This is what the username suggests works of fiction inspired by both Jensen Ackles himself and the characters he plays. I'm a new writer here on Tumblr although I've been writing as a whole for a very long time. Welcome!
Masterlist:
∞ Jensen Ackles
Dusty Rose - Western Romance ( 1, 2 )
𓆩♡𓆪 Dean Winchester
Impala67
*⁀➷ Russell Shaw
Every Minute
≈☆≈ Soldier Boy
How It Started ( 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 )
Loneliness
Son Knows Best ( Companion piece to 'How It Started' )
( P.S. @godblessfirecracker is a sideblog attached to this account. It is a RP blog, so other RP blogs, that would be why I've added you. 🩷)
⋆ · 𖤓 · ⋆ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 ··· a collection of soup gone cold and blankets shared, the intimacy of being cared for when you are at your worst. genre: romance, hurt and comfort, soft angst, domestic.
You're burning up. Don't argue with me. Get back in bed.
I made soup. It's not great. Eat it anyway.
You should have called me the moment you started feeling like this.
Stop trying to get up. There is nothing on this earth that needs you upright right now.
I found three blankets and a hot water bottle. Pick your combination.
You look terrible. I mean that with so much love.
Let me take your temperature. Stop being difficult about the thermometer.
I cancelled everything. Don't apologize. I wanted to be here.
You fell asleep mid-sentence. I stayed anyway. I hope that's okay.
Drink the tea. Yes, all of it. I'll make more.
I've been checking on you every hour. You keep telling me to go home. I keep not going.
Your voice sounds awful. Rest it. We can talk tomorrow.
I'm not going anywhere. Stop thanking me for staying.
You hate being taken care of. I know. Do it for me anyway.
The fever broke. I don't think you know how relieved I am right now.
Sleep. I'll be right here. I'll wake you up if anything changes.
I brought your favourite thing from the place on the corner. Don't cry. Please don't cry.
You're a terrible patient and somehow I still want to be the one doing this.
I know you think you're being a burden. You are not a burden.
Let me sit with you. I don't need to talk. I just don't want you to be alone.
You tried to make your own tea and you could barely stand up. Sit down. I've got it.
I've seen you strong. This doesn't make you weak. It just makes you human.
You smell like fever and you still somehow look like everything to me.
Lay your head here. Right here. I've got nowhere I need to be.
I brought every movie you've ever mentioned. We have time.
You're mumbling in your sleep. I'm not going to tell you what you said.
I changed the sheets while you were in the shower. Don't make it weird.
You need to eat something real. I know you don't want to. Eat something real.
I've been sitting in this chair for four hours. I'd do it four more.
Stop apologizing for being sick. People get sick. Let me help you.
Your hands are cold. Give them here. I'll warm them up.
I found the medicine in the back of the cabinet. Take it. All of it. Don't negotiate.
You're not inconveniencing me. Taking care of you is exactly where I want to be.
I didn't know you got like this when you were sick. Softer. I like knowing this about you.
You asked for me. Out of everyone, you asked for me. I haven't stopped thinking about that.
The heating pad is on the lowest setting. Tell me if you need it warmer.
I'm not leaving until your temperature is normal. Make your peace with that.
You cried a little when the soup was too hot to eat yet. I pretended not to notice.
I've never seen you let anyone take care of you before. I'm honoured. I mean that.
Your hair is a mess. Can I? Is that okay? Let me just — there.
You keep saying you're fine every time I check and you are so obviously not fine.
This is the third night in a row. I'm not going anywhere. Stop looking at me like that.
You're delirious and still trying to be funny. It's working. Please stop, I'm worried about you.
I learned how to make your mother's recipe. It took three attempts. Don't tell her.
There's nowhere I'd rather be than right here, even like this. Especially like this.
You always take care of everyone else. Just this once, let someone take care of you.
I left the light on in the hall in case you woke up scared. I remember you mentioned that once.
I'm here. I've got you. Just rest. Everything else can wait.
STARRING: Jensen Ackles x Abigail Jameson (original charcter)
SETTING: 1875. Willow Creek, TX.
WARNINGS: Mild violence and comments about implied r@pe.
Chapter 1
╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮
Chapter 2
Abigail was absolutely certain at some points she was going to fall off the back of the horse. Part of her prayed for it.
She would rather risk life and limb than be stuck one more minute with the loathsome, foul-smelling beast that had forced her along on this trip. By the way they kept calling her Miss Abby, she could only imagine they had been guests at the saloon. She was called a great many things - Abigail, Miss Abigail, Gail - Miss Abby was a saloon exclusive. The blindfold had been tied tightly over her eyes, and she now had a headache. The bandanna they had gagged her with tasted of sweat and dirt.
The horse she was on slowed from a gallop to a trot then a meandering pace. “Let’s give them a break, let ‘em get a drink,” said the voice directly in front of her. Abigail was dragged down from the horse then its rider departed, brushing against her in the process.
“Don’t you dare fuckin’ scream.” The bandanna was pulled down from her mouth and a canvas circle was pressed to her lips. She greedily drank down the water, happy to quench her thirst and happy to wash that taste from her mouth. It was yanked away from her, making her gasp, water running down her chin.
“What do you want with me?” Abigail finally asked, drawing in ragged breaths from her gulping down the water.
She felt a hand at her face that grabbed the bandanna and yanked it off her head, hairs came with it, tangled up in the knot. It stung, making her wince. As soon as the sunlight flooded her vision, she threw her still bound hands up to shield her eyes. A few seconds later, she was able to see one of her captors.
“I know you…”
He smirked in response, thick mustache hitching up with his lips. “Do you now, you stuck up bitch? Offered you five dollars for what the rest of them whores were only chargin’ a dollar for. Wasn't good enough for ya.”
Abigail didn't get the chance to offer a rebuttal; one of the other men, this one tall and skinny, sneered at her, teeth stained from chaw. “Reckon she gave it up to the sheriff though. Free too, I bet.”
“I'm not a dove,” Abigail argued, referring to the entertainers in her brother's employ. “You could have offered me a hundred, and I still would have said no.” Even now, in the presence of five men, her hands tied together, she never lost her backbone. “I sing and play piano and occasionally dance. You had your choice of five different beautiful girls!”
