halfway, coming to stand perfectly in front of Ben’s sleeping tank—as if to shield his helpless form from any potential danger. You were met with the Brit’s outstretched hand, and you glanced down at it with a brief narrowing of your eyes before your attention flickered back up to him.

“It don’t bite, Love—promise,” he jabbed.

You flashed him a wry smile, but you were still hesitant as you slipped your bandaged palm into his. He held you firmly to deliver a polite shake, and you were ready to slink away from his hold when he trapped you in his grasp with a curious study of your palm.

“Blimey, did yer give a knife a good ol’ wank?” He huffed.

With a light scoff, you curbed his prying nose and offered him your name, to which the Brit grinned in a manner that felt forced.

“Lovely name yer’ve got there.” He released your hand and pivoted on his heels to address the rest of the group. “Right, you lot, we don’t got a lotta time. Them red cunts out there know we’re in ‘ere, and they’re gonna come lookin’ for us with ten rounds o’ fuck yer stuck up them fuckin’ guns. So keep yer wits about yer, and keep off each other’s throats, all righ’?”

Your attention drifted to where the Asian girl turned to Butcher, her hands lifting to portray a series of symbols that you could recognise as sign language, but the words were lost on your uneducated eyes. The fair-skinned man beside her turned to face her.

“Don’t worry, Mon Coeur, we can handle them,” he reassured her—a distinct, smooth slur to his words.

French, you noted with a hint of surprise. What an interesting group of people.

“Uh, guys,” the scrawny boy spoke up. You caught a hint of alarm on his features before he turned away to face the door. “I think more guards are on their way.” You strained your ears and heard the faint commotion of Russian phrases and thudding boots in the distance.

“Great,” the dark-skinned man commented sarcastically, head swinging over to face the French. “Ya just had to go and say that, didn’t ya, Frenchie? Should’ve touched wood, man—now we’ve got the whole fuckin’ armed guard about to come down on our asses.”

Who the fuck came up with the name Frenchie? You thought with a scoff. If it was a given nickname within the group, there was a severe lack of creativity amongst their ranks.

Frenchie looked confronted at the man’s attack. “I didn’t do anything! Blame Butcher for frying le whole fucking grid and sending his fist directly into the guard’s face!”

“Oi!” Butcher interjected, taking a step toward the bickering men. “I didn’t see yer lift yer bloody finger to help, now, did’cha? And it don’t matter now. So lay off the fuckin’ tiff, boaf o’ ya, and brave yer bollocks f’a righ’ burnin’.”

You couldn’t help but smirk lightly at the group’s dynamic. One thing was certain—with them, there was never a dull moment.

You could hardly acknowledge that thought for a second longer before armed guards were rallied at the door, causing The Boys to pivot toward the entrance in alarm. Gun were pointed into the room before bullets began flying in scattered chaos.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell! Take cover!” Butcher yelled, and The Boys all scattered to various ends of the room to avoid the rapid fire.

You attempted to do the same, when time seemed to slow at the prospect of a bullet heading directly for you. Your breath roared in your ears, muffling all the sounds around you into a single, shrill ring as you lifted your hand into the air out of instinct. With a single twist of your fingers, the bullet making a direct line for your face curved through the air, and it deviated from its path to strike glass some ways behind you.

You let slip a relieved, breathless chuckle, but didn’t waste another second as an easy target out in the open as you scampered to hide behind Ben’s sleeping tank. You pressed your back against the tank, your head collapsing against the metal with a wide grin.

You hadn’t pulled off that trick for quite some time—and it was bold to assume that it would’ve worked when your body was severely out of practice. Guess the Supe in you never leaves, does it? You remarked with silent appreciation.

But still, you cursed your unpreparedness. For all the things you’d remembered to pack, a gun had somehow slipped your mind entirely. Having powers was good and all, but the ability to withstand gunfire was beyond your biological pay grade, and without your long lost Supe uniform, you were as vulnerable as any other human in this room.

Something small levitated into the air ahead of you, drawing your attention into a bewildered stare. Jamie, the hamster, gravitated through the air, whisking directly past you and into the chaotic storm of bullets. You had a good guess of where the bullet you’d redirected had gone.

“It fucking flies?” You scoffed in amazement.

You heard a guttural scream followed by a string of Russian pleas, and you guessed that the hamster had his own personal vendetta to fulfil. That makes two of us.

You heard The Boys calling to one another as they came to terms with their depleted bullets, but the Russians were still keenly at it, the shots bounding off the walls of the room until it sounded like a drawn out melody of war and sure death. You risked a glance past the tank, outstretching your hand to drain the lungs of one of the Russians raining hell on where Butcher and the scrawny kid took cover.

The Russian seized on the spot, hand flying to clutch his chest before he collapsed to the ground and didn’t stir again. Butcher caught that stunt with an impressed glint to his eye, his chin dipping in the slightest gesture of approval. You returned it with a smug grin, but what came next whisked the amusement clean from your lips.

The Brit discarded his emptied gun, stepping into the clearing with a loud-ringing “evenin’, cunts,” and then you witnessed his eyes ignite with a red, bustling flame. He strolled into the open fire, the bullets bounding off his skin like they’d never stood a chance in the first place. And then you saw it—beams of molten lava searing through the air to decapitate any and all matter in its destructive path.

The Brit’s head panned around the room to exterminate the Russians one by one, until nothing but silence filled the room, and the unpleasant scent of scorched flesh bombarded your nose. You slowly rose to full height, stepping out into the clearing just in time to witness Butcher’s red eyes simmer into their normal dark shade. He glanced about his companions in waiting—for what, you had no concrete idea, but you could guess that the rest of the Boys were as shocked as you.

You glanced around at the rest of their faces to gauge the group’s reaction. The scrawny boy appeared behind Butcher with a look of amazement and admiration bright on his features—stupid fool would likely get himself killed gawking after that reckless Brit. You glanced over at the dark-skinned man, who looked furious as he glared down the leader of The Boys. Frenchie, and the Asian girl attached at his hip, exchanged puzzled glances that quickly turned curious once they glanced between Butcher and the dark-skinned man.

There was definitely some unspoken tension lingering between those two men—some ongoing war for leadership. But before either of them had a chance to speak, the scrawny boy let out a yell.

“M.M.—behind you!”

The dark-skinned man spun around, and your attention flitted to where a Russian guard had snuck up onto him with his gun armed and ready for attack.

He’s not going to make it, you thought with a jolt. Instinctually, your hand whisked into the air, and a second later, the guard staggered in place to paw at his chest—some pathetic attempt to remove his gear and undo his gradual smothering. But before you could sign off on the murder, the scrawny boy appeared behind the Russian with his fist impaled through the guard’s chest.

You had to blink twice to solidify that scene—the boy was naked, and he’d been on the other end of the room, fully clothed, only a second ago.

“What in the fuck is going on?” You muttered, hand falling back to your side. The Russian guard, now void of a heart, mimicked the gesture as he planted onto the floor, his gun clattering to the ground beside him. You squinted at the naked boy—first Butcher, and now him. Just what crackhead group of Supes had you gotten tied up with?

The scrawny boy glanced down at his bloodied hand in a fit of ragged breaths, his expression a mixture of confusion and amazement, as if he couldn’t believe he’d just done that. You wondered whether his reaction was toward his power, or the murder—though he didn’t seem like the type that went around killing often, or at all, and he sure as hell didn’t look like somebody who enjoyed it.

“Jesus!” The man—M.M.—breathed out, hand lifting to cradle his head in denial, acceptance, and then defeat. “I can’t—I just can’t,” he muttered, turning away from the scene to take a heated second for himself.

You left the tank’s side to approach Butcher, and the Brit spun to face you with a smirk—always that damn smirk.

“Well, tha’s a nifty li’l power yer’ve got there, innit?” He praised in something akin to admiration.

You couldn’t return the sentiment. “You’re a Supe?” You exclaimed. “You didn’t think to mention that when we first spoke?”

The Brit beamed with some emotion beyond you. “Tha’s the best part, Love,” he said, head tilting in exhilaration. “I ain’t no bleedin’ Supe. I’ve had me a good hit of Temp V, is all—it gives me the wankin’ wonders o’ Supe powers without all the stinkin’ cameras and promos stuck up me arse.”

“Yeah,” M.M. spoke up in a tone lacking amusement, turning to face the group once he’d blown off enough steam—but honestly, he only looked more peeved. “And it’s only killing you, ya stupid motherfucker.”

Butcher flashed him an unfazed glance. “Well, we’re all slowly dying, ain’t we, M.M.?”

The dark-skinned man crossed his arms in what looked like disappointment. “Yeah, but you just had to go and take the fuckin’ crown on that one, didn’t ya? Goddammnit, Butcher, I can’t with you.”

“Then don’t, mate, ain’t yer concern,” the Brit replied simply, then turned his attention to the scrawny boy with a proud grin. “Nice one, Hughie—laid one on tha’ wanker in a heartbeat.” His head lowered to where the guard’s heart lay on the ground, and he beamed a little too hard at his pun.

Hughie seemed flustered at the compliment, but cleared his throat self-consciously when M.M. flashed him a glare.

“Put some damn clothes on,” the dark-skinned man scoffed. “I don’t needa see any more ass today.”

Frenchie crept up behind Hughie holding the outfit the boy had discarded in the wake of his teleportation. “Here, Petit Hughie,” he said through an amused grin.

“Ah, thanks, Frenchie,” he chuckled awkwardly before accepting the uniform and turning away to become decent.

Turning to face you, Butcher gave a nod. “Right, then, why don’tcha show us the way, Love? We’ll get yer nuclear heartthrob outta this place in no time.”

You harboured an eye roll before beckoning curtly over your shoulder. “He’s in there.” You stepped aside to give the Brit a full view of the sleeping tank.

Butcher’s expression turned solemn as he brushed past you to inspect the container. “What the fuck,” he drawled. “They’ve got ‘im wrapped up tighter than a priest’s chaste cock.” Your brows furrowed at his acquired taste for humour—but in that way, he and Ben were quite alike. “How do we open this fuckin’ thing?” He asked distractedly, moving around the frame to inspect the reinforced locks.

“Good question,” you told him, watching him from the same position as you crossed your arms in frustration. “If I had any idea, you wouldn’t be here. They’ve got that tank reinforced like hell—I’ve tried everything to get it open. It’s useless.”

The Brit tossed you an incoherent glance over his shoulder, then tuned his focus back to the tank. “Well, let us have a go, then.”

You cocked your head in smug doubt, watching as the Brit wrapped his large palms around the rim of the tank’s door. Who does he think he is? You scorned silently. He released a loud growl, the muscles of his upper body flexing with strained effort. He kept up the exertion for a good few seconds, and you left out a light huff through your nostrils to confirm what you’d known all along—there was no way that he was getting that door open with his two bare hands.

Almost as though Butcher could heed your thoughts, he amped up his efforts with a growing yell, and to your amazement, the door began to budge with a heavy creak. You watched with subtle awe as the Brit managed to successfully detach the door, his study frame collapsing back slightly as he hovered the metal in his grasp. It was insane to think that his abilities were all thanks to that Temp V substance, but you could only imaging the tolling effects that it had on his body. Hell, you’d been receiving V since you were born, and even you had moments where your body became worn by your abilities.

Butcher turned with the door, scanning an area to discard it toward before he settled for a corner that was far too close to the Asian girl’s loitering figure. When the door landed with a dull thud, the Brit turned to face the tank—you all did.

You took a few steps closer, coming to stand beside Butcher as you watched smoke pour out the hold and cascade around your feet. The Brit outstretched his hand to keep you back, which made you glance at him with a mixture of confusion and surprise.

“He’s not dangerous,” you told him, but you were quick to catch yourself with a frown when you remembered all the instances Ben had woken up in a confused state—and the time he’d hurt you because of it.

“Yeah? Well, tell that to yer face,” Butcher answered gruffly, wholly unconvinced by your faltering advocation.

You bit on your tongue and nudged the Brit’s hand away, but nonetheless, you didn’t move any closer. Butcher flashed you a sidelong glance but didn’t say anything further. You noted how Frenchie and the girl had inched their way nearer to where you stood, just as eager to witness the man that had been an expired legend up until now.

When the smoke started to clear, you could make out the outline of Ben’s figure, stood upright and strapped to a contraption that would hold him in place during his coma. His eyes were still closed, an oxygen mask strapped around his face. Your heart ached at the sight—it was demeaning, him tied down against his will, completely bare and stashed away in some dusty basement to be forgotten until he was needed again.

Never again.

Just then, Ben began to stir, his eyes opening slowly as he drifted back into the waiting world. The arms at his sides flexed with what strength he could muster, and it was still enough to tear through the fabricated restraints around his wrists. His eyes blinked many times as he stared ahead into the newfound opening, but not at anything, or anyone, in particular. He lifted a jittery hand to pry the mask from his face, his hand lowering to his side and dropping it into the smoky oblivion below.

Beside you, you heard a disbelieved murmur leave Butcher’s lips. “Soldier Boy. . .” He breathed.

