MiskaC

21 years old Czech Republic 🇨🇿 Ultra Jensen Ackles fan 😍 Writer amateur, so be kind 🫶 I love ANGST 🫣😂 Requests are open

[miskac]

Masterlist

Dean Winchester

Carry you home

One year without you

I’m not losing you

Beneath the waterline

After the darkness

The things left behind

Red right hand

When the world went quiet

Smoke between us

Bruises beneath the skin

Two weeks of empty rooms

The last thing left

Born beneath dead skies

Don’t let the dark take you

Dancing in the bunker

The one death Dean never survived

The sound of your heartbeat - daughter!reader

The sound of her screams pt.2 - daughter!reader

The weight you carry - mentally ill reader

Silver in her veins - daughter!reader

The spaces between hunts - sister!reader

The things they made her become

Soldier Boy

Still here

No one touches you

Ashes in your arms - part one

After the storm - part two

The things he broke

Honey and Cyanide

The things we never got to say

Containment theory

No one touches what’s his - Follow-up part(The speech)

The fire inside his chest

Handle with care

Don’t leave me there

The ones they didn’t bring back

Gold rings and cigarette smoke

Buried in the sky

The quiet after the storm

The pillar 18+

The ghosts they buried - daughter!reader

The woman in the tapes - pt.2

The first compound - pt.2

The last thing he ever found - sister!reader

The second he saw her - pregnant!reader

Black luck and gunpowder

Daughters don’t belong to monsters pt.2

The dead don’t stay buried

Beau Arlen

Come back to me

Where the pines don’t speak

The night Montana went silent

The things left behind

Mark Meachum

Still yours

The silence between heartbeats

The space between trust

Static between heartbeats - daughter!reader

Russell Shaw

No trail without you

Jason Teague

After the bell

Alec McDowell

The things you wouldn’t say

CJ Braxton

Stay on the line

Eric Brady

Falling through the clouds

Tom Hanniger

Buried in the dark

Jake Gray

Burning neon

Boaz Priestly

Stay close to me

Stiles Stilinski

Thomas (TMR)

Jj Maybank

Peter Parker (T.H.)

Nathan Drake

Tom Holland

Dylan O’Brien

Jensen Ackles

One more year pt.2 - daughter!reader

The moment we became three

Call me back

The cut beneath the smile

The space between us

Cut between takes

Flashbulbs & fault lines

Headcanons

First time

You get hurt

Mini series

When the light comes back - D.W.

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Final chapter

Bruised promises - J.T.

Chapter one

Chapter two - completed ✔️

Ashes don’t stay buried - S.B. (REWRITE IN PROGRESS)

Chapter one

Ashes still burn - S.B.

Chapter one

Chapter two

House M.D.

Gregory House

Flatline

Code blue

[jewellaces]

One week with dad's best friend ৻ꪆ

Summary: Your dad leaves to go on a business trip, leaving you with Beau Arlen, your dad's best friend. He was supposed to keep you safe, instead he ruined you for anyone else.

ᢉ𐭩 Warnings: MDNI, 18+, NSFW, large age gap, drunk sex, lots of praise and pet names, finger sucking, unprotected sex

wc: 3.6k

Your dad had mentioned he’d be gone for a week. That was fine, you’d handled a few days on your own before.

But this time was different.

“Beau’s gonna stay over for a bit, alright?” he said, eyes glued to the football game on the TV, barely glancing your way.

You stopped in the middle of the living room. “Wait—what? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious, hun.” He took a long swig of his beer. “No arguments.”

“Come on, Dad, I’m eighteen. I’m perfectly fine by myself,” you argued, stepping right in front of the screen to block his view.

He leaned sideways with a sigh. “No arguments. And you’re lucky it’s Beau. Could’ve been your grandma.” He waved you out of the way, muttering, “At least he won’t knit and lecture you about your love life.”

You groaned, but the conversation was clearly over. He was already focused back on the game.

Later that evening, the doorbell rang.

You opened it and there he was, Beau Arlen, in the flesh. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a worn flannel over a dark t-shirt, and jeans. His stubble was a little thicker than usual.

“Hey, kiddo,” Beau said as he dropped his duffel bag just inside the door. “Heard I’m on babysitting duty for the week.” He grinned and reached out to ruffle your hair.