She didn't dignify their comments about Jensen with any sort of acknowledgement.
“We liked you, didn't we, boys?” the mustached man said this with that same smirk as before, the other men laughing along with the remark.
“Your mamas should have taught you that you don't always get what you want!”
“We take what we want!” a third man retorted, almost angrily, like the very idea offended him. It sent a shiver down Abigail's spine. She immediately hated the implication of that declaration.
Abigail looked around at her kidnappers. She recognized each and every one of them from being in the Dusty Rose the night before. The one with the mustache had kept propositioning her, upping his price every time he did, until she threatened to tell the sheriff who had been sitting at the end of the bar. Now she was staring down what could be violation and her own death.
“Take me back to Willow Creek, and I won’t tell the sheriff who you are. I’ll keep him from hunting you down. The last thing you want is Jensen Ackles on your tail.” Gail was doing her best to reason with the outlaws. They all laughed at her, which only made her angry. “Point me back in the direction then, I’ll walk! Just let me go!”
The tall skinny man leered at her. “Not until we get what we want. What you denied us last night.”
She did the only thing she knew to do: find the hoofprints and run back in that direction. All of the men had dismounted, the horses drinking in the nearby creek. She ran as fast as she could, as hard as she could over patchy grass and arid soil.. She could hear footsteps behind her, just as she had back at the river, catching up to her fast. Then she was rolling across the ground - her pursuer had knocked her down, shoving her from behind, and sending her to the earth. A scream had escaped when she felt the knock from behind.
She tried to crawl away, digging her elbows into the dirt, but she was rolled on her back, and the tall skinny bandit climbed on top of her, straddling her. He slapped her once, then again, causing her vision to blur briefly. She didn’t get him the satisfaction of moaning out in pain though.
“Stupid bitch, where’d you think you were going? D’ya think we were going to let you just run off and not give chase? Run back to your precious sheriff?” He was taunting her now, and Gail now had the spine to glare at him. “Be mad all you want, darlin’. Don’t make no nevermind to me.”
The outlaw stood up then dragged Gail up by her arm. The rope around her wrists burned, her skin no doubt red and irritated underneath. She purposely dragged her feet, although Skinny yanked forward anyway. When they reached the grassy area near the creek, he shoved her down again, pointing at her.
“Don’t fucking move or else I’ll put one in the back of your skull, pussy or no pussy.”
Gail never stopped her angry staring all the while. How dare he speak to her that way. Unfortunately she believed him when he said he’d shoot her. She was certain he was the one who had chased her that morning at daybreak, so this was twice now he had run after her. This was twice she hadn’t been fast enough to get away. Again, she thought of Jensen and his begging her to stay, saying he’d take her home himself, how stupid she had been to reject his offer. She could have sat in front of him on Buck’s saddle and rode with her back to his chest, safe in his arms. She missed his arms around her, missed the warmth and the safety of his embrace.
“Please, Jensen,” she whispered, looking off in the direction she felt certain that they had come, watching for Buck and his rider on the horizon.
ꨄ︎
Jensen had been riding for hours, following the tracks of a group of horses. He came to a grassy area along a creek bank and hopped off Buck to lead him to the water. While the gelding was wetting his whistle, Jensen looked around for any sign the crew had stopped here or at least been by it. The set of tracks had stopped here, seemed to be five horses by his count, and they had tromped around in a circle before walking towards the water.
The outlaws didn’t seem to be too worried about covering their tracks, if it were them. Big mistake.
It wasn’t much of a wooded area. A small grove of trees along a creekbed, the grass thick. Was he even following the right tracks? That worry ate at him, made his chest ache. Not finding her was a terrifying thought. He weaved through the trees, looking for any sign that Gail had been here. The grass was stamped down in places for somebody in heavy boots, but that could have been anybody.
Then he saw it.
On a flat stone lay a wildflower in the shape of a cursive J.
God, how many of those had Gail made over the years? She always twisted it so the bloom was in the center where the two loops met up.
“She’s been here.” He mumbled to himself then said louder, almost as if he was talking to Buck. “She’s been here!” The horse nickered in response. His faith restored, he ran back to where the horse was and grabbed his canteen from his saddlebag.. A quick refill on the water, and he swung back up onto the horse’s back. The wildflower J was tucked into his pocket for safe keeping
Jensen led Buck around the wooded area, looking for the group of hoofprints, to know which way to go next. The moment he found the host of tracks leading off, he was on the trail again. Even Buck seemed renewed in his energy. These seemed to be headed southwest. Fuck, were they headed for the border?
WARNINGS: This is a mixed bag of smut, angst, and fluff. Content includes: guns, unprotected PIV sex, injury, being Russell-y.
┌──═━┈━═──┐
After a long shift at work, you had crashed on the couch in your favorite “borrowed” t-shirt and panties in the midst of a neverending Forensic Files marathon. The narrator’s voice had a way of soothing you right to sleep. Tonight was no different.
It was some time after midnight when the sound of keys in the door woke you up. As you were grabbing your pistol from the end table drawer, the door opened the three or so inches the chain allowed, and a hand reached inside to try to free it.
“You have ten seconds to remove your hand from that door before I remove it from your arm.” You were loud, assertive, gun held at the ready, even if you were terrified. You didn’t exactly live in a gated community and you didn’t trust your creepy landlord.
Then came a voice you didn’t expect. “Baby? It’s me, open the door.”
“Russell?” As you neared the door, the two of you locked eyes through the three inch crack between the door and the jamb. You hadn’t seen him in weeks, which wasn’t uncommon, but he hadn’t called either, which was uncommon. You pushed the door closed to slide the chain off then reopened it to grant him passage. You still held to the pistol, even after he leaned in to hug you, the pair of you embracing for a long moment.
Damn, you had missed him.
Once he let you go, he turned to lock the door back while you returned your pistol to the drawer. “Nice reflexes. I’ve taught you well.” He complimented you on your instinctual grab for the gun.
“Yeah, well, all of my neighbors are weirdos.” Russell approached you once more, putting a kiss to your lips this time. Lingering but soft, sweet. It was then you noticed he was favoring his left arm. You nodded towards his shoulder. “What have you done now?”
He shrugged out of his coat and tossed into a chair that was mostly unused. “Just another day at the office, babe. Sometimes you get the bad guy first, sometimes the bad guy shoots you first before you get him.”