As if that was all the beckon he needed, Ben’s hands gripped at the rim of his tank, nose scrunched and teeth gritted as he tried to haul together the effort to pull himself from his personal prison.

You instantly dove forward to help him, but Butcher’s arm found yours in restraint once more, pushing you a step back as he turned to face you.

“Stay back, Love. He’s got a fuck-sight o’ that nasty gas pumpin’ through ‘is veins. I mean, have a shufti o’ tha’ cunt—he don’t even know where the ‘ell he is. Yer don’t wanna piss about a timebomb like tha’, trust me.”

“He’s not a bomb,” you answered in frustration. “He’s just confused. You’d be the exact same if somebody fucked with your brain the way these comas fuck with his.”

“I ain’t baggin’ on yer boy, Love, just tryna prevent unnecessary casualties. Don’t need yer blood on me hands.”

Before you could reply, Ben’s frail voice called out your name.

Your heart lurched at the sound, your head swivelling to neglect Butcher and the anger he was starting to evoke. Your boyfriend was leaned halfway out of the tank now, his brows still kneaded together with disorientation as he battled to keep his attention pinpointed on you. You pushed past Butcher’s arm and rushed to catch Ben as he staggered out of the tank, his one hand finding your shoulder for support while his other reached back to steady himself against the metal.

“You’re okay,” you murmured, hands coming up to gently frame his bearded jaw as your lips spread with a smile of relief. He remembered you—no temporary amnesia this time, no forgotten memories, no further pain to endure. “I’m right here, Ben.”

The Supe blinked rapidly, his chin lifting a fraction as his red and teary eyes did a hasty sweep of the surrounding members of The Boys. You called his attention back to you, stroking a thumb along his cheek.

“Hey, don’t worry about them. It’s the group we talked about. . . The Boys. They got you out of that tank, and we’re about to get the hell out of this place,” you comforted him softly.

Ben’s eyes found yours again, but they were glossed over and narrowed, as though your words were incomprehensible to him. His attention dropped to the bloodstain on your shirt, then shifted to the bloodied bandage wrapped around the palm that cradled his cheek.

The hand he’d placed against the tank moved to cover your bandaged palm, and you felt the way he trembled against you. “You’re. . . bleeding,” he pushed out between staggered breaths.

You gave him a weak smile. “I’m fine,” you assured him. “Trust me, you look worse than me, so worry about yourself, first.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but then his eyes screwed shut and his teeth grit around a muffled grunt, the hands he’d placed on you flying to clutch at his chest.

You held his buckling head firmly between your hands, craning yourself in an attempt to get a view of his face. “Ben?” You called to him worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

There was no reply, only pained grunting as he continued to claw at his chest. When your eyes lowered to his torso, you were horrified to find that his flesh had begun to illuminate from within. Slowly, an orange light began to bloom at the centre, painting every organ, vein and artery in clear, dark definition against his translucent skin. You felt a surge of heat begin to radiate from him, enough to burn your arms into releasing his face and assault your eyes into a tight squint.

“Ben, what the hell is going on?” You called in panic, arm coming up to shield your teary eyes.

The Supe grunted in pain, his palm moving clumsily to shove you back at the chest. You staggered back a step, nearly losing your footing until you felt a large hand steady you at the back.

Butcher appeared over your shoulder. “Blimey, tha’ cunt’s ‘bout to blow,” he remarked roughly.

“What?” You replied with a quiver in your voice. You dropped your arm and blinked rapidly to focus your burning eyes back onto Ben. You spotted him struggling away from the tank—away from you—travelling a blind line that drew all the way to a wide-eyed Frenchie.

The French stood backed into a corner, gun slowly raising to act as a pitiful means of defence against the Supe’s disconcerting approach.

“Easy now,” Frenchie attempted to calm Ben, opting to lay off the threatening gun as his hands lifted in surrender. “We are all friends, no?” He laughed nervously, eyes flickering past the Supe to fix you with a pleading expression.

You returned Frenchie’s look with helpless panic. Quite frankly, you had no idea what was going through Ben’s mind as of now, or just what on earth was brewing inside his chest, but you had a gnawing feeling that somebody in this room might not live to find out.

You made the move to approach your boyfriend, eager to stop Ben and disprove that nagging voice in your head, but Butcher found your wrist in a tight, relentless grasp this time around—and it only continued to tighten as a show that he didn’t intend to let you go this time.

“No fuckin’ way,” he said before you had a chance to protest. “If yer boy over there pulls the plug on ‘is night lamp of a chest, boaf you and Frenchie will get yerselves killed. If Soldier Boy lives to see another miserable day, I’ll be needing yer to help us figure out just what the hell them Russian cunts put in ‘im.”

You gave Butcher a long stare, your chest nagged by some feeling that seemed to resonate with the Brit’s words. You knew exactly what had been pumped into Ben. And with that knowledge, you might be able to figure out this new power of his and help The Boys keep him under control. But was the Brit really willing to let Frenchie die for the sake of it?

Turning back to the scene, you watched as Ben’s head buckled again, pained shouts leaving his lips as he fought to control the ever-growing light within. At some point, he began to beam so bright that you couldn’t stare at him any longer without feeling as though your vision would terminate on the spot, so you turned your head away.

And then you heard it—Frenchie letting out a yell, and a loud explosion that sent something flying into a wall. Hesitantly, your eyes drifted open, where you witnessed Butcher’s hands pressed against his ears with a twisted expression. Behind him, Hughie and M.M. did the same, their faces mortified.

Your breathing came out ragged—loud and harsh in your ears as they adjusted to the normal air after what sounded like a deafening, sonic boom. Turning your head slowly, you saw Ben hunched in on himself, his body returned to its normal colour—void of all deathly glow. You wanted to feel a surge of relief, knowing that he was okay, but then your eyes drifted ahead of him to where a figure lay motionless upon the ground.

The Asian girl was sprawled across the floor, blood seeping from wounds along her torso, so dire that you could make out the cuts even from where you stood. The stone wall just behind her was cracked with what must’ve been the impact of her hurled body, and the sight brewed fresh dread in your heart.

No, you breathed silently, your eyes growing hot with horror. Suddenly, the words you’d told Butcher only moments ago came around again, a voice that taunted you into guilt. He’s not a bomb. He’s not a bomb.

And yet he’d just blown up and injured—possibly killed—one of the group members—people who had risked quite a lot to save the both of you. Your hand came up to cover your mouth in a state of shock and remorse, and for a moment, you couldn’t do anything but stand in a fit of paralysis.

Frenchie scrambled up from the other end of the floor and sped over to collapse at the girl’s body, hands frantically searching her neck for a pulse. He settled on a point and hovered his fingers there for many seconds, and you held your breath in anticipation as you waited for him to confirm her life, or death.

To your relief, he let out a jittery sigh. “She lives!” He declared into the room. “Mon Coeur,” he called more softly, a hand moving to turn her face toward his, but her lids remained heavily clamped, and even her lower lip dropped open in her unconscious state.

“Bloody ‘ell,” Butcher breathed from behind you, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed.

You hurried over to where Ben still stood, crouched over and consumed in a haze of overwhelming emotions that you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. You slowed a little ways before him, your hand cautious as you reached to gently cup his back. You were unsure at this point of what potential triggers may set him off.

When you made with the skin of his back, he gave a slight flinch, but he turned his head a fraction to drink in who’d touched him. When he saw it was you, his face briefly softened with a quiet regret that made your heart ache—an almost unspoken apology for the mess he’d made. You took up a firmer grip on his back, urging him to move toward the wall for better support against his weakness.

“Come on, just take a moment,” you urged, and he relaxed into your gentle guidance as you moved the both of you toward the wall. You tried your best not to glance at the girl’s unconscious body, but Ben wasn’t so merciful in sparing himself the guilt as he risked a glance toward her body. and holding her motionless body in his view all the way until you’d reached the wall.

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” you told him in an almost whisper. Because it’s my fault. I gave you those powers when I gave you your last dose. You wanted to tell him that, but you choked up on the guilt, and it would do little to comfort what had already happened. So instead, you settled for, “you had no control over it. The important thing is that the girl’s alive, okay? You didn’t kill her.”

You didn’t know that for certain. So much could happen between now and the trip to the hospital. Ben spared you a dark glance that reflected your thoughts.

You reached to cup his cheek, but he turned away from you to face the wall, his hands coming up to steady himself against the stone. Your hand fell back to your side as you let out a soft exhale.

“I’m going to figure out what’s going on with you,” you told him. “But just stay here for now, I need to talk to Butcher and the others, okay?” You weren’t entirely sure that you had Ben’s ear, but he was too stunned to go anywhere for the time-being, so you felt confident enough to leave him alone to talk to the others.

“Not a bomb, eh?” The Brit scoffed on e you reached him. “Well, Love, it don’t sound like yer know yer man as well as yer think ya do, d’ya?”

“Give me a break,” you retorted, coming to a complete stop in front of the dark-haired man. “This. . . power of his isn’t anything I’ve seen before. If I knew he could do that, I would’ve told you, and we could’ve found a way to keep the lid on and prevent anybody from getting hurt.”

“What, like he wasn’t already a murderer before this very instance?” M.M. spoke up from where he stood, idling beside a bewildered Hughie.

You flashed the dark-skinned man a glare. “He didn’t mean to do it,” you said more firmly.

M.M. had this biting fire to his eyes, his upper lip twitching with a barely perceptible emotion. “Didn’t mean to do what, exactly?” He drilled. “Kill all those innocent people back in the day, or almost killing an innocent girl right now?”

“M.M.,” Butcher called to his friend, a light undertone of warning. “Don’t, mate.”

M.M.’s head swivelled toward the Brit. “Don’t you give me that fuckin’ ‘mate’ shit, Butcher. I wanna hear it from her—I wanna know if she’s really okay with all the shit that that motherfucker has done!” He turned to glare at you, causing your heart to lurch. Clearly, he had some hefty history behind his anger.

“We don’t got time for this,” Butcher attempted to interject, but M.M. stopped acknowledging the Brit, his tense shoulders rising and falling around some greater restraint on his part as he glared between you and Ben.

Your lips were hellbent on a clueless silence. You didn’t know what personal wrongs Ben had dealt M.M., but you knew that your boyfriend had a stained past. Truth is, you had no way to ever justify what Ben had done back in the day. And judging by how deep M.M.’s dislike and distrust for him ran, you figured that the Supe must’ve done something unforgivable.

Ben was far from perfect, you knew that. He had questionable morales, some that you’d never learnt to swallow even after all these years you’d been together. But you’d been trying to help him abandon those problematic viewpoints, and he’d been getting there slowly before Vought and the rest of Payback had gotten him kidnapped and slipped into a tank.

“Nothin’ to say, huh?” M.M. mocked lowly, his lips twitching with disgust. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Ya can’t justify a prick like that.”

“Hey, guys. . .” the naked boy—Hughie—spoke up, his anxious stare shifting between M.M., Butcher and you. “I hate to interrupt. . . whatever this is, but we’ve got to get out of here. What if more guards show up?” It was beyond you how somebody as scrawny and young-looking as him had met the criteria of such a raggedy tag group of misfits lead by the world’s number one British asshole, but he was right to be worried.

In the distance, you heard the thin, angry shouts. You didn’t want to stick around long enough to hear what they were saying.

You glanced over your shoulder to where Frenchie still hovered over the injured girl, her body half scorched and basted in the blood trickling from her abdomen. Your heart ached at the sight, and then your gaze slipped over to where Ben braced himself against the wall in a heaving mess of disorientation.

Oh, things were so fucked.

“She needs a hospital,” the French slurred, hands frantically whisking across the girl’s body. His eyes were a desperate plea as they fixated Butcher, then his head collapsed to where he took the girl’s unconscious head into his hands. “Hang in there, Mon Coeur, we will not let you die, you hear me?”

You turned back to Butcher. He was the head of this entire operation, so you waited tensely for him to hurl out some sort of command, a plan of action—anything. The commotion surrounding the room grew louder, which made the Brit glance at the entrance they’d barged through.

“We gotta get the fuck outta ‘ere,” Butcher grumbled. He jerked his chin at the Hughie. “Hughie, help Frenchie with Kimiko, we ain’t stayin’ ‘round ‘ere any longer than we got to. I don’t much fancy playin’ a round o’ Russian Roulette with those trigger-happy red cunts—and right now, they got a ragin’ boner for the lot o’ us.”

Hughie scampered past to heed Butcher’s orders, but not without risking you an uneasy glance. He disappeared from your view as he slipped past you to conspire with Frenchie in getting Kimiko to the car.

“You two, back o’ the van,” the Brit told you, calling your attention back to him. The furrow of his frown ran deep as he took a step closer to glare you down. “And yer best keep America’s Ancient Arsehole from gettin’ all hot and bothered in me ride, or we’re all as good as fucked, ‘ear that?”

Before you had the chance to return Butcher’s scorn, you were interrupted by a protest that sounded most displeased.