You dodged his hand quickly. “No, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, he is,” your dad cut in, giving you a pointed look from the couch. “And don’t give him a hard time, alright? It wasn’t his choice, it was mine.”

“I know, Dad,” you mumbled, crossing your arms.

Your dad sighed and pushed himself up. “I better hit the road.” He pulled you into a quick hug and kissed your forehead. “Love you, even if you hate me right now.”

You frowned but hugged him back. “Bye, Dad. Love you.”

He gave Beau a nod and a wave on his way out. The front door clicked shut, leaving the two of you alone in the sudden quiet of the house.

“Aww, bunny, don’t pout,” Beau said softly, patting the top of your head. He’d called you that since you were little, it was impossible to stay annoyed when he said it. “He’ll be back in a week.”

He smiled down at you, then grabbed his duffel bag again. You reached for the smaller one before he could.

“I can show you the guest room,” you offered.

Amusement flickered across his face as he followed you down the hallway. “Lead the way, hun.”

You led him down the hallway and pushed open the door to the guest room. It was simple but comfortable, fresh sheets, a big window, and the faint scent of laundry detergent.

“Here you go. There’s an extra blanket in the laundry room if you need it,” you said, nodding toward the end of the hall.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Beau gave your back a gentle, appreciative pat that lingered just a second longer than expected.

You swallowed hard at the warmth of his hand, then nodded quickly.

“Mhm. I’m gonna go make myself some food,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling awkward. You hadn’t exactly planned on having company.

“No worries, I won’t bother ya,” he replied easily. He tossed his duffel bag onto the bed and headed back toward the living room.

In the kitchen, you filled a pot with water and set it on the stove for ramen. A couple minutes later, a low voice rumbled behind you.

“Whatcha making?”

You startled slightly and pulled out one of your airpods. “Just some ramen,” you said, fidgeting with the strap of your tank top.

Beau’s eyes dropped to your hands. Without a word, he stepped closer and gently adjusted the strap for you, his fingers brushing your shoulder. Your breath caught.

“I can order us some pizza,” he offered, voice warm.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that…” You felt weird accepting. He was being so nice.

“Let me, hun. It’s been a while since it’s just been the two of us.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest. “You used to crash at my place all the time when you were younger.”

You smiled despite yourself, memories flooding back. He really had been like an uncle to you growing up.

“Okay, fine,” you said with a small giggle, sliding onto one of the island counter stools.

Beau glanced up from his phone, thumbs hovering over the screen. “Cheese or pepperoni?”

“Whatever you want is fine.”

You started spinning slowly in the chair, feeling a little restless. Beau’s hand landed on the back of the stool, gently stopping your rotation.

“Careful now, bunny. You’re gonna make yourself dizzy,” he said, voice low and amused.

You looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close he was standing. The way he towered over you, green eyes crinkled with that familiar teasing smile.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“It’s alright,” he chuckled, ruffling your hair lightly. “You’re always moving, aren’t ya?”

He tapped a few more times on his phone, finishing the order. “Pizza should be here in about thirty. You still like cheesy breadsticks?”

“Okay, cool. Thank you,” you said with a smile, hopping off the barstool. “And yeah, I still like them.”

Beau nodded toward the hallway. “Go on, I’ll let you know when it’s here.”

“Thanks again!” You grabbed your phone and hurried to your room, relieved to have a few minutes to yourself.

You flopped onto your stomach on the bed, legs kicking lazily in the air as you scrolled through TikTok. A few minutes later, a soft knock sounded on your door before it cracked open.

“Hey, hun. Pizza’s here,” Beau said, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes flicked over you for a brief second.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” You quickly pushed yourself up and adjusted your pajama pants before following him out.

On the kitchen counter sat a plate with two slices of your favorite pizza, already waiting for you. A small smile tugged at your lips.

“This looks really good, Beau. Thank you again.”

“Stop sayin’ thank you,” he chuckled, reaching over to pat the top of your head. “But you’re welcome. Now go eat.”

You carried your plate to the couch where he was already settled, a few slices in front of him as he watched some random game on TV. You sat down pretty close, closer than you probably needed to.

Without hesitation, Beau draped his arm along the back of the couch, his hand resting lightly behind your shoulders. He kept eating with his other hand.