“You were shot?!” Immediately you were unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it wide. A bloodstained bandage covered the front of his shoulder. “Russ, Jesus Christ.”
He waved it off, shrugging the rest of the way out of his shirt, his jeans riding low on his hips, the band of his underwear visible. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Colter dug out the bullet, and I got stitched up. It’s just a little…oozy.”
The whole time he explained, you rubbed your forehead in exasperation. There were extended times when you had no idea where he was or what he was doing, and sometimes it was better that you didn’t know. Russell held the details of his work close to his chest to keep you safe. He held the details of you close to his chest too. You were certain his family had no idea you existed.
“Well, Captain Oozy, you need that bandage changed.” You were already headed to retrieve the first aid kit when he caught you by the hand. When you turned, he had that look on his face. That look that practically brought you to your knees. That look that said he missed you, said that he needed you. Your body worked on its own accord, carrying you right back into his arms, where he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there.
He mentioned needing a shower when he was holding you, and that led to the two of you fitting yourselves into the alleged single occupant stall in your tiny bathroom. He had ripped off the bandage just before he got in, and now in this narrow space, it was eye level with you. You circled with your finger, your touch featherlight. “Russ…” The sigh of his name was barely heard over the rush of water. He responded with a kiss, leaning his weight into you so you were pressed between the cold fiberglass wall and his body. The connection of your mouths grew more desperate, hungrier, needier as it went on, both of you caressing one another.
No matter which way you moved, the spray of water hit him, or you, and ricocheted to a point where droplets flew on the other. It felt good to hear his laughter; it seemed like it had been like such a long time since you had. The glass door fogged up quickly, no doubt the mirror above the sink as well.
Once more he ducked his head down and rejoined your lips, and you could feel his hardened length against your stomach, brushing along your skin whenever he leaned a little closer. You broke the kiss in order to squirt body wash into your hand, and you began soaping up Russell’s chest, careful of the wound. Soapy fingers traveled lower until they wrapped around him. He groaned at the teasing strokes, and you grinned wickedly. “Evil,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering closed as he enjoyed the attention, one hand braced on the wall by your head.
There was no safe way to have sex in this shower - you and Russell had tried several times. The height difference made it damn near impossible. The one time he had held you up against the wall was semi-successful, even if the shower stall cracked and groaned heavily, sounding as if it was about to destroy itself beneath your weight. Although you both were laughing, Russell insisted on finishing. He wasn’t about to let a grouchy shower defeat him. It was some of the best sex you had ever had.
His hand came down to press to the small of your back, pulling you against him, but your hand didn’t deter from its stroking though. “I think it’s clean,” he murmured jokingly as he leaned down to kiss your neck. Your body slipped against his as you rubbed against him, the soap making you both slick. Carefully turning, you pressed your back against his chest, rolling your hips from side to side to tease him. He bit at your neck as he caressed your breasts and stomach, fingers sliding down to run along your labia. Clearly two could play this game. Finally you whined, and he knew exactly what it meant.
The water washed away the bubbles, and Russell was dragging you out of the shower. Both of you half-assed drying off and crashed onto the bed, still damp, wetting the comforter beneath you. Russ was on top of you, kissing your neck, your jaw, your lips, you shoulders. He was everywhere, overwhelming your senses with his very being. Your legs parted for him, to welcome his weight, but he didn’t move between them - not yet. One finger slipped between slick folds and circled your clit, eliciting moans from you. You were sensitive and wanting. Then you felt the digit slide inside of you, your back arching slightly, as you clenched around him.
“Always so tight for me,” he whispered against your ear, a shiver spreading through you in response. He slowly fucked you with it a couple of times before he added a second one. He grinned triumphantly when you cursed and spread your legs farther. “There’s my girl.” God, he knew just how to touch you, and it was maddening. He knew how to drag you completely to the edge then pull you back before you went over, and he could do it as many times as he wanted. On the fourth time, you were half-crazy, wanting more than his fingers, but wanting to climax too.
He had you right where he wanted you: needier than ever and soaking wet. When he took you at last, it felt like coming home. Like you had welcomed back a second time. A tangle of limbs and lips and hands, you moved together, bodies crashing together like waves on the shore. Every thrust earned him a moan or an ‘oh god.’ You were already so damn sensitive from his edging that you were practically trembling, every inch of you on fire. Russell slipped a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit again.
It didn’t take long; you came long and loud. No doubt the downstairs neighbor was on his way to get the broom and pound on the ceiling. But you don’t care - release is so sweet that you feel like you’re floating. Russell was grinning as he pulled your knees higher on his hips, deepening the angle. He wasn’t satisfied with you just coming once. No, he never was. The new angle meant the tip of him was hitting the spot nestled inside of you that would send you orbiting.
‘Oh god’ became ‘Russ, fuck.”
It seemed so unfair that he knew your body this well. He could make it sing better than you could. And he did it again. He fucked you all the way through it, unstopping, even when you were too sensitive for more. You thrashed, but he caught your hands, laced your fingers together, and pinned them to the mattress. Adrenaline and pleasure must have erased any pain he could have felt in that injured shoulder. Some things were more important than pain.
This time it was him who went over the edge, rhythm stuttering before his hips pressed into yours, spilling deep inside you. You clenched around him, body milking him for every drop. He lingered there, breathing hard, before kissing you then crashing beside you. “Damn, I’ve missed you,” he murmured.
You rolled against his side, resting your face against his arm, as you gazed up at him. “Does that mean you’re staying for a while?”
He hesitated, and you knew immediately the answer.
“Russ, already?”
He exhaled a heavy sigh and shifted his arm to pull you closer into him. “Look, there’s something I have to do, that’s extremely important, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I had to come home and see you before I left, but I only have until early morning-”
“That’s just a few hours!”
“I know.”
Your arm around his middle tightened as if it could make him stay. He returned the embrace, squeezing you tightly against him. You wouldn’t sleep that night. Not with so few precious minutes with him, and they ticked by like seconds. He dozed off at some point, while you continued to clutch him. You never knew when he’d be coming back - you never knew if he was coming back. Who would tell you?
The alarm went off before you were ready, you turned it off while Russell was blinking himself awake. You climbed on top of him, and the two of you made love again. One more for the road.