“Uh uh,” M.M.’s voice rang out clearly, causing both yourself and Butcher to turn to him. He loomed tensely, eyes darkened and features modelling a look of heartfelt disgust as he glanced between you and Ben. “No way in hell—I ain’t climbin’ into the same car as that motherfucker,” he declared with an accusing index figure in Ben’s direction, his hard stare further isolating your boyfriend before he turned his attention back to Butcher. “They gotta find their own way—meet us somewhere we can recoup and plan out this fuckin’ stinkin’ pile of shit you got us into, Butcher.”

“M.M.,” Butcher groused, taking a step toward his companion. “We don’t got time for this, mate. We came ‘ere to do a job, and we gotta do it quick. Yer don’t gotta hold ‘ands wif the cunt, yer just gotta brave face until we get clear o’ this shitshow, all righ’?”

But M.M. looked unconvinced, the distrust in his stare not once relenting as he did another sweep of you and Ben. His chin lifted slowly—a bold notion of defiance as he glared Butcher down.

“Nah,” he said lowly, arms brought forward to cross over his chest. “Not happenin’, Butcher.”

“Oh, f’fuck’s sakes,” the Brit grumbled, hand brought up to his jaw to stroke across his beard with exasperation as he attempted to negotiate with his companion.

Just by observing the dynamic between the two of them, you could tell that they bickered like this far too often. Two alpha males, constantly clashing horns as they fought to uphold their own glaring sense of right and wrong. But there was no time to stand back and bathe in the ricocheting argument, so you intercepted their bickering with a hint of impatience.

“It’s all right,” you steadied with outstretched hands, which made both Butcher and M.M turned to look at you. “I’ll find Ben and I another way out. I know a route, and I know where to get a ride. You just focus on getting the girl to the hospital, and we’ll lay low somewhere until you tell us the next move.”

Without waiting for input from the two of them, you turned and scampered off to the bag you’d left at the foot of Ben’s tank. You passed a glance at Ben, who still stood leant against the wall, head hanging low in oblivion. You doubted he’d caught a fraction of the ongoing conversation.

“Like ‘ell yer are,” Butcher called to you. “I’d be a daft wanker to let the two o’ ya off me fuckin’ leash, now, wouldn’t I?”

“Seems right on par with the asshole of the year award you’ve made runner up for,” you mumbled under your breath before reaching the bag and bending down to unzip it. “Listen, it’s not like we’ve got many options when your friend over there has made his feelings about us clear. I’m just trying to get Ben and I out of here in one piece,” you added more loudly.

“All right,” the Brit reasoned. “Say I let the two o’ ya slip away, hand in hand, how do yer s’pose we find yer again? Trackin’ yer down to this fortified safe already cost us some hefty shite—and it’ll be a li’l difficult keepin’ a lead on yer this time ‘round when yer’ve only disappeared into the whole o’ bleedin’ Russia!”

“Hold that thought,” you called back, hand rummaging through your loaded supply bag. Your fingers clattered against the burner phones you’d packed in case you and Ben got separated, and you pulled one of them out. You weren’t so eager to hand off the only thing serving as a backup should the two of you run into trouble, but you had very little luxury of choice right now.

Turning back to Butcher, you made you way back over to the ruffled Brit, hand outstretched to offer him the phone. “Call the number saved on there, I’ve got another in the bag. Once we’re all in the clear, we’ll meet you wherever it is you need us to be.” The Brit fixed you with a distrustful stare before snatching it from your presented palm.

You’re fucking welcome, you thought irritably. You pivoted on your heels in an attempt to retrieve your backpack and get both yourself and Ben the hell out of here, but Butcher’s hand found your arm in a firm grip before you could manage to slip away.

“Oi!” You were forcibly spun around to face the towering Brit, who torqued his chin at you with far too much attitude for your liking. “How do I know tha’ you and Chernobyl’s li’l arsehole ain’t gonna do a runner into the fuckin’ sunset for good now that we’ve freed the boaf o’ ya? I can’t trust cha.”

Your scowled at his lack of charm, yanking your hand free of his throttling grasp to take a step back. “We may be strangers—and you may be the finest pick of the asshole litter, but we made a deal, and I always honour my word. You can count on that, or you can suckle on paranoia’s tit while we wait for the backup guards to gun us down. Your choice.”

Butcher seemed briefly surprised by your mouth, if his hitched brows was any indication. But he was quick to morph back into his signature frown, lips parting with what could’ve been an attempt to further pick at the scab of distrust. Thankfully, M.M.’s voice interrupted on cue.

“Butcher, we gotta go!” He called, back turning on you both as he raised his gun to assault a Russian guard that had slipped into the doorframe.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, these cunts are relentless,” Butcher muttered in exasperation as he took in the new company. He faced you with a displeased expression, dispelling a defeated sigh before he cocked his head in the slightest gesture that bid your official release.

You gave him a small, curt nod, and without wasting another second, you slipped away to grab your bag and hurried over to where Ben’s figure remained propped against the wall, bare back presented to you in a heaving, sweaty mess.

You reached to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, which caused him to flinch away and spin around in full-blown defence mode, but he quickly relaxed as he drank you in.

“Hey, we’ve got to go,” you cooed gently, reaffirming your hold on his arm as you encouraged him to drape it along your neck. Ben succumbed to your guidance and partially leaned himself onto the side of your frame, and you tried your best to accommodate his large stature by securing your other arm around his waist.

“I got you,” you murmured against his jaw, but you could tell that it was lost to the hurricane of disorientation that currently circled his head and rendered his responses naught. As of now, he was surviving off of nothing but the familiarity of your presence.

Behind you, wind buffeted the back of your neck as Hughie glided past, and then there was the distinct, sharp whisk through the air that indicated he’d teleported to some other corner of the room—judging by the guttural scream that followed shortly after, likely directly into the chest of one of the guards. But you had no time to glance back to confirm that thought, not that you’d much like to see Hughie’s naked form again, anyway.

Together, you and Ben began to hobble through one of the back entrance’s. You entered into the winding corridor, whose overhead lights flickered menacingly. It created an eerie atmosphere that matched the theme of this entire compound, and it fed into the flight instinct that kept your feet moving.

When you’d first made contact with The Boys—about a week ago—you’d begun mapping out the best route possible for the group to infiltrate the facility. As a contingency plan, you’d also noted the route yourself and Ben currently ploughed through, just in case there’d been a kink in the plan. For once, you were thankful for your tendency to overthink.

After what felt like an endless straight line, you turned the corner of the corridor, Ben’s steps faltering with the change in direction. Your balance dipped the slightest bit as you scrambled to steady him in your hold.

“All good?” You checked in.

“Fine,” Ben pushed out with a grunt, his head still lolled over as he tried to focus his attention on the ground. “Keep on movin’.”

You breathed a light okay and kept on the prowl. Up ahead, you spotted a janitorial closet tucked into the corner bordering the designated exit you’d mapped out. You hastily steered him toward the door.

“In there,” you instructed, releasing the hand he had draped along your shoulders to twist the doorknob and push the door open. It gave way with an animated creak, and you hurried the both of you inside, guiding the Supe deeper into the dim, narrow space.

He slipped his hand from your shoulders to grab one of the cluttered shelves for support, and once you were certain he was steady enough to support his faltering frame, you turned to close the door behind you. You stole a quick glance out the small, dusty window centred in the janitorial door, feeling a slither of relief when no armed soldiers seemed to round the corner in pursuit of you.

“What’s. . . the plan?” Ben breathed out from behind you, his voice rough and thin as he fought off the sleepy haze. Usually, he had time to adjust coming out of the coma, but this time around, he’d been woken in such a flurry state of things that he’d barely been given the time to adapt. And it certainly didn’t help that he had a newfound power of blowing up unprovoked. It had taken a lot out of his sleepy state.

You turned to face your boyfriend, whose nude figure was on full display now as he stood facing you, a little taller, bolder—almost the man you knew him to be. You could have marvelled at the chiselled isles of his abs, and the moisture that furnished his skin and accentuated every curve of his muscles with the light’s faint glare, but this was hardly the time or place to indulge your desires.

With great difficulty, you averted your gaze from his figure as your hand moved to glide the backpack’s strap from your shoulder. “First, let’s get you dressed.”

You plopped it onto the floor at the nose of your boots, then bent down to dig into the crowded space in search of the clothes you’d packed for him. You pulled out a pair of grey sweats and an oversized t-shirt that you’d stolen from one of the guard’s lockers. You hadn’t had much luck in finding underwear, and you weren’t about to go around rummaging through lockers and sniffing pairs to deduce whether or not they were clean.

You straightened up and handed Ben the clothing, whose eyes flickered down to the items with a growing alertness—and unveiled judgement.

“The fuck is this?” He asked, hand gesturing to the sweatpants crowning the folded fabric stash. You knew he was making a point to ridicule what passed as fashion in this day and age. It was pretty much his brand to criticise everything and anything that didn’t fit his very limited ideologies, but there was no time to entertain that now.

“It’s the best I could do, is what,” you retorted, palm diving forward with impatience as you urged him to take the clothes. “Talk shit about it later—in fact, have an entire rant, but right now, you’ve got to put these on so that we can get out of here, unless you’d like to keep on running around naked and flashing the whole of Russia.”

Ben’s eyes lowered down his body as you spoke, then lifted back to your face with an entertained air, his eyebrow lifted smugly. “What, you don’t like the view?” He jested. “Cause I gotta say, it’s the real panty-dropper. The ladies—they just can’t get enough o’ all o’ this.”

When you didn’t entertain what he passed as humour with a response, your expression blank save the impatience, he cleared his throat somewhat self-consciously before hesitantly taking the clothes from your grasp.

Pointing his free finger in your direction, he said, “you’re a doll,” and began slipping the clothes onto his body. You lowered yourself back to the bag to retrieve the socks and sneakers you’d also managed to nick before placing it at his feet.

While you waited for him to get modest—physically, at least, you zipped up the bag and strung it back over your shoulder before rising and turning to peer out the window again. There was a gnawing unease still buzzing at your fingertips and teasing at the steady pace of your heartbeat as you stared off into the corridor, just waiting for any sign of movement. While you stood, you couldn’t help but wonder whether The Boys were managing to hold their own back where you’d left them.

Your thoughts flitted to the injured girl—Kimiko; you hoped that they’d managed to escape and get her to the hospital, and there, you desperately wished that she’d live to see another day. Ben’s outburst was something you’d never seen before, even after all the years the Russian’s had trialed him to see what new powers your modified treatments had brought forward.

You knew that the explosion wasn’t personal, that it was an unfortunate case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you’d seen the look in M.M.‘s eyes—in all of their eyes. There was so much hatred and fear lingering in their stares, and it told you that The boys had come on this job with a preconceived notion about who you and Ben were. So it wouldn’t matter how much convincing you’d have done to try and plead in both your favours; they’d never trust you.

You didn’t much trust them either, that feeling was mutual, you only hoped that it wouldn’t interfere with the conditions that this plan had been tied to. There was still a job to be done before you and Ben could be free—properly free.

Ben’s finger’s curled around your waist, which jerked you from the whirlwind of thoughts you’d gotten sucked into. You turned to face him, fully clothed this time around, and you had to admit that he looked rather attractive in the casual attire.

“How are you feeling?” You asked. He looked alert in the eyes, his movements stronger and more controlled compared to his earlier erraticism.

“I feel fine, no need to fuss over me like I’m some goddamn spineless pussy,” he brushed off dismissively.

You scoffed lightly. “Forgive me for giving a shit,” you muttered, turning away from him to reach for the door handle. “Come on, we’ve gotta go. We’ve already taken longer than I would’ve liked.” You turned the knob and managed to pull the door slightly ajar. “For all we know, they’ve already got more guards set around the per—”

Before you could finish that mildly frantic sentence, Ben’s hand wrapped around your wrist and yanked it from the doorknob. You’d barely managed a protest before he whirled you around to face him and pulled you against his body, his hand only releasing yours to take up firm grip at your jaw. Instinctively, you shrugged the bag from your shoulder and heard it thump to the ground before your own hands came to rest against his broad chest.

With both hands now bracketing your face, he dove down to press a desperate and warm kiss to your lips. At first, the chafe of his overgrown beard felt foreign, but the way his lips eagerly entangled with yours was all the familiarity you needed to melt into his consumption entirely. His large hands stroked down your neck in perfect rhythm, caressing the slopes of your shoulders all the way down your back, and finally, they settled for a firm hold at your hips.

His thumbs hooked over the front of your pelvis as he pushed you against the door you’d been so eager to slip out of only moments ago, and it clicked into it’s place within the frame with an abrupt thud. You release a stifled moan as he pressed you into the wood, and he greedily swallowed it whole, claiming every aspect of your being with this gluttonous kiss.

Your hands dragged up his chest to frame his neck, where you pushed him away to break off the kiss. His lips were plucked from yours with a palpable click, and his features morphed with a disappointed frown as he leaned back to give you air.

Moving his hand to drag two dramatic fingers over his lips, he gazed at you through those charming eyes of his. “I was just gettin’ started with you, sweetheart,” he said lowly.

Chest slightly heaving, your hands lowered to his waist as you gazed up at him. “As much as I’d love to take this further, we can’t stick around here much longer. This part of the facility isn’t used much, but it’s somewhere they’ll come looking once all the other sectors are cleared.”