You gulped at the warm weight of his arm, heat creeping up your neck. He’s just being friendly, you told yourself, trying to focus on your pizza instead of how good he smelled or how solid he felt beside you.

Once you finished your pizza, you grabbed Beau’s plate too and carried everything to the sink.

“Aww, thanks bunny,” he said, smiling as he watched you. “You used to hate doing the damn dishes as a kid. Look at you now… all matured.”

You felt the weight of his gaze on your back but kept your focus on the plates, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “I still hate it,” you admitted with a soft giggle, opening the dishwasher and sliding the plates inside.

Beau leaned back against the counter. “Your dad got any beer in this place?”

“Uh, yeah, probably in the garage fridge. I can grab you one.”

“Yeah, please. Thanks, hun.”

He headed back to the couch while you padded to the garage, the cold concrete making you shiver as it touched your bare feet. You pulled a cold beer from the fridge and hurried back inside.

“Here,” you said, handing it to him a little awkwardly.

Beau chuckled, taking the bottle from your hand. With an easy twist of his wrist, he popped the cap off. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You nodded quickly, suddenly feeling flushed, and retreated to your room with a quiet sigh, closing the door behind you.

The next couple of days in a strange, surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Beau had settled in easily, he made coffee in the mornings, fixed the loose handle on the kitchen cabinet your dad had been ignoring for months, and teased you every chance he got. You tried to keep your distance, but it was hard when he was always around, filling the house with his low laughter and that warm, steady presence.

By the second evening, you were curled up on the couch again, this time in an oversized hoodie and shorts, while Beau sat beside you. The TV played some action movie neither of you were really paying attention to.

His arm was draped comfortably around your shoulders, your legs pressed against his as you sat tucked close to his side.

You played nervously with the strings of your oversized hoodie, eyes glued to the action movie on the TV even though you weren’t really into it.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Beau asked, turning his head to look at you.

“Yeah… just bored,” you admitted quietly.

“Aww, you wanna watch somethin’ else, hun?” He reached for the remote, already willing to change it.

“No, it’s okay. I know you like it,” you shrugged.

Beau shook his head with a soft chuckle. “I’m fine with somethin’ else. I’m not gonna make you sit through this if you’re not enjoying it.” He gently squeezed your shoulder, his thumb brushing back and forth in a slow, absentminded motion. “What do you feel like watching, bunny?”

You hesitated, suddenly very aware of how warm he was and how nice his arm felt around you. Your heart picked up speed as you glanced up at him. For a moment, the movie was completely forgotten.

“Uhm, this is really fine, I swear,” you said, suddenly feeling shy and awkward under his attention.

Beau sighed softly, turning more toward you. He reached out and gently caught your chin between his thumb and fingers, tilting your face up to meet his eyes.

“I told you to pick, hun,” he said, his voice low and warm. His thumb slowly brushed across your cheek in a gentle caress. “So pick.”

Your breath caught. His touch was so casual, yet it sent warmth rushing through you. You nodded quickly, eyes wide as you looked up at him. After a second, you mumbled, “Okay… maybe that new horror movie?”

Beau’s mouth curved into a small smirk, but he didn’t pull his hand away right away. His thumb gave one last soft stroke against your cheek before he finally let go and switched the movie.

As the horror film started, the lights in the living room already low, he settled back against the couch and tugged you closer with the arm still around your shoulders. Your side pressed against his chest, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“You scared of horror movies, bunny?” he teased quietly, glancing down at you.

“A little,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. You pulled your knees up slightly, subconsciously leaning more into his warmth.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” His hand slid down from your shoulder to rest on your upper arm, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

The movie played on, but it was getting harder and harder to focus on anything except how close he was, the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, and the way his fingers kept lazily tracing patterns on your arm.

The next day passed in a warm, hazy blur.

In the morning, Beau made breakfast, scrambled eggs and bacon, while nursing a cup of coffee and teasing you about how you looked half-asleep. He was still his usual charming self, but there was a new kind of tension simmering between you two. Every time he brushed past you in the kitchen, his hand would linger on your lower back. Every shared glance felt heavier.

The rest of the day was relaxed. He worked on his truck in the driveway for a while, and you kept him company, sitting on the hood and talking about nothing important. He took you out for lunch, then the two of you spent the afternoon watching movies and bickering over which ones were actually good. The touches kept coming, his arm around you on the couch, his fingers playing with your hair, the way he’d pull you into his side.