Then he packed a bag and was gone. Sweeping through like a dream and leaving just as quickly.
STARRING: Jensen Ackles x Abigail Jameson (original character)
SETTING: 1875, Willow Creek, Texas.
A/N: Feedback is welcome (and wanted). I'm not sure how I'm feeling about this one. Thank you. Also, Willow Creek is a fictional town.
╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮
“Miss Abigail.”
“Sheriff Ackles.”
It was how they greeted one another in the streets, within earshot of the decent, proper folks of Willow Creek, and in the saloon whenever the sheriff came in for his daily supper.
Jensen Ackles was a respected lawman. A peacekeeper. He had worn the badge for the last ten years, in an era where new sheriffs came along often due to ending up on the wrong side of bandit attacks, bank robberies, and hold ups of the stagecoach. Ackles was a quick shot and an even quicker thinker. His reputation had spread far and wide, and only the most overly confident, dim-witted outlaws dared to come to his town. They ended up in jail and eventually in the noose or they’d not live to see a day in court. Jensen trained his deputies well to follow in his ways. Willow Creek was a safe town, and he intended to keep it that way.
Abigail Jameson came from a good family back East. Baltimore, to be exact. Her older brother, Charlie, had gone to Texas three years earlier with his wife to start a restaurant. Abigail had been engaged to be married, but a shocking scandal at 19 had caused her to not only lose her betrothed but to be put on a train West to live with her brother, in hopes of a fresh start. What she discovered upon moving to Willow Creek was that her brother and his wife had not exactly opened a restaurant; they had opened a saloon. A tidbit that had not made it back to Baltimore in a letter to their parents. Seems she wasn’t the only Jameson capable of causing a scandal. Abigail was moved into a room on the second floor of the saloon, sharing the floor with five other girls, each with their own room. She discovered on her first night in town that the entertaining they did extended from the dance floor to the bedroom. Which led to many men putting forth his dollar for Abigail and being shot down. In the six years since she had arrived in Willow Creek, she still hadn’t found a husband, like her mother had hoped, but she had found a love of singing and performing.
She had also found the love of a good man. Commitment on the other hand, that part was trickier.
ꨄ︎
“Gail, come back to bed, The sun isn’t even up yet.”
Propping her foot up on the bed, Abigail slowly dragged her stocking up her leg, over her calf, over her knee and right up to her thigh where she tied the ribbon to keep in place, purposely taunting Jensen with what he had slipping away before dawn. “Sorry, sugar, gotta start early so I don’t look like I’m sneaking from your bed again.”
Jensen scoffed indignantly. “Not sure why you bother. Pretty sure everybody in this town knows.” He lay there, the quilt half-covering his naked form, one leg stuck out, his upper half on display. Abigail never found walking away from him to be easy, just necessary.
“Jensen honey,” she began, her smile turned up to her lover, the lamplight casting them both in a golden glow. “It’s one thing for people to suspect; it’s an entirely different one for it to be confirmed. I wouldn’t risk your reputation for being an upstanding, fine gentleman sheriff for anything.”
He merely grunted again. For years, they had been having secret trysts. Jensen had never brought up marriage, and Abigail had never asked. After her last fiance, the last thing she wanted to do was have a second broken engagement. So these were her nights a few times a week. They didn’t say I love you. They said come back soon, be careful, I’ve been thinking about you. But it all meant the same, and both of them knew it. Just another thing they didn’t talk about.
“Be a sweetheart and lace me up.”
Jensen sat up and undertook the task of putting Abigail in her corset, something he had done more times that he could count. He much preferred taking it off of her. His fingers worked the string through the eyelets, crisscrossing it from side to side. He gave it a good tug then tied the two sides of the string in a knotted bow. She could have tied it herself, and tighter, but where was the fun in that? He gave her a pat on the ass, and she turned around to face him. Those pretty green eyes of his found her face after a long journey up the length of her body.
“You’re pouting, Jensen.”
“I ain’t pouting. I just wish you’d wait until the sun was up, so I could take you back to the saloon on Buck. Save you walking all that way, and save me the worry that you’re gonna slip and fall in the river.”
“Oh, hell, it’s barely up to my knees in most spots. You just want another go ‘round or else you would have put on your pants by now.” She knew him like the back of her hand.
“I wouldn’t say no.” He flasked a charming smile up at her that weakened her resolve and had her reaching for her dress. Heaven knew she was susceptible to his ways.
Her dress on and buttoned up, she caught Jensen by the face, tilting his head up so she could press a sweet kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
“Be careful.”
She cracked a grin. “Yes, Sheriff.”
On the walk back to the saloon, Abigail always traveled the path by the river. It was tucked behind most of the buildings in Willow Creek, something more private, quiet. She had traveled it so many times over the years. Down to the sheriff’s humble cabin and back to the saloon. She could walk it in her sleep.
This morning was different though.
Halfway or so along the path, she spotted dying embers of a fire across the river. She spotted the men next. The sun had barely begun to break the dark when ste started past them, keeping her head focused forward. Her denying them attention was a failed attempt; there were a series of splashes, then hurried footsteps coming up behind her. She took off running, her high heel boots carrying up the dirt path, and didn’t look back. She thought for sure she would make it.
She was wrong.
Arms seized her from behind, a hand going over her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. She struggled though and attempted to bite the hand over her mouth. Unfortunately she was outpowered by her captor. “Nice to see you again, Miss Abby,” the voice hissed in her ear, a sinister amusement coloring his tone. Her eyes widened, and try as she may, she couldn’t get a look at her captor. There were more splashes across the river, although it was more of a creek, swallow and nowhere nearly as wide as a river might be, and the next thing she knew, she was blindfolded, gagged, and bound. The world was dark, but she could hear everything. She was thrown over the shoulder of the second man, he seemed taller, wider, than the quick one who had caught her.
Tears stung her eyes and wet the bandanna covering them. She could hear the words of Jensen in her head, pleading with her to stay. Why didn’t I listen?
ꨄ︎
Lunchtime rolled in, and Jensen found himself at the Dusty Rose like he did most days, coming to enjoy the day’s special and the company of one Abigail Jameson. The saloon played host to its regulars who were there as much as Jensen was with an odd one or two joining them. He sat down at his usual table, taking his hat off. It wasn’t Abigail who came to his table though, but her brother Charlie, owner and proprietor of the Dusty Rose.