“You really did have it all planned out, huh?” He murmured sweetly, eyes flickering back down to your lips in a manner that told you he craved another taste of you. But thankfully, he was quite capable of self-restraint when the stakes were too high. He brought his focus back to your eyes with a cheeky wink before he withdrew from your proximity.

“I always did admire that ‘bout you,” he stated before leaning over and swinging his arm forward to scoop up your backpack and lug it over his shoulder. Then, with a nod, he gestured to the door.

“Let’s get a move on, ain’t got all fuckin’ day, right? Besides, I made you a promise back in that lab, and the sooner we can get the fuck outta this ass-fuck of a dungeon, the sooner I can do good on my word.”

You grinned amusedly. “Because you’re old school like that, huh?” You poked.

“Damn right,” he said, hand wrapping around the nape of your neck as he pulled you toward his lowering head. He placed a long kiss against the crown of your head, inhaling your scent in the process.

Your bandaged hand reached up to wrap around the arm that held you against Ben’s adoration, your eyes fluttering close as your body released the tension that had been drawing your every muscle rigid for countless decades.

During all these years at the lab, you were forced to be strong for both yourself and Ben. But you’d never been made to be a warrior—not in any way other than physically, at least. You wanted to be protected, held, cherished like a fragile item that could fracture with the slightest push. In that way, you supposed you were a little old school, too.

Ben had never hesitated to take on that role. To him, it was a dutiful honour—he wanted nothing more than to protect you.

Being trapped in this compound had you stuck in a loop of stress and anxiety, but for the first time, in a very long time, you knew you could breathe a little deeper to relieve that tightness in your chest. You knew you could risk that blink—that shuteye you’d been denying out of fear for your life. Because now that Ben was back, you knew that you were safe.

Gently pulling your head away from his kiss, your hand lingered on his arm as you whispered, “let’s go.”

His lips quirked in the softest smile of agreement, his hand hesitantly falling away from your neck only to take your banadaged hand into a firm, but careful grasp. “Just can’t get enough o’ you,” he chuckled deeply, but you caught the more solemn implications behind those words.

He’d been robbed of your touch for far too long, as much as you’d been of his. Only, he’d had to endure it much harder than you—having constant dreams about all the ways he could devour you during his induced comas. It had been an endless taunt with no assurance that it would ever happen, and now that he was stood here with you in the flesh, he was overcome with the urge to hold onto you, as though he could be ripped of your presence in a blink.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, your fingers tightening in his.

Ben glanced down at your intertwined hands, strands of his hair scattering across his forehead with the motion. It concealed any look that might’ve come across his eyes, but you didn’t miss the soft breath of relief that parted his lips.

He glanced back up at you with practiced composure, taking in a brave sniff as he faced you. “Ah, fuck all this teary-eyed shit. Let’s get the fuck out of here, get a banger meal and then lay one on a shitty motel mattress.”

You gave a small chuckle and released his hand to turn towards the door, where Ben shifted back to accommodate its opening. He held it open for you to slip through, and once you were in the hallway, he appeared behind you with the door clicking shut.

Glancing both ways, you were relieved to be in the clear, and even more relieved to hear that no warning alarms had been set off in the distance. You hoped that meant Butcher and the rest had managed to exterminate the rest of the guards before they had a chance to come down with their final iron fist.

Redirecting your attention to the exit, you beckoned for Ben to follow you through the double doors and out of the back of the compound. You stepped into the crisp night air, the doors swinging closed behind you as Ben appeared at your side, pressed into your arm as he sought out a fraction of your warmth.

“Son o’ a bitch,” he grumbled through chattering teeth, head swivelling about to get a glimpse of the unfamiliar environment.

“Yeah, you haven’t felt real cold in years,” you sympathised with a chuckle, hand slipping into his as you lead him through the empty lot dotted with crates and lorries.

“It’s a fuckin’ maze out here. Do you know where you’re going?” He asked doubtfully.

“Trust me, I know where we’re going.” You lead the way around a corner, where you came face to face with a yard of broken down, discarded vehicles that no longer served a purpose other than reusable parts. “Over there.”

You gestured to a modern, up-kept car nestled between various rusting metal on wheels. You’d stashed the getaway car here a few nights ago, and thankfully it had been one of the easier parts of the plan, given that not many employees wandered all the way out here.

You lead the way toward the vehicle, making a beeline for the driver’s seat. When you reached the car, you turned to Ben with a hand held in the air.

He slowed before you with a confused stare. “What?”

“The keys,” you told him, nodding your chin to the backpack on his shoulder. “They’re in the bag—the side pocket.”

He gave a slow nod of understanding and slipped the bag from his shoulder, plopping it down onto the floor as he bent over to undo the side pocket. A moment later, he pulled out the car keys, which wasn’t much but a remote and a dangling key chain. They clinked against each other loudly as he moved to pick up the bag in his other hand and rose to full height to face you, but he held off on handing you the keys.

“I’ll drive,” he said firmly.

You gave a light laugh. “I appreciate that, Ben, but you don’t know the first thing about the cars of today.”

The Supe looked insulted. “The fuck you on about? It’s a fuckin’ car. It’s got wheels, a throttle and a steerin’ wheel. How hard can it fuckin’ be?” He scoffed and lowered his head to the keys, pausing with a frown of panic before his gaze flitted back over to you. “It doesn’t fly, does it?”

You let out a loud laugh at that, which made Ben’s head loll to the side with a disappointed and slightly flustered stare.

“All right, all right,” he said—all hot and bothered as he glared you down. “So it doesn’t fuckin’ fly. Forgive a man for havin’ hope that the fuckin’ assholes back in our time did good on their promise of a future with flyin’ cars.”

He took a few steps toward the car, arm shooing you aside out of self-conscious spite. “I got this, all right, Princess?”

You faltered a step back as he barged past, your lips parted with the urge to rebound his argument, but you knew that a man like Ben needed to be shown, not told. “Fine,” you said, backing down to let him access the driver’s door uninterrupted. Your hands spread in a dramatic gesture. “Have at it.”

“I will,” he retorted arrogantly, clearing his throat as he lifted the keys to study it. His eyes flickered between the door handle and the keys a few times before flashing you a frustrated glare. “Quit starin’ at me like a braindead potato—I’m figurin’ it out!”

You had to fight to keep a grin from pulling at your lips, your hand coming up in a fist to conceal the lower half of your face. “Mhm,” you hummed into your hand, watching as Ben studied the remote for a few seconds.

The symbols that were supposed to mark which end of the singular button locked and unlocked the car had completely worn off with the years, so you couldn’t blame him for having a hard time with decoding the controls. It was at that point that you expected him to ask for some guidance, though, but the epitome of his masculine pride kept him silent. Eventually, he settled for pressing the bottom most corner, which made the car flash with the locking mechanism.

“Hah,” he breathed proudly, turning to flash you a smug wink. “See? Nothin’ to fuss over. Told ya I’d figure it out.”

“Yeah, you’re a smart one, Ben,” you indulged eagerly, hand falling from your face as you crossed your arms in waiting. “Go ahead, then.”

Ben reached for the handle, not without handing you a suspicious glance, and when he tugged on the door, he was overcome with impatience when he found it still locked.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be ticklin’ my fuckin’ ballsack!” He exclaimed irritably, hand falling away from the handle.

You fixed him with a long, delighted stare that made him shake his head lightly before handing you the keys. “Wipe that grin off your fuckin’ mouth,” he warned.

You took the keys from him and clicked the unlock button. “Or what, Ben?” You asked pointedly, chin lifting to meet his stare boldly.

He chuckled all-knowingly. “You know what,” he husked darkly, eyes glinting with innuendo as he took a step toward you, chin tilted down as he sized you up. “Or I’ll have ya on your knees tonight, pretty lips all stuffed and achin’ ‘round my dick til you can’t even fathom havin’ this attitude of yours.”

Your lower lip fell limp at that, a soft exhale of disbelief leaving your lungs as your head tilted back to hold the weight of his scheming stare. “You’re threatening me with a good time, Soldier Boy?”

Ben’s smirk beamed through that overgrown beard of his at the use of his Supe name. You knew the title on your lips spurred him on in inconceivable ways. “Always a good time til you can’t breathe, isn’t it?” He hummed somewhat condescendingly. “Maybe it’s ‘bout time I give ya a taste of your own fuckin’ medicine.”

Before you had a chance to respond, he moved away to circle around you, then you felt his hand come down on your ass in a light spank. The sound echoed across the desolate, metal graveyard, and you were lurched forward an inch by the momentum.

“What was wrong with fuckin’ keys, anyways?” You heard Ben grumble as he made his way around the car and toward the passenger seat.

You gave an amused huff and shake of your head before opening the driver’s door and sliding inside. Once you were in the seat, you closed the door and were met with Ben not-so-gently tossing the backpack onto the backseat.

“Careful with that,” you told him, placing the keys into one of the compartments before moving to strap yourself in. “There’s a burner phone in there. I told Butcher to call us once they’re in the clear so that we know where to meet them.” You flashed him a quick glance. “Seatbelt,” you added.

Ben obliged and reached for his seatbelt before clicking it in place. “Butcher?” He echoed in confusion. “He the lead asshole of this entire operation?”

“Yeah, asshole and some,” you remarked with a tut.

You moved to press the car’s on button before grabbing ahold of the gear and shifting it into drive mode. Putting the hand break down, you carefully began to manoeuvre the car out of the scrapyard and through the quiet, empty lot.

You heard Ben’s stomach growl just as you neared the the fence-line, which made you glance over at him with sympathy. “We’ll get you something to eat soon,” you promised him.

“And I expect dessert, too,” he added with a sly smirk. You caught on pretty quickly with a smile and slight shake of your head before turning your attention back to the road. “Ain’t gonna lie, seein’ you take control and mannin’ the wheel like this is gettin’ me all hot and excited down there.”

You scoffed as you pulled up to the gates, void of any guards at this instant. They didn’t usually account for this part of the compound, but you were glad that that hadn’t changed within short time of tonight’s breach. You put your foot down on the break, slowing the car to a stop before you glanced at Ben.

“What, you gonna ask me to give you another quick job?”

Ben’s brow cocked expectantly. “You offerin’?”

You held his stare for a moment, if only for dramatic effect, before flicking your head at the gate. “Just get out and open the gate,” you ordered.

His eyes narrowed briefly, lips parting before he drawled a husky, “yes, ma’am.”

You watched as he unbuckled and opened the car door, making his way to the front of the car. He hovered in front of the gate for a few seconds, likely figuring out the latch, before he began rolling the gate back. In no time, he was back in the car and strapped in, and you gave the car some eager gas to push the both of you through and out the gates of hell.

You made a turn onto a long road, which paved way into a whole lot of unknown. You figured that anywhere would be better than this place, so you stepped on the acceleration and sent yourselves fleeing down the tar and toward the luminescent, rounded moon perched on the dark horizon. You couldn’t help but glance up at the rear view mirror, witnessing as the Russian compound gradually grew smaller and smaller with the hasty distance you sought to put between it and you.

“This is it,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, eyes turning back to the road before you. So much relief had been channeled into those very words, but your fingers still gripped the steering wheel with the fear that something would go wrong. It always did. The universe had a way of implying that neither you nor Ben were set up for a happy ending.

A warm hand slid over the hump of your thigh, fingers squeezing gently to offer a sense of comfort and support.

“Hey,” Ben called to you gently. You turned to glance at him, only long enough to catch the soft glint in his eyes before you turned back to the road. “Quit gnawin’ at your lip. We’re freed the fuck outta there. It’s just you and me now, yeah? We got this.”

You smiled weakly at his reassurance, making the conscious decision to ease off the tension in your grip on the steering wheel. “Yeah,” you murmured half-heartedly. There was not much that could convince you now, other than the events of the future itself. But for Ben, you would try your best to hope for only an upward trajectory from here on out.

The buzzing of a cellphone called your attention to the rear view mirror, where you zoned in on the backpack on the backseat. Ben’s head swivelled to glimpse the bag, his hand leaving your thigh to reach for it.

“Leave it,” you told him.

Ben paused and turned to face you with a puzzled glance. “Isn’t it Butcher?” He asked.

“It is,” you told him, eyes fixed on the road. “But that prick can wait. For now, I want you all to myself. We have lost time to make up for, and until we do, screw everybody else.”

You heard the Supe chuckle, the sound of the bag falling back against the seat gracing your ears soon after.

“I like this new you,” he commented, his hand moving to wrap around and rest against the headpiece of your seat. “God, it gets my balls up and runnin’. Wanna have a feel?”

You giggled at Ben’s forwardness, the sound almost foreign on your ears. You hadn’t realised just how much you missed these tiny, absurd moments between the two of you. You hadn’t had much to laugh about in a long time, or anybody to laugh with—life had been cold, dull and lonely. But now, as you drove into the horizon, with the man you so dearly loved at your side, you felt renewed within.

The Boys, the plan, everything. . . they could wait. Right now, nothing other than the two of you mattered.