By evening, he’d spent it all on the couch with a six-pack, slowly working his way through it while the two of you watched movies. He wasn’t blackout drunk, but he was definitely feeling it.

You were still on the couch, the living room dark except for the glow of the TV. The movie had ended long ago, but neither of you had moved to turn it off. Beau’s arm was heavy around your shoulders, his fingers idly playing with your tank top.

“C’mere, bunny,” he murmured, voice thick with whiskey and want.

He gently pulled you closer until you were practically straddling his lap. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs slowly rubbing circles over the fabric of your shorts. For a while, he just looked at you, eyes half-lidded, breathing deep.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he said quietly, almost to himself. One hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear, then lingered, cupping your cheek. His thumb brushed slowly across your bottom lip.

Your heart pounded. You leaned in first this time.

The kiss started slow, soft and tentative. Beau tasted like beer and something warmer. He let you set the pace for a few moments before he took control, tilting his head and deepening the kiss with a low groan. His tongue slid against yours lazily, unhurried, like he wanted to savor every second.

His hands slid under your tank top, palms hot against your bare skin as he explored your waist and lower back. He didn’t rush. He just kept kissing you, slow and deep, while his fingers traced lazy patterns up your spine and back down again.

You shivered when his hand drifted to your thigh, squeezing gently and pulling you tighter against him. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans.

“Been wanting this…” he breathed against your lips between kisses, voice rough. “Been good for four whole days, bunny. Tryin’ so hard not to touch you like this.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, one hand moving up to cradle the back of your neck while the other stayed on your thigh, inching higher. His mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath hitch.

You rocked against him instinctively. Beau let out a quiet, strained sound and gripped your hips tighter, guiding your movement just a little.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispered against your throat, even as he kissed you again, deeper. “We got all night…”

Beau pulled back just enough to look at you. His breathing was heavier now, chest rising and falling under you.

“Been thinkin’ about this since I got here,” he confessed, voice low and rough. His hands slid higher under your tank top, palms warm and calloused against your skin as he slowly mapped out your waist, your ribs, the curve of your sides.

You shivered at the touch. He smiled, slow and lazy, then leaned in again, kissing you deeper this time. The kiss was wet and unhurried, his tongue stroking yours in slow, deliberate movements that made your head spin. You could taste the beer on him, feel the slight stubble on his jaw brushing your skin.

One of his hands moved down to your ass, squeezing firmly and pulling you harder against him. You gasped into his mouth as you felt how hard he was beneath you. Beau groaned at the sound, the vibration traveling through your body.

“That’s it, bunny…” he murmured against your lips. “Keep makin’ those pretty little noises for me.”

You rocked your hips again, slower this time, grinding down against the bulge in his jeans. Beau’s grip on you tightened, guiding your movements with one hand while the other slipped further up your back, fingertips tracing your spine.

He broke the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking and licking at the sensitive skin just below your ear. When he found a spot that made you whimper, he stayed there, lavishing it with attention until you were trembling in his lap.

His hand under your shirt moved higher, thumb brushing just under the swell of your breast. He didn’t go further yet, just teased, slow and torturous, while his mouth continued its lazy exploration of your neck and collarbone.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, almost reverently. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

The slow grind of your hips becoming more needy. Beau’s breathing was ragged now, his hands gripping you tighter as he kissed you again, deeper, filthier, like he was losing the last bit of restraint he had left.

But even drunk, he was still gentle with you, never rushing, like he wanted to draw this out as long as possible.

“Fuck it,” he growled softly, voice wrecked. “I need you, bunny.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing and carried you to his room, kicking the door shut behind him. The second he laid you on the bed, he was on top of you, kissing you hard and deep while his hands tugged your tank top off. He groaned at the sight of your bare chest, leaning down to kiss and suck on your breasts, praising you the whole time.

“So perfect, look at you, sweetheart. So goddamn beautiful.”

You whimpered as he worked his way lower, pulling your shorts and panties down in one slow drag. Once you were completely naked beneath him, Beau sat back on his knees and just stared, eyes dark with lust.

He brought two fingers to your mouth. “Open.”