“We got roast chicken today, Sheriff,” Charlie said upon approaching the table. “Cut you a couple slices?”
“Be just fine.” He glanced around before finally asking the question he needed an answer to. “Where’s Miss Abigail?”
Charlie pointed towards the stairs that led to the second floor, where all the girls lived. “She decided to sleep in this morning, I reckon. I knocked, but she wouldn’t answer her door.”
That answer made Jensen uneasy.
He grabbed his hat and pushed his chair back. “Hold on to that chicken, Charlie. I’ll be right back.” Without explaining, Jensen took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, his boots clunking loudly on the wooden floors. A couple of the other girls stuck their heads out into the hallway as the sheriff marched past them. The door at the end of the hall stared him in the face. He knocked loudly, calling out to its occupant. “Abigail, it’s Sheriff Ackles.” No answer. “I’m coming in.”
The door was locked, but that didn’t deter Jensen. He put his shoulder into it and shoved it open, wood cracking under his weight and force. The room was empty. He checked it for the dress Abigail had been wearing to no avail. Panic filled his chest as he rushed out of the room and back down the hallway. “You girls seen Abigail?” He received a chorus of ‘no’s and hurried down the stairs.
“She’s not there, Charlie.” Her brother had been standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring up in suspense and surprise. Jensen spat the words out. “She hasn’t been there all night.” Jensen stormed out of the saloon and immediately circled the building to head down the path that led from the business to his cabin. She had been missing roughly six hours, and six hours was a long time. What if she had been hurt or fallen into the tributary?
Ackles made it about halfway down the trail when he came across something that looked like a scuffle, the tracks in the dirt scrapes and stomps, heel marks, like from Gail’s boots. His heart thumping, he peered around, and then he spotted it: the remnants of a fire across the river. Without thinking, he jumped into the water and took long strides to get to the other side. The fire was cold by now, but there were about six sets of hoof prints in the dirt and grass, leading south.
“Gail!” Jensen yelled, walking along the trail about a hundred feet. “Abigail!”
The wind blew the words in his face. The tracks went on as far as he could see. They had a six hour head start, time was not on his side. The run back though the river and to his office was nothing more than a blur to Ackles. He burst into the building, throwing the door open, his boots loud on the wood. Both deputies, Gray and Marsh, jumped to their feet. Ackles was soaked up to his thighs, water in his boots, but all he could think of was saving Abigail. He yanked open his desk drawer and began stacking ammunition on the flat surface.
The deputies looked between themselves, and it was Marsh who stepped forward. “Sheriff? What’s going on?”
“Abigail Jameson’s been taken,” he said matter of factly, his chest heaving with quickened breaths. “I’m going after her, I’m leaving the town in your hands, don’t fuck it up while I’m gone.”
“Sheriff, why don’t we round up a posse-”
“Whoever took her grabbed her at dawn, that’s six damn hours, and I don’t have time to wait for nor do I need a bunch of ranchers. I’m packing my saddlebags and heading south.” Jensen explained as he loaded the leather pouches with his canteen and food from the jail’s stores, moving quickly, feeling every second that ticked down, knowing that was another second she was farther away. “One of you go tell Charlie Jameson that his sister was grabbed, and I’m going to get her. I will bring her home.”
His saddlebags weighed down with his necessities, he went out the door again, pausing long enough to empty his boots. He didn’t care about wet feet, wet denim trousers, he had to go. He had his horse saddled up and ready to go in what had to be record time. The dapple gelding, affectionately named Buck, seemed to be the only creature who understood Jensen’s urgency. There was no hesitancy when it came to cross the stream, he and Jensen working as one as they followed the tracks, Buck galloping as fast as he could go.
The charade carried on for months. Bonnie and Ben paraded around where they could be captured on camera, playing up the cuteness of the relationship. Holding hands, talking in whispers in corners, laughing about jokes only they knew. Ben helped Bonnie down stairs whenever she had on a dress, picked her up to put her on the other side of puddles, walked on the side closest to the street. Cute boyfriend things really; Bonnie would have been deeply smitten if she knew it wasn’t all for show. It was working though, just like Ashley said it would. Soldier Boy’s approval rating rose with men and women. Men saw it was okay that a macho guy like Soldier boy took care of his girl, while women saw the sweet side of him.
Bonnie would have been lying if she had said she wasn’t enjoying the affectionate treatment. She and Ben did spend a lot of time together, which was pretty nice too. Even if he could be an out of touch jackass at times. She tried - God, how she tried - to get him to open his mind and accept thingis were different now. He was stubborn and fairly set in his ways, but occasionally he said something that less insensitive that he might have said prior. Small victories, she supposed.
Then came time for the engagement. Of course, that was a battle in the boardroom. (“I wouldn’t be caught dead proposing in public, what the fuck is wrong with you?”) So it was settled after some negotiations, none of which went the way Ashley hoped. Private proposal, no cameras, which essentially meant no proposal at all. Vought selected the rings, and Bonnie chose from that selection, even though she secretly thought that none of these looked like something Ben would have bought. She would wear the ring and make it was seen by the paparazzi. She would get a segment on TMZ, where they caught her “in the wold” and asked about the ring.
When Ashley informed them the wedding was already in preparation stages, Ben again bucked up and refused to have a public spectacle. They weren’t a royal couple, there’d be no royal wedding. It was funny how Ashley would say one thing, Ben would say another, they’d swear at each other for a few minutes, then Ben would get his way in the end. It was a sight to behold, really.
“We’re getting married in Vegas.”
Bonnie did a double take at that, however she shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course, he’d want to get married in Las Vegas, the capital of spontaneous bad decisions. He wanted it to look spur of the moment, like it was just so right for them, they went and did it. That was to be Bonnie’s wedding. The marriage license would be real. The marriage would be real. No white dress, no ridiculously tall cake, no frou-frou wedding with a reception where people did the Electric Slide and the Cupid Shuffle. She would go live on Instagram and the world could watch their Vegas nupitals.
All of this and Ben still hadn’t kissed her.