═════════════════

A/n: I have finally attempted gradient text and y’all are gonna be sick of me for it 😭 this wasn’t supposed to become such a long chapter, but I’ve had such a blast with this idea that I got a little carried away. I really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. Part 3 will be out soon to conclude their little story! Sorry for the delayed release, it’s been a scramble over here with Christmas preparations + I fell ill a few days ago and have been fighting for my life ever since 🥲 (im just a lil sickly thing). Anyways, thank you all for reading! All likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated ᡣ𐭩

Tags: @gibson-g1rl @fallbhind @bohemianblasphemy @violent-darkness @babyfri3dric3 @cevansbaby-dove @artemys-ackles @nyx-the-alien @smutboba @mochminnie @kamisobsessed @littlewitchgirly @spxideyver @destinys-dreamer @star-yawnznn @weaponxgames

Comment/message me to be added to/removed from the tag list for any future Soldier Boy works!

Other works: The Boys Masterlist

If there are any errors, SORRY. I’ve reread this so many times that I’ve become blind to any mistakes. I’ll fix it. Eventually lol.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

In The Lonely Shadows (2/2) Dean W.

Summary: Crowely's always there to help convince you everything's going to be okay after Dean leaves with Lisa & Ben.

the first part of this was requested by my beloved wife @midnight-moonlight-and-mars sometime back in March.

Request: I've got a Crowley request! It can be platonic or romantic. It takes place the year Sam is resurrected and dean is living with Lisa. The reader was close with the Winchesters but after the fight with Lucifer dean abandoned the reader to be with Lisa and cas never answers ( unrequited love maybe?) so the reader teams up with Crowley and becomes like a bounty hunter for him for Lucifer loyalists. 

A/N: It's technically not Crowley x reader since she's pining for Dean. Oops, but I hope you enjoy this all the same, my love.

A/N #2: people were rabid about asking me for a part two. So please, enjoy!

WC: 1.7K

Warnings: mentions of loneliness, and blood, the reader feels abandoned and unloved, crowley’s nice, dean returns. sassy & protective crowley

[READ PART ONE HERE]

Read on Ao3!

--

Dean watched as your chest heaved up and down with every breath you took. The wind was howling outside, with rain pouring down. He was only partially soaked, having run for cover under teh pitiful awning above your hotel door. A suitcase was tucked into one hand and a backpack filled with supplies slung over the shoulder. He'd wanted to say goodbye before he left. But he couldn't. He was a coward, after all. He'd had a few visits from Castiel and Crowley, neither of them saying a word about you.

Though, he asked. He hasn’t spoken a word about Sam, either. The horror of watching Sam fall into the pits of Hell with Adam devastated him. So he ran away. He ran away to the person who would get him away from the hunter’s life, Lisa and Ben. He played pretend for as long as he possibly could.

Until he couldn’t keep up with the facade anymore. All he did was think about you, and the life the pair of you could have had. He’d find himself hovering over your name in his cellphone but never pressing the call button. Oftentimes, he’s stay up late at night, while Lisa laid peacefully next to him sleeping.  He knew he couldn’t lie to her forever about what - or who - truly had his heart.

Oftentimes, when he dreamed, it was about you, your face and your hands wrapped tightly in his as you started behind him on hunts. Thats what he loved about you the most, how much you trusted him to protect you.

So months after he departed, he located you in this dingy motel, where rodents and garbage littered the parking lot, and a few street lamps flickered dangerously in this damned storm. He’d gotten a replacement key to your room, claiming to the sketchy old man at the kiosk that he was your husband and you didn’t leave the key outside for him. So, on the threshold of the hotel room is where he stood, his fight or flight response kicking in the moment he laid eyes on you again.

He hadn’t seen you in months, far too long. But not long enough to forget the way your cheeks puffed out while you were embarrassed or the way your hair always fell into your face when you’d laugh at his stupid jokes. He couldn’t forget the way you would shuffle into his warmth at night, either.

God, did he miss the way you infected all of his clothing with your perfumes. 

He hesitantly stepped into the room, only to stop midway through in almost a panic. What if you moved on? What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you shot him? He wondered at that moment if you held any protection on you, or if you’d thrown all of it away.

But he took the chance anyway and stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him quietly. He quietly toed out of his shoes and turned around before fully surveying the room. He couldn’t see any other person’s belongings in the room, so he assumed you were indeed alone.

Nervously, he tiptoed to the bed and studied your face for a long moment. He remembered everything about you-- your eyelashes, the dimple on your cheek. He wanted to reach out to you, nearly stopping himself as he felt his arm move without his command. He brushed his fingers against your cheek before he knew what he was doing and stepped back as your eyes had flung open in terror.

“Y/N,Y/N, it’s me, it’s Dean,” he said, reaching behind him for the pistol he always carried with him, though, he would never attempt to hurt you in any sort of way. “Hey, hey.”

“Dean?” you blinked through the darkness of the room. You must have been sleeping. Because you thought you heard Dean’s voice. And you thought you seen him standing mere inches away from where you slept on the bed.

Before he could get the chance to respond, another voice filled the room, a voice you’d come to recognize and acknowledge throughout these last few months.

“She doesn’t need you, Squirrel. She’s doing great without you.” Crowley’s voice echoed in the small room. 

Pulling yourself into a sitting position on the bed, you wiped at your eyes before switching your gaze between the pair in front of you. Crowley had been watching you over the weeks, which you had grown weirdly accustomed to, so it was no surprise that he had appeared out of the blue. What had startle you, was the other man standing mere inches away from you. If you just lifted your arm a few inches, you would be able to clasp your hands together.

“You left her high and dry after Moose had fallen into the depths of Hell, where, mind you, he’s been shacking it up with Lucifer. You should hear the agonies and woes from him.”

You could see the agitated twitch in Dean’s cheekbones, even in the poor excuse of light shining through the cracked window curtains.

“But now, back to the matter at hand, hmm?” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the two-night lamps turned on, casting the room in sudden brightness that none of you was prepared for.

“How’s Lisa and Ben?” Crowley smirked as Dean looked entirely uncomfortable at the jabs. “Didn’t want to be a family man anymore, huh? Did she decide she didn’t want your baggage?”

“It’s none of your business, Crowley,” Dean quipped. He snuck a look towards you and almost melted at the sight of tears in your eyelids. He wanted to erase the heartbreak he had caused you. He wanted to erase the pain away from you.

He only wanted you to forgive him. He wanted you and only you. He wished he hadn’t run off after Sam had gone to Hell, but he was broken and insecure. He was scared that you would leave him as well, so he did the only thing he could think of doing at the time: He ran away.

He begged for Lisa to forgive him, and she did. She took him in immediately, even after he explained all that went down with Lucifer and Adam and Sam. She took care of him. And for a while, he could forget all the pain. He could mourn the loss of his brother in peace. But there had always been a hole in his heart that Lisa nor ben would veer be able to fill.

He hadn’t known it at the time until he had sat up the night before and wallowed in misery after having nothing but dreams and nightmares about you for months.

“No harsh words, Not Moose?” Crowley taunted as he took a step toward you, causing Dean to nearly topple backwards onto the bed you were still sitting on. “No quips? Nothing? What do you have to say for yourself? Because while you were playing house, I was left to pick up the piece of her broken heart! How noble of you.  Leave her behind to wallow in misery, and now what? You expect her to swoon because you're back? Pathetic."”

You never thought you would see the day when the king of hell would be red in the face at the Winchesters. But here he was, pointing a threatening finger in Dean’s direction while the other man looked like a kicked puppy. 

You wanted Crowley to stop the insults at Dean. But the fact that he was protecting you in this way meant so much to you. You never knew how much Crowley actually cared about you. 

"I bet she’s just thrilled to have you back. Nothing says 'I care' like a good old-fashioned abandonment, right?" Crowley scoffed.

“Crowley, enough,” you sighed as you finally pushed the duvet away from your body and stood up, causing Dean to look at you with hope. With your request, Crowley quieted down, though he didn’t cease the glare or scowl on his features. Ignoring him, you took a breath, taking Dean’s height in stride. “So, what? You show up at my doorstep and nearly scare me to death, for what?”

“I was wrong,” Dean swallowed, blinking slowly as tears piled against his eyelids. “I never should have left you the way i had. You were mourning Sam as well, and I was a coward for leaving you. I never once stopped thinking about you. I never once let you out of my mind. Lisa knew it, Ben knew it.’

“I’m not forgiving you, Dean.” you held your ground, even as you had to wipe the tears away from your cheeks. “How could I forgive you? Do you know what the hell I’ve been through? You weren’t the only one to lose a brother, you know? Sam was my family as well.”

He opened his mouth, only for you to cut him off.

“It’s been fourteen months, Dean—fourteen long, terrible months. I celebrated Sam’s birthday without you. I celebrated your birthday without you. Crowley was the only one to check with me. Do you know he saved me from death on numerous occasions? That could have been you.”

He looked utterly defeated at the mention of the birthday celebrations. He could only imagine you singing to yourself with some cheap cake and a gas station lighter, wishing for the family you once held as you blew out the candles.

“Dean, I don’t know whether to hit you, kiss you, or put a bullet in you.” you scowled, pushing past him to walk over to the bathroom to wash your face. Leaving the door open, you heard Dean shuffle around Crowley to get to you again. 

“I can’t leave you, not again. Never again,” he watched your reflection as you grabbed for a hand towel and wiped the water from your face. 

Glaring at him momentarily, you sighed heavily before turning around and leaning against the counter. “Crowley will kill me for this. But I can’t help but think that I’m still in love with you. We can talk more about this in the morning. I had a long few weeks, and I’m absolutely exhausted.” 

Eagerly, Dean followed you out of the bathroom, barely noticing Crowley’s absence as he tucked you into the bed before he climbed in himself.

--

**totally up for a part three IF people want it. So please, please, please, if you enjoyed this reblog this & leave comments.

[zepskies]

Series Masterlist - Smoke Eater

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: "Smoke eater": a self-appointed slang term for a firefighter.

Get ready for an AU! Several SPN characters will make their appearances: Sam and John Winchester, Castiel as "Cas Novak," Ellen and Jo Harvelle, Jack Kline, Benny Lafitte, Gordon Walker, Meg Masters, Chuck Shurley, Nick (yes, even him), and more!

Series Tags/Warnings: (**18+ only!) There will be a lot of heart, a lot of fun, drama, heartbreak, protective Dean, and even a murder mystery. Rating for eventual smut, perilous situations, and other chapter-specific tags.

🎵 Listen While You Read:

The Smoke Eater Playlist: YouTube || Spotify

Chapters:

Part 1 - Class and Style - Podcast Version!

Part 2 - Lieutenant Winchester

Part 3 - Got a Hold on Me

Part 4 - Rocky Road

Part 5 - Twitterpated

Part 6 - Just Casual

Part 7 - Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle

Part 8 - Likewise, Baby

Part 9 - Do Not Disturb

Part 10 - Toil and Trouble

Part 11 - Heart of the Home

Part 12 - All in the Family

Part 13 - Boiling Point

Part 14 - Message in a Bottle

Part 15 - The Good Part

Part 16 - Break Down the Gates

Part 17 - The Real Deal

Part 18 - V for Vendetta

Part 19 - Sacrifice

Epilogue - Easy as Pie

Series Complete!

Bonus One-Shots:

Something Real** Now that you and Dean are officially engaged, you take some much needed time off together for a family vacation. But even with the wedding set for next year, the two of you are still at odds when it comes to one key part of your future together…

(Want to listen to the podcast version? Keep scrolling below!)

🎙️ Podcast Fics:

Listen to Part 1 in podfic form!

(A "podfic" is where you can listen to the story narrated.)

(Cover image and narration by @talltalesandbedtimestories)

Or listen to the official Idling in the Impala episode of Smoke Eater Part 1 on YouTube:

Or listen on Spotify.

Listen to the Idling in the Impala podfic episode of the sequel story, Something Real below:

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[doctorbitchcrxft]

Bloodlust | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, implied sexism/objectification

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Dean was in the best mood you’d seen him in in a long time. He was grooving to his music as the Impala cruised along the highway; having finally fixed his baby. “Whoo! Listen to her purr! Have you ever heard anything so sweet?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know, if you two wanna get a room, just let me know, Dean.”

“Oh, don't listen to her, baby. She doesn't understand us.”

Sam laughed. “You're in a good mood.”

“Why shouldn't I be?” Dean questioned.

“No reason.”

“Got my car, got a case; things are looking up.”

You hummed. “Wow. Give you a couple severed heads and a pile of dead cows, and you’re little miss sunshine.”

He laughed. “How far to Red Lodge?”

Sam responded, “Uh, about another three hundred miles.”

“Good,” Dean smirked, flooring it.

***

The sheriff you and the brothers talked to obviously thought the three of you were insane when you questioned him about the decapitations and cow mutilations. He ordered you to get out of his office, to which you agreed.

Needing another plan, you and the brothers headed to the hospital in your respective suits and dress. You didn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes raked over your body as you made your way into the morgue.

“Decorum, please,” you teased, swishing your hips as you walked ahead of him.

Dean walked closely behind you and read the nametag of the unsuspecting intern sitting behind the desk. “John.”