You obeyed, taking them between your lips and sucking gently. Beau’s eyes rolled back slightly as he watched, groaning deeply.

“That’s my good girl, just like that. Suck on them nice and slow for me.”

You swirled your tongue around his thick fingers, sucking harder while he watched, mesmerized. When they were slick enough, he pulled them out with a wet pop and moved them between your legs.

He teased your entrance first, rubbing slow circles around your clit before pushing one finger inside you, then two. You moaned loudly as he curled them, stroking that perfect spot while his thumb rubbed your clit.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me already,” he praised, voice husky. “Such a good little bunny, taking my fingers so well.”

He kept pumping them in and out, slow and deep, until you were writhing and moaning beneath him. Only then did he pull them out, quickly stripping off his own clothes.

Beau was big, thick and hard, the sight of him making your mouth water. He stroked himself once as he settled between your thighs.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning down to kiss you softly.

“Yes, please, Beau.”

He groaned at the sound of his name and slowly pushed inside you, stretching you open inch by inch. “Ohhh fuck, bunny, so tight. So fucking perfect.”

Once he was fully buried inside you, he paused, letting you adjust while he kissed you deeply, whispering praises against your lips.

“That’s it, taking my cock so well. Such a good girl for me.”

Then he started moving, slow, deep thrusts that made your toes curl. Every stroke was deliberate, his drunk haze making him savor every second. His hands gripped your hips as he fucked you, pace gradually picking up while he kept praising you.

“Look at you, taking every inch like you were made for me. So pretty when you moan like that.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Beau cursed, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts grew harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.

He reached between you and rubbed your clit in tight circles, determined to make you come first.

“Come on, sweetheart, let me feel you cum on my cock. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

You came hard around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashed through you. Beau groaned loudly, the feeling of you tightening around his cock pushing him over the edge right after you.

“Fuck, bunny,” he rasped, burying himself deep as he came, hips stuttering with each pulse.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing. Beau stayed inside you, forehead pressed against yours, both of you catching your breath. Then he slowly pulled out and collapsed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and sleepy from the alcohol and orgasm. He wrapped his strong arms around you, tucking you against his chest. One hand gently stroked up and down your back while the other played with your hair.

“You did so good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your temple, your lips. “Such a perfect girl for me. Made me feel so fucking good.”

You nestled closer, still trembling slightly. Beau pulled the blanket over both of you and held you tight, his body warm and solid. Even drunk, he was gentle, kissing you lazily between soft praises and little murmurs.

“Stay right here with me tonight, bunny. Don’t want you goin’ anywhere.”

You nodded against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow down. His hand kept rubbing slow circles on your back until you both drifted off, tangled together under the sheets.

[priestesspie]

Yours . ݁₊ ⊹

ৎ୭ okay so, clingy!dean, patching up trope, friends to lovers, morning sex...uh yeah i'm crazy and i hope you all like it. the sex moves fast toward the end sorrrry, i was too excited to finish so if it sucks i apologize. i have also been in a mind-fuck since my dog's death so this might not be my best work but i sure as fuck hope it hits since i got turned on while writing. count how many times i use “baby” as a pet name ffs. love ya. requests open :)

rated r, 18+ smut, blood mentioned a lot ⋆✴︎˚⋆ 5k words ⋆✴︎˚⋆ fem!reader (no y/n)

His knuckles were bathed in blood and tight around the wheel. He tore down an empty road as the moon sat high in the sky with you beside him, clenching your side while your head rested on his thigh. Every whine, every tiny cough, every shaky breath made his heart stop. Bad hunt. Very bad hunt. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he choked out. “Fuck.”

“Just…get me…back.”

“I’m trying, sweetheart. I’m trying.” 

His name fell out of your mouth like a beg—a tiny, fragile cry for him. His heart practically dropped to the floor of the Impala. He couldn’t stop picturing you dying in his lap. Guilt began building inside him. Why did he leave you alone? Why didn’t he protect you? Every possibility tore through him until only one remained, crueler than the rest. 

What if you die before he can tell you he loves you? 

By the time the glowing sign of the motel came into view, you were barely conscious. Before the engine had even died, he was already lifting you as gently and quickly as he could. 