So much for living like a real couple. She was actually disappointed by it all. So maybe she was smitten with him after all, fake relationship or not. He was nicer to her than he was practically anybody else on the planet, so that made her feel a little special. A lot special actually. So between his acts of boyfriendness and his lack of disdain for her, she might have been falling in love with the idiot. She was living her favorite trope.
The big day came faster than Bonnie realized. They were to work together to stop a murder, then go get married. In their super suits. Because nothing brings a couple together like attempted homicide. They both laughed about it when it was just the two of them. Anything to appease the crowds watching and get those views.
Then Ben and Bonnie had their own negotiations. Essentially Ben wanted to enjoy an 8-ball of coke before they went to the Little White Chapel, and Bonnie wanted him to…well, not. She promised him if he waited until after, he could snort it off her. And that’s how Bonnie won the first compromise. They had been smoking weed together since that first time, teasing each other with shotgun blows, so Ben was looking forward to cranking things up a notch. They may not have an actual relationship, but they were going to have a wedding night.
The save went off without a hitch, the two of them combining their powers to put a stop to a business deal gone bad that was meant to end in murder. People came running to the commotion and the incident immediately went online. Just the way Vought wanted. The cops took over the scene, and the crowd cheered Soldier Boy and Elemental. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, and without even thinking, Bonnie turned adoring eyes up at him.
From there, it was straight to the Little White Chapel. Bonnie thought her heart was going to beat at her chest as she signed her name to the paperwork to make the marriage legal - meanwhile Ben looked as cool as a cucumber. He wasn’t even complaining about anything, which was a wedding day miracle.
Bonnie, in full Elemental gear, switched on her Live and greeted those who were watching. “Hi, guys. Soldier Boy and I wanted to share something special with everybody. We didn’t want to wait any longer: we’re getting married! Today’s save proved to us that we make the perfect team, and neither of us wanted to end the day without being husband and wife.”
She backed up then hurried to join Ben at the altar. Thousands watched as the pair said their vows, promising to love, cherish, and honor one another until death did them part. Bonnie was shocked at how happy Ben sounded; it wasn’t the usual ennui that colored his tone. And when the officiant said, “You may now kiss your bride,” Bonnie didn’t know what to expect. A chaste, perfunctory kiss?
Ben seized her in his arms, their eyes meeting for a brief moment, before he lowered his head and connected their lips. It was nothing like Bonnie expected. Her arms circled his neck, and he actually dipped her as he continued to kiss her so passionately she actually swooned right there in his arms. That kiss was returned with the same fervor, the same energy. Was Ben really that good of an actor?
After the kiss broke, he brushed his nose against hers and grinned as he set her upright again. Her arms fell to where her hands rested against his biceps, while his remained wrapped around her. He pointed to the camera, motioning with his thumb. “Now turn that off, we have a suite waiting for us.”
Bonnie nearly stumbled off the elevated altar, still rocked by Ben’s kiss, and went to the camera. “Bye bye, world. Honeymoon time!”
***
The whole ride back to the hotel, Ben couldn’t get enough of kissing his new bride. Even when they both were in need of oxygen, he kissed his way down her neck or up to her ear to nibble on the lobe. He wanted more; he wanted her out of that fucking stupid uniform, even if it did fit every curve like a second skin. He also couldn’t stop thinking about her promise to him. What part of her body would he do a line off first?
The car let them off at the hotel, and all through the lobby, he walked coolly, but as soon as they were in the elevator, with other people even, Ben was back at it. He kissed her along her neck once more, up to hear, even moved her hair to bite at her nape. He had Bonnie giggling and squirming. The walk to the room was more of the same - he simply couldn’t get enough of her. Inside the hotel suite, behind closed doors, Bonnie turned, and Ben recaptured her lips. “Take that fucking suit off,” he murmured against her lips, then slipped his tongue between parted lips, tasting every inch of her mouth.
When their clothes were on the floor and nothing separated them, Ben shoved everything off the desk and laid Bonnie out on it like a buffet. The first place he snorted coke from was her stomach, then her thigh, then between her breasts. As soon as he had done the line, he dragged his tongue over the swell of her breast to capture the nipple between his teeth. She arched off of the wood with a heavy moan.
He complimented her neatly trimmed public hair then added “You can stop trimming that”. One thing he would never let go of was his affinity for pubic hair. Bonnie had to laugh and supposed she could indulge him. He did one more line off the other thigh before he crawled her body and filled her to absolute hilt.
The sheets were wrinkled and half ripped off the bed by the time Ben and Bonnie were done. “Not bad for an old man.” Ben, high on both cocaine and her, twirled a lock of her golden blonde hair in his finger and simply hummed in response.
“Alright, I have to know, and no dodging it this time, why wouldn’t you kiss me before tonight?”
“You really can’t let shit go, can you?” Ben rolled his stomach to find the joints he had packed in his bag by the bed. Finding one as well as the lighter, he held the rolled marijuana between his lips as he spoke. “I wasn’t going to kiss you for Vought. I didn’t feel right about doing it when we were alone. Then I decided that since you weren’t getting all that princess treatment shit, that I would kiss you for real on our wedding day.” He paused to light his joint. “Give you some part of the fairytale.” He extended the joint to her.
“Oh.” It was all she could say.
“‘Oh.’” Ben mimicked. “Not a thank you, a fuck you, or ‘wow, Ben, you really are romantic.’” He took the joint back after she hit and took a deep inhale. “Come here.”
His body moving half over hers, he began to blow the smoke into her mouth, but before he was finished, he connected their mouths, kissing her as he exhaled the smoke into her mouth. Her arm circled his neck as they kept kissing, Bonnie throwing an arm and a leg around him. He broke it to repeat his actions from before, blowing the smoke between parted lips then kissing her as smoke billow from around their lips.
“I’m in love with you.” Bonnie’s confession off the back of their shotgun session raised Ben’s eyebrows, then brought a conceited sort of smirk out his face.
“I knew it’d happen sooner or later. I knew you’d never be able to resist my charms.”
“...I take it back.”
Ben tugged her closer, body shifting so she was under him again. “Shut up, I, you know, care about you too.”
It was deeper than that, for Ben. He might have been sharing the same feelings Bonnie had, but he wasn’t ready to say that. It took until their first fight (it had been a blissful three months of fucking and PR) as a married couple before he was open about loving her. Instead of ‘fuck you’, it was ‘I fucking love you.’ In true Ben fashion.