“Jeff,” he corrected.

“Jeff. I know that,” Dean chuckled. “Dr. Dworkin needs to see you in his office right away.”

“But Dr. Dworkin's on vacation.”

“Well, he's back. And he's pissed, and he's screaming for you, man, so if I were you I would—” he clicked his tongue and jutted his thumb behind him.

The intern looked terrified and ran away.

“Hey, those satanists in Florida, they marked their victims, didn't they?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah, reversed pentacle on the forehead,” Sam responded.

“Yeah. So much fucked up crap happens in Florida.” He handed you and Sam pairs of latex gloves and tugged on a pair of his own. 

You pulled out a metal bed with a woman’s corpse laying on it and a box between her legs. 

“Alright, open it,” Dean told Sam.

“You open it,” Sam protested.

“You guys are pussies.” You grabbed the box and took the lid off, unfazed by the sight before you.

Dean cringed at the sight of the head, saying, “Well, no pentagram.”

“Wow. Poor girl,” Sam said.

“Maybe we should, uh, you know, look in her mouth, see if those wackos stuffed anything down her throat. Y'know, kinda like the moth in Silence of the Lambs.”

“Yeah, here, go ahead,” you smirked, spinning the box toward him.

“No, you go ahead,” he rebutted.

“What?”

“ ‘Put the lotion in the basket.’ “ 

You rolled your eyes. “Fine.” You pried her mouth open and looked down her throat. 

“Dean, get me a bucket?” Sam grimaced. “I'm going to puke.”

You felt around her mouth a bit more and found strange grooves above her gumline. You pulled her lip up and pressed just above one of the holes, and a fang descended. “Oh, this fucking bitch.”

“She’s already dead, (Y/N), relax,” Dean told you.

“Well, this changes things,” noted Sam.

“Ya think?” you and Dean asked in unison.

***

You and the brothers decided to go for a few drinks after the discoveries you’d made and pick up the next morning. You immediately felt a man’s eyes on you and uncomfortably shifted in your seat. “You pickin’ up what I am?” you discreetly whispered to Dean.

“Yeah, definitely,” he responded lowly, sitting on a barstool. “How's it going?”

The bartender answered, “Living the dream. What can I get for you?”

“Three beers, please.”

Sam began, “So, we're looking for some people.”

“Sure. Hard to be lonely,” the bartender smirked. 

“Yeah. But, um, that's not what I meant.” Sam pulled a fifty dollar bill from his pocket and dropped it in front of the bartender, who took it hesitantly. “Right. So these, these people, they would have moved here about six months ago, probably pretty rowdy, like to drink—”

“Yeah, real night owls, you know? Sleep all day, party all night,” Dean chimed in.

“Barker farm got leased out a couple months ago. Real winners. They've been in here a lot— drinkers. Noisy. I've had to 86 them once or twice.”

You and Dean thanked the bartender for his help and continued to nurse your beers. After a few minutes, you and the brothers continued to feel the man’s eyes on you. On high alert, all three of you moved for the door and noticed all that was left of the man was a smoldering cigarette in an ashtray.

You and the brothers walked out of the bar and past the Impala to lead the man who’d been stalking you away. You rounded a corner and jumped out of the way so the brothers could pin the man who’d followed you to the wall. Dean held a knife to the man’s throat and commanded, “Smile.”

“What?” the man asked.

“Show us those pearly whites.”

“Oh, for the love of— you want to stick that thing someplace else? I'm not a vampire," he replied nonchalantly.

You frowned.

“Yeah, that's right. I heard you guys in there.” Even his voice was unsettling.

“What do you know about vampires?” you asked.

“How to kill them. Now seriously, bro. That knife's making me itch.”

Dean cocked his head and the man started to pull away. Sam pinned him down harder. 

“Whoa. Easy there, Chachi,” the man said. He slowly brought his hand up to his lips and revealed normal gums. “See? Fangless. Happy?”

Dean let him up. “Now. Who the hell are you?”

"Gordon. Gordon Walker," he replied. "You?"

"I'm Dean. This is Sam; that's (Y/N)."

The man led you over to his car and pulled out an arsenal rack from behind his backseat. “Sam and Dean Winchester. I can't believe it. You know I met your old man once? Hell of a guy. Great hunter. I heard he passed. I'm sorry. It's big shoes. But from what I hear you guys fill 'em. Great trackers, good in a tight spot—”

Dean was on-guard. “You seem to know a lot about our family.”

“Word travels fast. You know how hunters talk,” the man explained.

“No, I don’t, actually,” you chimed in.

“You're a firecracker, aren't cha?” he asked. His somehow hauntingly melodic voice had you on edge.

You refused to respond.

“So, um, so those two vampires, they were yours, huh?” Sam jumped in.

“Yep. Been here two weeks.”

“Did you check out that Barker farm?” Dean questioned.

“It's a bust. Just a bunch of hippie freaks. Though, they could kill you with that patchouli smell alone.” You almost laughed at Gordon’s comment. 

“Where's the nest, then?” Dean asked.

“I got this one covered. Look, don't get me wrong. It's a real pleasure meetin' you fellas. But I've been on this thing over a year. I killed a fang back in Austin; tracked the nest all the way up here. I'll finish it.”

“We could help,” Dean suggested.

“Thanks, but uh, I'm kind of a go-it-alone type of guy.”

Dean groaned, “Come on, man, I"ve been itching for a hunt.”

“Sorry. But hey, I hear there's a Chupacabra two states over. You go ahead and knock yourselves out.” He got down into his car and leaned out of the window. “It was real good meeting you, though. I'll buy you a drink on the flip side.” He drove off.

“He seems like a world-class douche,” you commented as you watched his retreating red car.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Sam snorted. 

“C’mon.” Dean started off to his car.

“Where we goin’?” 

“To find ourselves a fang.”

***

Dean followed Gordon’s distinctive red car to a warehouse where you deduced he’d tracked a vampire to. 

You rushed up the labyrinth of ladders toward the sounds of a running mill saw and the two men struggling. When you arrived at the scene, you saw Gordon on the verge of getting his head taken off by the vampire and the saw. You and Sam each grabbed a boot and pulled Gordon away from the vampire’s impressive strength. Dean attacked the vampire and replaced Gordon with him, lowering the saw to the vampire’s throat. You watched in concern as blood sprayed across Dean’s face, and he seemed completely unreactive. 

“So, uh, I guess I gotta buy you that drink,” Gordon chuckled awkwardly. 

***

You agreed to meet Gordon back at the bar you’d met him at after you cleaned Dean up. Sam went into the bar with Gordon to get a round of drinks started. You took hydrogen peroxide out of the first aid kit in the car and began to wipe Dean’s face off with it.

“I can do this myself, y’know,” he mumbled.

“I do.” You let a silence settle between you before you spoke again. “What happened to you back there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dean, you got fucking scary back there. I’ve never seen you like that,” you explained.

“I was just excited to get back to huntin’, (Y/N).”

“No, dude, I know you. You’re lethal but never… cold. You’re worrying me,” you admitted.

“Well, don’t, okay? I’m fine,” he said, lightly pushing you off him and taking the towel from you. He finished wiping himself off and began to walk inside. You were hurt but refused to let that show and followed him into the bar. 

***

Rounds deep of Gordon and Dean swapping stories, you and Sam were exhausted of the talk of blood, guts, and gore. Gordon soon circled back to Dean’s kill of the evening. “Dean,” he laughed. “You gave that big-ass fang one hell of a haircut, my friend.”

“Thank you,” Dean grinned.

“That was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

“Was it, though?” you questioned, ignoring the way Dean’s gaze burned into the side of your head and keeping your eyes locked on Gordon.

“You all right, sweetheart?” Dean asked you.

“Fine,” you responded.

“Well, lighten up a little, sweetheart,” Gordon jested.

“He's the only one who gets to call me that,” you immediately stated firmly.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay. No offense meant. Just celebrating a little. Job well done.”

“Right. Well, decapitations aren't my idea of a good time, I guess,” Sam chimed in.

“Oh, come one, man, it's not like it was human. You've gotta have a little more fun with your job,” Gordon said simply. 

"That's what it is, though," you broke in. "A job. I enjoy it, but bloodshed doesn't exactly get my rocks off." You kept your eyes locked on Gordon, who stared back.

Sam sighed and stood up. "Look, I'm not gonna bring you guys down. I'm just gonna go back to the motel. C’mon, (Y/N).”

“You sure?” Dean asked the two of you as you stood.

The two of you nodded wordlessly.

“Remind me to beat that buzzkill out of you two later, alright?” Dean joked, throwing Sam the keys.

You walked out angrily and didn’t say a word to Sam on the way back to the motel.

***

“I don’t like that guy,” you muttered to Sam as you paced around his and Dean’s motel room. “I really don’t like vampires, but I really don’t like that guy.”

“Yeah, me neither. I’m gonna call Ellen; see what she thinks.”

“Good idea.”

Sam raised the phone to his ear. “Hey, Ellen, uh, Sam Winchester… Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. Got a question. You ever run across a guy named Gordon Walker?... And?... Well, we ran into him on a job and we're kinda working with him, I guess…” His face suddenly changed. “I— I thought you said he was a good hunter.” 

You watched curiously as he listened to another thing she had to say before bidding the woman goodbye. “I’m guessing she told you he was bad news,” you said once he’d hung up.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Great.”

“Sam, I hate vamps more than probably anybody. But Dean was just… so… not Dean when he took the head off that one,” you said.

“I know. It’s buggin’ me, too,” he sighed. “I’m gonna go get a drink. You want one?”

“Just a water, please,” you replied.

Minutes went by, and Sam still hadn’t returned from the vending machine. You were beginning to get a little worried, but decided that maybe he just needed a second to himself. When ten minutes turned into fifteen, though, you really started to panic. You darted outside and looked over to the vending machine. Sam was nowhere to be found. You called Dean in a panic, saying, “Dean, Sam’s gone. I can’t find him anywhere.”

“What?! What the hell happened?!”

“I don’t know!” You ran a hand through your hair. “He just went to get a drink, and now he’s gone!”

“Well, maybe he just went for a walk,” Dean tried.

“No, Dean, he would’ve told me. What the hell is with you? Normally, you’d be flipping out by now.”

“Watch it, (Y/N). Hang tight. We’re on our way.” He hung up the phone.

‘We. Gordon. Fucking fantastic.’

***

When Dean and Gordon returned to the boys’ motel room, you clung to the back wall, feeling very uncomfortable around Gordon and Dean’s new attitude.

Gordon was discussing strategies on how to get Sam back with Dean— supposing the vampires you were hunting was behind this— when the man in question strolled through the door.

“Sam?!” you asked, pushing off the wall and running to him. You hugged him tightly around his neck. “Where the hell did you go?”

“Can I talk to you two alone?” he asked you and his brother.

“You mind chillin' out for a couple minutes?” Dean asked Gordon, who shook his head. You and the brothers exited the room and stood in the parking lot. 

“Guys, maybe we've got to rethink this hunt.”

“What makes you say that, Sammy?” you asked. 

“Where were you?” Dean questioned.

“In the nest.”

“What? You found it?” Dean questioned. Yours and his eyebrows shot up.

“They found me, man.”

“How'd you get out? How many'd you kill?” the older brother asked.

“None.”

“Well, Sam, they didn't just let you go.”

“That's exactly what they did.”

“No fucking way,” you said. “I know vamps, they wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, how do you explain the fact that I’m not dead, (Y/N)?”

You shrugged. “Good point. But what the hell, man?”

“Where is it?” Dean asked.

“I was blindfolded. I don't know.”

“Well, you've got to know something,” the older brother pressed.

Sam huffed. “We went over that bridge outside of town, but guys, listen. Maybe we shouldn't go after them.”

“Why not?” you and Dean asked.

“I don't think they're like other vampires. I don't think they're killing people.”

Dean laughed humorlessly. “You're joking. Then how do they stay alive? Or undead, or whatever the hell they are.”

“The cattle mutilations. They said they live off of animal blood.”

“And you believed them?”

“Look at me, Dean. They let me go without a scratch.” Sam held his arms out to either side of himself, encouraging you and Dean to examine him.

“Wait, so you're saying—” Dean cut himself off. “No, man, no way. I don't know why they let you go. I don't really care. We find 'em, we waste 'em.”

“Why?” Sam huffed.

“What part of 'vampires' don't you understand, Sam? If it's supernatural, we kill it, end of story. That's our job.”

“No, Dean, that is not our job. Our job is hunting evil. And if these things aren't killing people, they're not evil!” the brunet argued.

“Of course they're killing people, that's what they do. They're all the same, Sam. They're not human, okay? We have to exterminate every last one of them.”

“Dean, I’m with Sam on this one,” you finally said.

“Really, (Y/N)? You?” he looked at you stunned.

“Yeah, dude. I trust Sam. I hate vampires more than the next person. But I just don’t feel good about this hunt all around. I say we leave these vampires and Gordon in our dust,” you responded.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about,” Dean scoffed. “Gordon?”

“Why are you so defensive of him?” you questioned, voicing rising slightly.

“Because he’s been going after these things for a year, (Y/N), I think he knows,” he said.