The mattress softened beneath you as he laid you down, his hands cradling your bruised and bloodstained face. The look in his eyes—that worry, that love—was enough to pull you back. He hesitated for only a second before rushing around the motel room, grabbing whatever he could. He yanked open the first-aid kit, gauze spilling onto the floor.

He crouched down and peeled your blood-soaked shirt up, exposing the wound on the side of your stomach. A tiny whimper left you when the cool air hit the wound. It was a deep slash that could barely be seen through all the blood. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled. 

You opened your eyes to look at him. He was damp. Sweat and blood caked in his hair and smeared on his face. His gaze was tender, but so much worry sat behind it. His hand moved to your wound, gently pressing a towel against it. You held back the scream your throat wanted to let out. 

“Get ready,” he murmured, giving you a moment before pressing harder against your stomach. A broken cry left your lips, followed by a ragged breath. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he panted, eyes darting to your face immediately. Slow blinks. Tiny breaths. “Talk to me,” he pleaded through his teeth.

“I…like…your shirt.” 

A broken laugh left him. “Yeah?” He leaned over you, looking at your frail face. “You pick now to flirt with me?” 

“Yeah…” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut. 

“No.” 

His voice cracked as his hand left your side to cup your face. “Keep talking, baby. C’mon.” You hummed, forcing your heavy eyes open and gathering the strength to speak. 

“I don’t…” You drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t have insurance.” 

Another broken laugh escaped him. “On the house.” 

Your face twisted with pain, and every part of him was screaming to pull you into his arms and apologize until his throat gave out. But instead, his trembling hands returned to your wound, carefully pressing fresh gauze against it—doing everything he could to stop the blood and keep you alive. 

After the gauze was soaked in blood, he knelt to assess the wound, trying to see how deep it was. His breath caught. It was still deep, but not nearly as bad as he’d imagined. He let out a slow breath before hurrying to the sink, grabbing water to clean the area. He was back at your side almost instantly, carefully washing away the blood until the wound came into view. His big hands worked slowly, as tenderly as they could, so he wouldn’t cause you more pain.

He tore through the med-kit again until he found the wound closures. The slash definitely needed stitches, but these would have to do. He peeled a few from the package before looking back up at you. 

“Alright, baby.” He held one up between his fingers. “I gotta pull the cut together.” 

You nodded weakly as he pressed the adhesive strips into place. 

“This is gonna hurt.” His fingers settled on the first strip. “Breathe for me.”

A choked cry tore from your throat, back arching off the mattress before you could stop it. His eyes pinched shut, and his jaw tightened, like he felt it too. “I know,” he said immediately. “I know, baby.” 

He hesitated, fingers refusing to move to the next strip. When he looked at you, you were still trying to catch your breath. 

“Do it, Dean,” you whispered. 

He nodded once and tightened the second strip. You sucked in a sharp breath, knuckles turning white against the sheet. Before either of you could overthink it, he pulled the last one closed. Once the wound was finally together, he carefully laid a thick gauze pad over it. 

“You’re a cute…doctor, doctor.” 

He ripped a piece of medical tape with his teeth, raising his eyebrows at you. “Doctor, huh?” 

You hummed, looking at him through heavy eyes. “You’re bloody.” 

“Yeah, well…” a small, broken smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re one to talk.” 

You hummed again, letting your eyes drift over him one more time. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The motel room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the soft tear of medical tape between his fingers. You could feel his hand on your side, staying there long after the pad was secured.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?” 

“Am I okay?”

His eyes dropped to your stomach before slowly finding yours again. The hesitation was small, but you caught it. “I think so, sweetheart.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, letting your eyes flutter shut again. 

His expression changed immediately. “No.” His hand tightened against your side. “Flirt with me more.” 

“M’tired, D…” Your voice faded, barely more than a whisper. 

“I know, baby.” Every part of him wanted to let you rest, but the other part needed your eyes open and looking at him. Looking at him like you always do. Steady. Quiet. 

“I know. Just…give me a little longer, okay?” He leaned over you, hoping the sight of him would keep your eyes open. “Tell me something stupid,” he whispered. “Anything.” 

“You’re really pretty.” 

For a second, he forgot how to breathe. 

“Pretty?” he repeated softly, like the word didn’t belong to him. 

You nodded, clearing your dry throat. “Yeah.” 

You were exhausted. Frail. Bloody. And somehow, you were still smiling at him. You lifted your hand, fingers weakly reaching up to tussle his hair.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he chuckled. 