The trope was complete. Fake dating to a real relationship, although Bonnie couldn’t recall any of the young adult novels being about two superheroes, one of which was 107, falling in love. Or anyone getting shoved off a building for their meet-cute moment. They had written their own love story in a corporate world of make believe.. At least it was never boring. It was never perfect, but it was never boring.
WARNING: This is pure smut. Oral sex, unprotected PIV, cum play.
INSPIRED BY: Dean on Crushbook.
★・・・・・・★
You and Impala67 had been chatting for a few days over the dating app Crushbook.
The conversations had started typically: get-to-know-you questions, jokes, dumb pick-up lines to see who could come up with the worst one. One late night, things turned spicy. You and the handsome face behind the profile, Dean Winchester, began to describe in detail what you wanted to do to one another. It had gotten so dirty that it had turned you on, so you fucked yourself with your fingers until you came, crying out Dean’s name at the height of your orgasm. You exchanged photos of his cum-covered hand and your soaked fingers.
Finally you made plans to meet in person. A busy restaurant during dinner rush. The air between you was so electric that you cancelled your meals, paid your drinks tab, and headed back to your place. The moment you were inside the door, Dean grabbed you and kissed you, backing you up against the front door. The kiss was hot and needy, teeth and tongue, nibbling, suckling. Messy. You could feel yourself get wet just from kissing Dean. He brought your hand down and placed it right on the hard bulge in his jeans. He too felt the chemistry and heat between you. You continued rub your hand along his cock through the denim until you grew too impatient.
Rotating your positions, you shoved him against the door and sank to your knees in front of him. Dean groaned the moment you undid his pants, pulled down his clothing, and unleashed his thick length. You grasped it and began to stroke, tongue darting out to lick the drop of pre-come off the tip, humming your approval at his taste. His hand found your hair and tangled his fingers in it, not yet guiding, just grasping. You don’t waste any time though; you eagerly swallow down his cock, the head moving past your lips and into the back of your mouth. Enthusiastic and eager to show off your skills, you took him down until your nose touched his pelvis and your tongue darted in the small space to lick at the base. You gagged, eyes watering, saliva coating his shaft and your lips, as you popped back off of him, earning a holy fuck and a deep moan in return. And you were only getting started.
Sloppy, messy, eager. You sucked and licked and jerked Dean until he was practically vibrating and smacking his hand against the door, the pleasure running hot through his veins, but he wasn’t ready to come. Not yet. A fist in your hair pulled your head back, your lips making a wet pop as you came off his spit-slick cock. He brought you off your knees and guided you to the coffee table, solid wood and white, then bent you over, skirt yanked up to your hips, panties tugged to the side. You waited to feel his cock slide inside of you, but instead it was his tongue that pushed between your wet folds, a teasing lick. His fingers spread you wide, and his tongue lapped at you like you were the last slice of cherry pie on Earth.
You found out just observant Dean was when he focused his attention on what made you cry out and moan the loudest, and fuck, was he dilligent. Unlike Dean, you were ready to come, and come you did: all over his mouth, his chin, his cheeks. His face was soaked, and he kept licking until you were shaking. Maybe a little payback for your amazing tonsil tricks when he was trapped against the door. He wiped his face on his sleeve once he was done. “You tasted as sweet as I thought you would.” He told you with a wicked grin.
Standing up straight, you began undressing yourself as Dean peeled his own clothes off, the two of you meeting in the middle for a heated kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue. Clothes left in heaps on the floor, Dean took a seat in your plush armchair and pulled you to him, down onto his lap with your back to his chest. Your hair moved aside, he kissed along the back of your neck and shoulder, hands sliding around to stroke over your stomach and up to your breasts. He kneaded the fullness of your tits, pinched your nipples, and enjoyed the hell out of every noise you made as a result.
“Come on, ride me,” he growled into your ear.
You rose enough so he could steady his cock with his fist then guide you down with a hand on your hip. Fuck, how he stretched you out as you sank down on him. You purposely took your time so you could savor that delicious feeling of your body accommodating his, not to mention savor the groans that escaped Dean as you surrounded him with your hot, wet pussy. Fully seated on him, you leaned back, and he kissed you again with that same hunger and need that he had every time your lips met. It was then you began to move. His hands grabbed your hips, not exactly leading you, but keeping you steady. He left the heavy lifting to you, letting you go as fast or slow or deep or shallow as you wanted. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Take all of that cock,” he groaned against your ear again. It only made you ride him faster and deeper.
“You feel so fucking good.”
“So do you.”
Strong thighs lifted Dean from the seat, his cock still embedded in you, and he bent you over again, using the grip on your hips to drive into you again and again. The obscene sounds of your wetness being pounded repeatedly, mixed with skin meeting skin, filled your ears. Add in Dean’s groans and grunts, and it was all a filthy symphony you couldn’t get enough. His hand shifted from your hip to between your thighs, fingers seeking out your clit. The sensitivity still lingering from earlier nearly buckled your knees, and you were crying out before you knew it, another rush of bliss coursing through you. Dean fucked you to his absolute limit, and when he panted out that he was going to blow, you didn’t even get a chance to tell him not to come inside you. He had already pulled out. He jerked himself off until thick ropes of his release landed on the curve of your ass and your lower back. A moan of delight spilled from him at both his orgasm and at the art he had made of your backside.
“I’ll clean you up.” Again, his tongue was what came in contact with your skin, when you expected something else. You couldn’t help but let out a moan of your own as he licked up his own come. You were soon spun around, and his tongue was in your mouth, the pair of you kissing fervently. This time it was him you tasted, and your legs were shaking. He fell back into the chair, his head dropping back, skin shiny with sweat. You crawled up onto his lap, to have his arms go around you.
“Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll fold you in half.”
You were in store for a very long night. Maybe breakfast.
Ben’s prediction had been correct: Ashley was positively livid they had gone off the grid, so to speak, and had ignored the prompt to kiss at the doorway. Both had sat quietly, Bonnie because she was furious and embarrassed at being lambasted, Ben because…well, because he didn’t care. When they were excused, Bonnie stormed out and went straight towards the elevator, leaving Ben behind to wander out unbothered. Of course he made it to her before the elevator did. Damn, this builder for having 99 floors - nothing needed to be this fucking tall.