“Sam called Ellen. She says he’s bad news.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

Dean looked at his brother. “You called Ellen?”

Sam nodded.

“And I'm supposed to listen to her? We barely know her, (Y/N). No thanks, I'll go with Gordon.”

“Right. ‘Cause Gordon’s such an old friend,” you scowled. “You think I can’t see what this is?”

“What are you talking about?” Dean grunted.

“He's a substitute for your dad, isn't he? A poor one.”

“Shut up, (Y/N).”

“Hey! Don’t talk to me like that.” You stepped closer to Dean, face set angrily.

Dean wasn’t backing off. “Then don’t talk to me like that.”

The two of you were in each other’s faces, angrily staring each other down.

“You know what? I'm not even going to talk about this,” Dean grumbled, turning away from you.

“I know exactly what you’re doing, Dean. I can see right through you. I know how you feel. I lost my dad, too. But nobody can replace him. That hole you’re feeling hurts; I know. But this isn’t what’s gonna fix it.”

He snorted humorlessly. “Okay.” He walked away from you and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He turned to his brother. “I'm going to that nest. You don't want to tell me where it is, fine. I'll find it myself.”

You followed him back into his motel room. “We are not done with this conversation.” 

Dean went to respond to you but noticed Gordon was gone before he could. 

“You think he went after them?” Sam asked.

“Probably,” you said. “Dean, we have to stop him.”

“Really, (Y/N)? Because I say we lend a hand.”

Sam chimed in, “Just give me the benefit of the doubt, would you? You owe me that.”

“Yeah, we'll see. I'll drive. Give me the keys.”

Sam gestured to the table where he’d set the keys earlier, but they were gone. “He snaked the keys.”

“Fucking awesome,” you grumbled, eyeing Dean angrily for his trust in Gordon.

Dean then had to hotwire his own car, cursing under his breath about how he’d “just fixed her.” “So the bridge, is that, uh, is that all you got?” Dean asked his brother as the three of you began to speed off.

“The bridge was four and a half minutes from their farm,” Sam explained.

“How do you know?” you asked.

“I counted.” 

You smiled. This was another one of those moments where he reminded you a lot of Steven; he would've done the same thing.

The younger brother continued, “They took a left out of the farm, then turned right onto a dirt road, followed that for two minutes slightly up a hill, then took another quick right, and we hit the bridge.”

***

A while later, you and the brothers arrived at the farmhouse the vampires had been holing up in. You found Gordon circling a tied-up vampiress covered in scratches and her own blood. 

“Guys. Come on in,” Gordon grinned at you.

“You’re fucking sick,” you growled, eyeing him dangerously.

“You wanna get a handle on your girlfriend there, pal?” Gordon said to Dean.

Dean ignored his comment. “What's going on?”

“Just poisoning Lenore here with some dead man's blood. She's going to tell us where all her little friends are, aren't you? Wanna help?”

Dean sighed. “Look, man—”

“Grab a knife. I was just about to start in on the fingers.” Gordon dragged his knife across her arm, cutting her deeply.

“Stop it!” you ordered.

“Hey, let's all just chill out, huh?” Dean said simultaneously.

“I’m completely chill,” Gordon responded coolly.

“Gordon, put the knife down,” Sam quietly pleaded. He went to step toward Gordon, but Dean held him back.

“Sounds like it's Sam here needs to chill,” Gordon scoffed.

“Just step away from her, alright?” you tried.

“You're right. I'm wasting my time here. This bitch will never talk. Might as well put her out of her misery.” Gordon pulled out a larger knife. “I just sharpened it, so it's completely humane.”

You stepped to block Gordon from reaching the vampire. “Gordon, I'm letting her go.”

Gordon pointed the knife at your chest, stopping you. “You're not doing a damn thing.”

“Hey, hey, hey, Gordon, let's talk about this,” Dean broke in, concern rising in his voice.

“What's there to talk about? It's like I said, Dean. No shades of gray.”

“Yeah. I hear ya. And I know how you feel.”

“Do you?” He turned to Dean, but kept the knife trained on your chest.

“That vampire that killed your sister deserved to die, but this one—”

Gordon laughed. “Killed my sister? That filthy fang didn't kill my sister. It turned her. It made her one of them. So I hunted her down, and I killed her myself.”

Dean’s awkward smile wavered. “You did what?”

“It wasn't my sister anymore; it wasn't human. I didn't blink. And neither would you.”

“Gordon, I had to do the same thing to my parents,” you said. “But my parents were trying to eat me. I think that’s a bit of a different circumstance than these guys who are just eating a few cows.”

“Then you should understand why I have to do this.” He pushed the tip of his knife into your chest, trying to get you to back up. You hissed in pain.

Dean immediately drew his gun and pointed it at Gordon. “Cut it out.”

“So you knew all along, then?” Sam continued provoking the hunter. “You knew about the vampires, you knew they weren't killing anyone. You knew about the cattle. And you just didn't care.”

Gordon chuckled. “Care about what? A nest of vampires suddenly acting nice? Taking a little time out from sucking innocent people? And we're supposed to buy that? Trust me. Doesn't change what they are. And I can prove it.” With no warning, he grabbed your arm and sliced it open. You yelped as he held your arm out with one hand and held the knife to your throat with the other. He shoved you toward the vampire tied up in her chair.

Dean cocked the gun and demanded, “Let her go. Now!”

“Relax. If I wanted to kill her, she'd already be on the floor. Just making a little point.”

“Oh, you motherfucker—” he held your arm over the vampire while you struggled, causing blood to drip on her face. She hissed, and her fangs extended. 

“Let me go!”

“You think she's so different? Still want to save her? Look at her. They're all the same. Evil, bloodthirsty.”

The vampire controlled herself, though, retracting her fangs and turning her face away. You softened at the sight as Dean continued to try and intimidate Gordon.

“You hear her, Gordon?” Sam said. 

The vampire was stringing together a chant of “No” over and over again, trying to control herself.

You kicked Gordon between the legs and worked your way out of his grasp when the knife moved away from your neck. “We're done here.”

“Sam, get her out of here,” Dean told his brother. 

He did as told, and when Gordon tried to step toward him, Dean caught his attention with the gun. “Uh-uh. Uh-uh! Gordon, I think you and I've got some things to talk about.”

“Get out of my way,” Gordon told you and Dean, who both had guns trained on him.

“Sorry,” Dean murmured.

“You're not serious,” the man scoffed.

“I'm having a hard time believing it too, but I know what I saw. If you want those vampires, you gotta go through me.”

Gordon nodded, considering. He looked down at his knife and jammed it into the table. “Fine.”

Dean looked at the knife and then his gun. He pulled the clip out of his Taurus and set it aside.

“Dean, what are you doing?” you asked.

“Trust me on this one.”

You kept your gun trained on Gordon as he lunged at Dean. You couldn’t get a clear shot as the two of them rumbled around. You couldn’t lie, they were pretty evenly matched in hand-to-hand combat. Gordon grabbed his knife again and held it to Dean’s throat. “What are you doing, man? You doing this for a fang? Come on, Dean, we're on the same side here.”

“I don't think so, you sadistic bastard.”

Gordon threw Dean across the room.

“Hey!” you said, cocking your gun. “Back off!”

“Stay out of this, sweetie,” Gordon told you before turning back to Dean. “You're not like your brother. You're a killer. Like me.”

Dean kicked Gordon down and hauled him up against the wall before elbowing him between the eyes. He pinned him under his elbow and slammed his head into another wall. “Oh, sorry.”

You chuckled despite the situation as you and Dean began to tie Gordon up.

“You know, I might be like you, and I might not. But you're the one tied up right now,” Dean monotoned down at Gordon. He turned to you when he seemed to come back to reality. “Are you okay?” He put his hands on either side of your face and tucked your hair behind your ear. 

You nodded. “Fine.”

He grabbed your arm gently and looked over the cut Gordon had given you. Dean sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I’m gonna take care of that.”

“Dean, you don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I do.” He took a deep breath. “You were right.”

You gave him a lopsided smile. “I know.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to have a moment with you here,” he smirked.

You just smiled and looked down to the floor. “I know. Thank you.”

Sam came back into the room. “Did I miss anything?” he asked, noting Gordon tied up.

Dean shook his head. “Nah, not much. She get out okay?”

“Yeah. All of 'em did.”

Gordon groaned as he came back to. 

“Then I guess our work here is done. How you doin', Gordy? Gotta tinkle yet?” Dean snarked, making you giggle.

Gordon just glared at him.

“Alright. Well, get comfy. We'll call someone in two or three days; have them come out, untie you.” He jammed Gordon’s knife into the table behind him.

“Ready to go, Dean?” Sam asked.

“Not yet. I guess this is goodbye. Well, it's been real.” He hit Gordon straight across the jaw, knocking him to the floor. “Okay. I'm good now. We can go.”

As you exited the farmhouse, you grabbed at your arm that suddenly began to sting. 

“I wish we never took this job. It's jacked everything up,” Dean lamented.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“Think about all the hunts we went on, Sammy, our whole lives. What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing? You know? I mean, the way Dad raised us—” Dean trailed off and shook his head.

The younger brother’s expression softened. “Dean, after what happened to Mom, Dad did the best he could.”

“I know he did. But the man wasn't perfect. And the way he raised us, to hate those things; and man, I hate 'em. I do. When I killed that vampire at the mill, I didn't even think about it; hell, I even enjoyed it.”

“You didn’t kill that girl, though,” you pointed out.

“No, but every instinct told me to. I was gonna kill her. I was gonna kill 'em all.”

“Yeah, Dean, but you didn't. And that's what matters,” Sam reminded him softly.

“Yeah. Well, 'cause you two are a pain in my ass,” Dean grunted.

“Guess we might have to stick around to be a pain in the ass, then,” the brunet smirked.

“Thanks,” Dean said honestly.

“Don’t mention it.”

***

You returned to the motel to quickly shower off and gather your things. Dean followed you to your room and looked down at your arm. “Gimme that,” he said.

“What? My arm?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“This is our thing now, I guess, huh?” you asked as he pulled a chair up to where you sat on your bed, using your first aid kid to clean your wounds.

“Oh, god, don’t try and make this cute,” he groaned.

“Well, it is!” you protested. “I like how much you care.”

A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, and you began to work on Dean’s wounds he’d sustained from Gordon.

“(Y/N), I—” he began, “I was a complete asshole back there. I just… it’s what I told Sam, I mean, this changes everything for me.”

“I get it,” you nodded. “Me, too. You know I fucking hate vampires, and I wanted to smoke every last one of them. But I don’t know. I’m starting to see the humanity in ‘em, I guess.”

“‘S funny. Humanity in monsters.”

“I know,” you giggled. “Sounds stupid saying it out loud. But think about it. That chick reacted the way any regular person does with severe addiction. Just makes you think, y’know? Maybe they’re more like us than we ever thought.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Don’t get all philosophical on me; I can’t keep up when you do.”

“Yeah, but you love it, though,” you teased.

“I do, actually,” he said, much to your surprise. “You’re so smart, it scares me sometimes.”

“Whoa, look at you and your compliments,” you joked, grinning.

“What?" he chuckled.

“Normally I'm the touchy-feely one,” you answered, giggling. “But thank you. It means a lot coming from you.” You finished wrapping a bandage around his knuckles. “There.”

He flexed them painfully in your upturned palm before playing with your hand in his. You looked up at him, breath hitching in your throat. “Dee, if you’re not ready—”

“(Y/N),” he said, leaning in to you. You surged forward and connected his lips with yours.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[watermelongirl01]

Sweet Rescue Masterlist

Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have always heard about the brave and strong firefighters around your town, but never gave it the relevance it truly deserved. That is, until you find yourself caught in a horrible car accident, one that makes you see your life flashing before your eyes. Now you feel the overwhelming need to thank the fire department that rescued you. How can you show them? By gifting them a year of your finest desserts. Little did you know, this was the key to Captain Dean Winchester’s heart.

Who thought that the accident would begin the most wonderful love story between the fireman with the sweetest tooth and the best baker in town?

Content Warning: English is not my first language. This will be a mini-series AU with fluff, angst, and eventually smut.

If you are interested and reading this, please let me know. I Will be adding chapters as soon as I can.

Please DO NOT copy or translate this.

Chapters:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

[princess-and-charming]

dean and y/n text thread;

god i love but hate these idiots XD (i’ve got so much more but for when they’re actually a couple I’M EXCITEDDD)

Based on ‘Genesis Primis: A Supernatural Series Rewrite’ of ‘The Old Testament Series’

[ultravi0lence14]

WHEN ANGEL FALLS IN LOVE

dean winchester x angel!reader

TBD | angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, spn level violence, eventual smut, szn nine

summary: the angel’s have fell, and castiel finds himself running into the little angel he had mentored and kept under his (literal) wing for millennia. when you ask for help, castiel sends you to the winchester brothers as he attempts to adapt himself. with angel now living in the bunker, what happens when the line between love and hate becomes blurred?