“Saying goodnight,” you mumbled, giving him one last smile before your eyes slipped shut. His entire face dropped. The panic came rushing back. He couldn’t do anything but watch as your breathing slowed, counting every rise and fall of your chest until he was sure you were still there. He waited a few minutes before carefully moving you into a more comfortable position on the bed and pulling a blanket over you. 

He tried to keep busy. He cleaned up the mess on the floor and threw away the bloodied supplies—anything to keep his hands busy. Eventually, he grabbed a chair and placed it beside the bed. He sat there for a while in silence until he couldn’t keep himself grounded.

“Bobby,” he said, voice tight, eyes still on you. “She got hurt. Bad hunt.” He swallowed, staring at your sleeping face with his phone pressed to his ear. He was sitting there hunched over, elbows digging into his thighs. “I patched her up, but—” His voice caught, and he looked away for a second. “Bobby, I hope I did enough.” 

His eyes dropped to the floor, foot tapping the carpet softly. “No, she’s sleeping.” He rushed the words out. “She’s sleeping. She was talking. She was joking with me. She—“ 

He stopped, letting out a breath. 

He listened for a minute, eyes fixed on you. Then his voice came out quieter. “I thought she was going to die before…” He paused, swallowing hard. “Before I could tell her.” 

“No, I know.” His jaw tightened. “But I was scared, Bobby.” 

He looked down at his hands, still stained with layers of blood. “I thought I was gonna lose her.” He went quiet, listening to Bobby on the other end for a couple of minutes. Then a small sound left you, and his head snapped up immediately. “Hang on.” 

Then you shifted beneath the blanket, slowly turning onto your back.

“Bobby, I gotta go.” His eyes stayed locked on you. “Think she needs me.”

For the next hour, he watched. He memorized your breathing patterns, he counted every time you twitched, and replayed the events of the night until they blurred together. He was tired, but he’d never admit it. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed beside you. But he couldn’t fall asleep. He had to be here when you woke up. 

His head rested against the back of the chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

Then he heard you.

“Dean?” 

He moved so fast it almost hurt. He was on his knees beside the bed in seconds, right next to your face. “Hey,” he said softly. He watched you swallow, catching the dryness in your throat. Before you could even ask, he was already reaching for a glass of water. 

Your eyes drifted to the chair next to the bed. “How long was I out?” you choked out, watching him cross the room to you. 

“About an hour.” 

You nodded, slowly pushing yourself up onto your elbow. 

“Careful, sweetheart.” 

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice dry as you reached for the glass. You drained it in one long drink before gathering yourself to sit on the edge of the bed. 

His brows pinched together as he stepped toward you, ready to catch you if you fell. “What are you doing?” 

“I am showering. Feel icky.”

“No.” 

“No?” you repeated with a small smile, slowly easing yourself off the bed. Your face pinched with pain for a second before relaxing again. 

“I’m coming in.” 

“I’ll be okay, Dean.” 

“Not asking.” 

He walked behind you as you made your way to the bathroom, his hand hovering behind your back. The bathroom was cramped. You held onto the sink, looking at him through the mirror as he turned on the shower. The back of his shirt was stained with blood, not like the front, but enough to show tonight’s events. He turned around, and you went right to him, pulling him into a hug. He held you gently, careful not to hurt you, but he couldn’t shake how tightly you were holding onto him.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled against him. All he could do was hum, not fully believing you after everything that happened. You started to pull back, but he didn’t let go right away. He couldn’t. He held you for just a little longer before finally forcing himself to release you. His eyes were heavy, and you kissed his cheek gently, letting it linger before moving away to undress yourself. 

He lowered the toilet lid and sat down, watching as you moved carefully. When you tried to bend down to take off your shoes, your wound pulled painfully, stopping you. He immediately patted his thigh, silently offering to do it for you. It was quiet aside from the sound of your shoes hitting the tile. Your fingers moved to the waistband of your bottoms, moving slowly so your wound didn’t get agitated. He watched, waiting for any sign you needed him. 

“Got a dollar?” 

“What?” 

“For the striptease.” 