“I don’t know why you let her get to you. She’s like one of fucking ugly dogs that just yap, yap, yap all of the time.” Ben stood next to her, a head taller and nearly twice as thick.
“Because I’m not Soldier Boy. I don’t get to do just whatever I want and-”
He cut her off. “Yes, you do. We did what we wanted last night. So what if we got bitched out, it’s all she can do.”
“To you, maybe. They could find another girl to replace me in a heartbeat.”
He actually had the audacity to smirk. “You really think I’d let something happen to you?”
Bonnie wasn’t even moving, yet it felt like somebody slammed on the brakes and her brain smashed into the front of her skull. It took her a moment to recover, just staring up at Ben almost blankly, nothing computing. She remembered that day in Ashley’s office when he said he had picked her. Out of all the available supes, she had been chosen by him. Which made her feel a little like a mail-order bride…but the sentiment was there. She was the one he wanted.
The elevator arrived, and Ben urged her onto it, putting his hand against the small of her back. He pressed the button for his floor then turned to face her, his body blocking the buttons. She didn’t seem to care or notice though. He reached out and caught her wrist, using it to pull Bonnie over to him. Her steps small, she came as she was willed.
“Doll, either it’s you or nobody. I won’t do this stupid gig if they try to replace you.”
“But why?” The words came out quietly, dripping with confusion.
“Number one, don’t ask stupid fucking questions. Number two, that was a stupid fucking question.”
Bonnie didn’t seem to think it was, but before she could debate the validity of it, Ben’s hands came up to cup her cheeks, face cradled against leather and skin. His spine curved as he leaned forward, his breath falling against her lips. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, time ticked by so slowly. She could practically feel his lips against hers he was so close. Her breathing grew shallow. Just before their lips touched, the elevator lurched to a stop. Ben turned his head to glower at the poor human who dared to hit that button and use a public elevator.
“Get the fuck out!” He snapped at the man with dark hair and glasses, who obeyed without question.
They were alone again, but it was clear the moment had passed. Ben leaned against the wall, his hands hooked in the straps of his chest plate, staring up at the digital display. Bonnie was left as befuddled as she was when he denied her the doorway kiss. What was he waiting on? The opportune moment? The perfect moment? She almost laughed out loud at the idea of him being some kind of romantic. She managed to keep it together though, but they now stood in awkward silence. He wouldn’t even look at her now, his brows stitched together in his perpetual expression of annoyance.
She just wanted her heart to stop racing.
The elevator stopped finally - on Ben’s floor. Bonnie stepped out of the way so he could disembark, but he grabbed her wrist again, leading off the car and to his apartment. She could have fought against it, although it would have ultimately been futile and pointless, considering the strength difference, but why? She wanted to go with him.
“You know how to work this fucking thing. The code is 87246.” He mumbled to her, and she quickly tapped it in, the door unlocking on the first try. She went in first, without the invitation. Ben actually looked impressed momentarily.
“I’d hate to see you try and use your cell phone.”
“I don’t, if I can avoid it.” Ben went straight for the alcohol, just as he did every time they came into the apartment. “You want a drink?”
“No.” Bonnie sat down on the leather couch and crossed her legs.
“It’s a fucking nuisance. Somebody being able to get a hold of me at all times. It’s a leash is what it is.” He sat down next to her on the couch with his glass of whiskey, leaning back against the sofa with his hips jutted forward.
“You should have taken that thing off before you sat down.”
“And you should have gotten your tits out.” He took a swallow of his whiskey just as smoothly as the words left his mouth.
“Okay then. Be uncomfortable.”
She shifted off the couch and stood up again, wandering around the room until she came to the floor to ceiling window, gazing out at the city. It felt like you could see for miles, above most of the rooftops. It was a beautiful view.
“I used to dream about living in this tower. Being a part of the Seven. I had my apartment all planned out. How I was going to decorate it.”
“You live here now, is it everything you ever hoped it would be?” Ben stood up and began undoing the straps on his chest plate, peeling the unbendable portion of his costume off. He didn’t stop there, his top followed it, leaving him only the bottom half of his uniform.
“No.” Bonnie sounded wistful. “I also live in a glorified hotel room with a hot plate and a coffee pot.” She glanced over her shoulder at him to find him topless and rolling a joint. Her brows jumped, but she didn’t turn back around. “What are you doing?”
“What’s it fucking look like?”
She left her spot by the window and came back to the couch and sat down next to him. He finished and put the joint between his lips. “What did I tell you about asking stupid fucking questions?” His lips closed around the end, and he lit it, inhaling to make the fire catch, then finally blowing out a cloud of smoke. He drew in another mouthful of smoke then held the joint out to Bonnie. When she didn’t automatically accept, he turned his eyes in her direction expectantly. With a sigh, she took the pot between her first two fingers like one might hold a cigarette and hit it, the cherry burning red. The smoke burned her lungs, but thankfully she didn’t cough. That was the last thing she needed.
When she passed the joint back to Ben, he flopped back against the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. At some point he had removed his boots. She looked to him, biting the inside of her bottom lip. “Blow me a shotgun.”
He didn’t even say anything, not an agreement or a denial, just those intense green eyes focusing on her before he sat up enough so he could reach her. One hand went behind her head, pulling her in, then he exhaled the smoke straight into her mouth, their lips an inch or two apart. Bonnie breathed in, letting her eyes fall closed as she did.
Ben tilted his head back enough to take another draw off the joint, holding the smoke in until he was nearly mouth to mouth with Bonnie, blowing into her parted lips. The exchange took on an intimacy all its own. Their lips were so close, just as they had been in the elevator. She exhaled the smoke, eyes on him.
“You’re fucking sexy when you do that,” he murmured out.
He sank back onto the couch, letting his hand fall down to rest against her back, near her waist. They exchanged the joint, smoking it up until it was gone. Ben stubbed it out in the ashtray, then leaned back again, only to have Bonnie lie her head on his shoulder. His brow raised briefly, before he smirked.
“You flying high, doll?”
“More like floating.”
“Atta girl, you needed to relax.”
Silence for a few seconds fell between them, but she was never one to let it stand for long. “Why won’t you kiss me?”