ANGEL AND DEAN’S PLAYLIST

ANGEL’S PINTEREST BOARD

when angel falls

welcome to the bunker

sweet angel

change of heart

when angel falls (in love)

*promises

TAGS: @floralscented @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @haunteres @ostaramoon @starzify @fallbhind @rubyvhs @foolinthera1n @taurus0queenie33 @vaiieydoii @bitchykittenconnoisseur @galacticalllcafffeine @jasvtsc @pascal-rascal424 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @fayeisuppose @angel-inspiredblog @geisterfvhrer @bluemerakis @si1ver06 @drqstqr @wh0s-ra3 @supernatural-bangtanboys @whump-loverz @mostlymarvelgirl @d3anwinchesterswife @youdontknowe @oceanolokys @chxrrybobaby-sin @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @hoyoooo

COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE APART OF ANGEL AND DEAN’S TAGLIST

[acciofictionalmen]

chick-flicks & plump lips

(sam winchester x female!reader oneshot)

→ courtesy of dean who can't stand the romantic tension anymore between his brother and best friend, you and sam are forced to share a hostel room..

warnings: fluff, angst, sexual references, strong language... love confessions ♡

"We'd like to check in." Dean sauntered up to the front desk, that usual swagger in his step as he gave the receptionist a once over, "Under Connors."

The receptionist's eyes immediately dropped to your undoubtedly dishevelled appearances, but once they settled on Dean's face, she seemed to check herself.

"Rough night." Dean drawled in a forced attempt to make conversation with her, referring to the mud that caked each of your clothes.

Grave-digging wasn't for the weak after all.

You and Sam exchanged a look, rough night didn't even begin to describe the evening you'd all had.

She blushed, clicking a few times on her computer before facing the three of you, "Dean Connors? Two rooms?"

He nodded, flashing a grin that had the receptionist close to drooling, "That's the one."

Dean rubbed his hands together as she passed him both keys, chucking one in Sam's direction which he caught smoothly.

"Enjoy the two bedroom en-suite!" Hollered the receptionist in Dean's direction as he strolled off, you and Sam following closely.

Once you reached the correct corridor, you paused, watching Dean swiftly unlock his room as you waited expectantly. By this point, one of the brothers would give you their key so that you could enjoy some privacy. With the added bonus of a break from their constant bickering.

Dean turned towards you both from the doorway as your eyebrows rose, immediately recognising that familiar look of smugness. By the look on Sam's face, he'd noticed it too.

Clearing his throat, Dean stared you both down, "I'm giving you both tonight."

You and Sam exchanged confused glances.

"I'm sick of the tension, and I refuse to be stuck in the middle of some corny chick-flick. You either fuck or you sort your shit out."

The door slammed.

Every muscle tensed as you hesitantly faced Sam, who seemed determined to stare at anything except you.

He stepped towards the door opposite and unlocked it with a soft click, reaching blindly to fumble for a light switch. Within moments light flooded the room, and he swore under his breath.

One bed. Typical.

The receptionist's earlier words directed towards Dean resurfaced in your head: "Enjoy the two bedroom en-suite!"

You could practically hear Dean's snort of laughter from the other room, and you swore you'd make him pay for this in the morning. For your mounting humiliation and the words he'd spoken into existence that neither you nor Sam had been able to admit yet. Words that could no longer be ignored now that they were out in the open. Exposed.

Sam finally met your eyes, flashing you an apologetic look as he walked inside, shutting the door softly once you'd entered too.

You both stood for a moment, unsure what to do with yourselves- it wasn't like you had something to keep busy with or any belongings to unpack: most of your bags had remained in the Impala.

Eager to escape the awkwardness, you quickly yanked pyjama bottoms and a loose t-shirt from your rucksack and announced that you needed a shower.

You slipped into the bathroom before Sam had a chance to reply.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, the impassivity of your face concealed your inner turmoil well. Dean's words had taken you by surprise, yes, but they hadn't exactly been news. Perhaps it was a good thing he had acknowledged it. Especially with the job the three of you shared. Emotional conflict and unspoken secrets didn't bode well when your lives were constantly in eachothers hands. Not that either of the Winchester brothers would ever allow any harm to befall you.

Tugging off your clothes, you let your torn henley, mud-splattered jeans and lace-trimmed underwear pool at your feet.

Sam. Sammy. Your best friend.

It was true. You'd entertained the thought of something more not too long ago. Who were you kidding? You still did; it was impossible not to. When his fingers brushed against yours, when his lips pulled into a smile in those brief, deeply personal moments, intended for your eyes only. A privilege you kept close to your heart.

You knew Sam thought about it too, knew that the amount of times you'd both stared at each others lips was too much to be an accident. To hold him, to touch him, to be with him.. it sent an indescribable thrill through your body that matched the adrenaline after a successful mission; that feeling when you'd faced death, and came out alive.

Shaking your head in an attempt to banish these thoughts, you drifted into the shower, tugging your hair free from it's hair band.

With a strangled squeak, the shower head relented as it burst into life. Stepping underneath the streams of water, you hissed at the searing hot temperature. It didn't seem to compromise between agonisingly cold and painfully hot, so you settled for the latter with a soft sigh, moaning with satisfaction as the water hugged your scalp, chest, thighs, legs; tinted crimson by the time it disappeared down the drain. You scrubbed at the blackened blood in your hair, still uncertain whether it was yours or not.

Once you felt clean enough, you stepped out, towelling yourself down quickly before sliding into your pyjamas. Your eyes widened as you realised the purple t-shirt you'd chosen in your haste had once been Sam's, and you traced the dog's outline almost dotingly. It was impossible not to remember the time you'd lost all of your clothes when Dean had recklessly torched a demon (and all of your belongings in the process) during a moment of impulsivity. Sam had lent it to you those months ago, conveniently forgetting to ask for it back once he realised how much you adored it. The fit not suiting you, it revealed slithers of your shoulders as you moved.

After a quick brush-through of your hair and a once over in the steamed up mirror, you decided it was time to go out. To face the inevitable. Your hand trembled slightly as you gripped the bathroom door handle, pushing it open and wincing at the obnoxious creaking sound that accompanied it.

Sam, who had been sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, instantly looked up at the harsh sound. The lights had been turned off, and it took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Sam's eyes dropped to your t-shirt, but he made no comment. Disappointment swelled within you for a reason you couldn't, or simply wouldn't, identify. You had wanted to be the one to speak first, to behave nonchalantly, but too much swirled in the air between you. Too much was at stake, and you found yourself incapable of acting as though you didn't care. Instead, you opted for the safest option and walked towards the large window. The city view would've been breathtaking if the air hadn't been stolen from your lungs already. Thousands of stars twinkled promisingly, woven in-between a duvet of endless darkness. The opportunity of love in a world dominated by the opposite.

Perhaps you had looked forward to the chance of a confession. From both sides. To voice the intensity of your feelings, to gain clarification. To at the very least cleanse your system of emotions that threatened to suffocate you so that you could at last move on. If that was possible.

You sensed him before he spoke. The warmth radiating from his body, the distinct smell of his aftershave, the uneven, short breaths he took as he neared. Sam stopped directly by your side, close enough that you could detect the rising and falling of his chest, his expression as he turned to face you. It was one of conflict. A long-standing mask of calm that threatened to crack beneath the breadth of possibilities. The millions of outcomes of this singular moment between the two of you, the millions of words he could say- perhaps only a couple being the right ones.

You couldn't bring yourself to face him back. Not yet, so you stubbornly stared out the window, tracing the city skyline with your eyes.

His shoulder brushed yours, "(Y/n)."

The way he spoke your name was imploring, as though he needed your attention, needed your eyes on his.

"I'm sorry about this," he briefly gestured around the room, "happening."

You turned around so quickly that he flinched, caught by surprise, "You're sorry?"

His brow was furrowed, unable to understand the source of your reaction, "Yes," he began, his gaze studying you intensely, "I'm sorry Dean did this, it wasn't right and-"

"It wasn't right." You repeated, suddenly feeling numb, hurt eating at your words, "Is that what you and I are? Not right?" Your bottom lip quivered, eyes blinking ferociously in an attempt to stop the first teardrop falling and the others from inevitably following.

Sam realised his mistake, a hand reaching out to caress your arm when he reconsidered, and it dropped to his side.

Beneath the stars, you couldn't tell whether the glistening in his eyes was from the shining of the moon or tears of regret.

Beneath the stars, your heart exposed, his silence was damaging.

You gave a small smile and turned away, ready to knock on Dean's door and beg to sleep there instead.

When a hand grasped your arm and pulled you back.

Sam held you close this time, his large hands holding your waist as though he was scared you'd attempt to leave again. His hair brushed against your forehead as you instinctively leaned into him, your noses brushing.

"Don't leave." He murmured, hot air hitting your cheek as he spoke.

Heart throbbing, chest aching, you couldn't bring yourself to speak.

You leant back slightly, just enough so that you could peer into Sam's eyes. It was then that you noticed it; submerged beneath the flickering hues of honeyed brown and whorls of rich green: longing.

He continued, each word softer, more intimate than the last, "I need you, (Y/n)." His thumb swiped away a stray tear from your cheek, but instead of dropping back down to his side, his large hand softly cupped your face.

His thumb traversed your features, swiping over your lips, tracing your cheekbones, lovingly brushing over your eyelids as your lashes fluttered.

Your breath hitched, words unable to scramble past the growing lump in your throat as your mind went back to all of the memories you shared: fighting by Sam's side, cleaning his cuts, car drives as you chased your next case, late nights in random local libraries researching with him..

As though he could read your mind, Sam continued, "I need you, (Y/n). Not to go back to back with me during a fight, not to fix me up when I get hurt..'

You swiped away a stray hair from his face, unsure where this was going but too entranced by him to voice it.

"..but to be with me afterwards. I want to treat you to a proper dinner - not Dean's pot noodles - somewhere nice." He added quickly, earning a small giggle from you, "I want to cherish you, to care for you- not only when you've been injured during a fight, but all the time. I want to be with you at the end of the day, when you're drifting off to sleep- I want to hold you - I want to show you- to show you that I love you."

You froze, eyes widening.

"I love you." He repeated, almost a whisper, yet ten times louder in your ears as his words echoed in your mind.

You couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe as his words struck a chord deep within your heart. You saw doubt begin to drown out that shimmer in his eyes- you decided to banish it. Decided that in a world of supernatural hunts, infinite risks and dangerous uncertanties, there was something Sam Winchester would never have to doubt for one second: your love.

Slowly, meaningfully, your hands settled on his neck, travelling upwards until they tugged softly at the ends of his hair.

"Sammy.." you murmured so quietly, the movement of your lips almost undetectable. Except to him.

Urgently pulling your head forwards, Sam's lips crashed onto yours as he kissed you with every emotion he had failed to repress, every thought and dream about you that had threatened to be his undoing, every innocent touch that had every potential to become something more, until the evidence of his love plumped your flushed lips. You briefly pulled away, resisting that disappointed groan of his that drove you half crazy because you had to say it, had to- "I love you." You gasped, as he claimed your lips once more, his tongue swirling around your own as though he was capturing those words, those revered words, trapping them in the intimacy of a moment that neither of you would ever forget.

After a few minutes that felt like blissful eternity, yet simultaneously would never be long enough to satiate your longing to be forever close to him, you both pulled away. A string of his saliva mixed with yours adorned your lips as he wiped it away dotingly.

His grip on you tightened as you leaned in once more, begging to kiss him again, to close that tantalising distance between the two of you that stretched on for too long.

He almost gave in- his eyes, illuminated by the moonlight that danced across your faces, yearned for you. He kissed your cheek and, with effort, pulled away. You pouted slightly as he ran a hand through his tousled hair.

"Don't look at me like that, doll." He spoke, a smirk hidden beneath his expression of pure adoration, "I need to shower first-" his eyes dragged down your figure, any trace of his puppy dog eyes gone, catching on your curves as they returned to your face, "-if we're going to follow Dean's initial suggestion."

proud of this one🥹

writing this healed a small part of me, i suppose sam winchester has that effect ♡

thank you for reading this. it makes me so happy that people read my works and it never fails to amaze me?? like i truly can't comprehend that you're there, on the other side of the screen, reading my writing :) im honoured :)

please do comment, id love to hear your thoughts !

yours, 𝒜

[rubyvhs]

CHASING FIRE

pairing. firefighter!dean x sex addict!fem!reader

wc. ongoing

summary. dean, a well known and respected firefighter helps you through something you never thought you’d get help for and falls for you along the way. dean winchester saves your life and, unknowingly, you save his — think fire country meets addicted to you (by krista and becca ritchie).

tags. reader is a sex addict, which is something I did research heavily before writing and a lot of it is from the addicted to you books. mentions of hiv/aids, cursing, smoking, smut between reader and dean but also mentioned reader x moc and just soo many mentions of sex and pornography. a little bit of blood and injuries because of dean’s job, chapters will be tagged accordingly.

꩜ .ᐟ deal with it — deans pov

꩜ .ᐟ pounding rhythm — your pov

꩜ .ᐟ seconds, hours — deans pov

꩜ .ᐟ silver spoon — your pov

꩜ .ᐟ goddamn patience — deans pov