He sighed, trying to hide the smile he wanted to give you. Your fingers moved to your shirt, already half off. The stretching instantly caused you to wince, and he immediately stood to help. He threw it in the sink, and without asking, undid your bra and laid it on the counter. Your eyes met his in the mirror. He looked wrecked. 

His hands settled gently at your hips, hooking beneath the waistband of your underwear. He didn’t say anything, just pulled them down and let them fall to the floor. 

“Go shower,” he mumbled. 

He moved back to the lid as you stepped inside the shower. The warmth cradled you as he sat there deep in thought. You tried to go about your normal shower routine, but the second a wince left you, he opened the curtain and stuck his head in. 

“You okay?” 

“Yes, pretty boy.” 

He nodded once, moving back to stare at the ceiling. His mind wandered right back to the hunt—the blood, your voice calling his name, and how he thought he lost you. His heart kept climbing into his throat every time he didn’t hear you move. You were only in there for a few minutes, but it felt like an hour. 

His head lifted to the curtain when you stepped out, dripping wet. The shower was still running behind you as you grabbed a towel, flipping your hair forward to twist the towel around it. He forced his eyes anywhere but your body, settling on the floor instead. You wrapped another towel around yourself before stepping closer. His breath caught when your hands cupped his face, lifting his gaze as you scanned the cuts on his face. 

“You’re hurt, D.” 

“I’m fine, sweetheart.”

You gave him a look, sighing softly. “The water’s hot.” 

“I don’t need—” 

“No.” You cut him off, and for once, he didn’t argue. He stood, stretching slightly before pulling his shirt over his head. Your eyes scanned his chest, then his stomach. There were a few small cuts, but nothing that worried you—his face and hands needed the most attention. He bent down, undoing his shoes quickly before moving to his belt. His eyes lifted to yours as his fingers worked the buckle loose. 

You gave him one last look before stepping out of the bathroom. He watched you for a second before dropping his jeans and boxers. The steam filled the air as he stepped into the shower, and you went about your normal after-shower routine. You gathered a fresh shirt and boxers for him, placing them on the sink as he stood under the water. He still hadn’t let himself breathe; he was still tense even if his body was starting to calm from the warmth.

He took a fast shower, trying desperately to get back to you. You were sitting on the second bed, damp hair and the med kit next to you. For the first time tonight, you had a moment to actually process everything, but your mind just kept settling on Dean. All you wanted to do was hold him and make sure he was alright. 

He stepped out of the shower, and his eyes darted to the pile of fresh clothes on the sink. A tiny sigh left him; he didn’t know why it meant so much. He ran the towel through his hair as he walked into the room, looking for you immediately. He tossed the towel and sat next to you on the bed. 

The motel room was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the faint sounds of people outside. You looked at him, taking in every piece of him that was still there. And he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were still here. He never enjoyed the smell of your lotion more than he does right now. Your eyes dropped to his hands. His knuckles were swollen, scraped raw, and already bruising. 

“Should ice your hands.” 

“Too late,” he sighed, looking down at them. “Kept going after he was gone.” He swallowed, jaw tightening. “Didn’t even realize I’d gone through him and was hitting the pavement.” 

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. Not because of what he’d done. But because you knew why. You didn’t even remember that happening, even if you were lying on the ground next to it all. You brushed your thumb over his bruised knuckles. For a second, he looked like he wanted to lean into you, like he was trying to fight the urge to rest his head on your shoulder. 

“Don’t think my face is that bad,” he muttered.

“Let me play doctor for a minute,” you sighed. “You got to.” 

A tiny smile came across his face, and you went to open the med kit. He only had a few cuts, nothing serious, but you still wanted to patch them up. You shifted closer, tending to the wound you could reach on his temple. But then you stretched a little farther, trying to tend to the other side of his face. Your brows pinched as you pulled on your wound a little, and he noticed. 

Of course he noticed. 

A small sigh left him, and before you could protest, his hands settled at your waist, softly, since he could feel the gauze pad underneath your shirt. 

“C’mere, baby,” he mumbled, lifting you onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world—like it didn’t make his heart race to feel your weight on his lap. His voice was deep with exhaustion, and it nearly made you crumble. You gazed down at him, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. He looked back at you, tired and bruised. “Can you reach now?” 

You nodded, already moving to address the two cuts on that side of his face. He didn’t look away. He just watched you. Watched the concentration on your face, the careful way your fingers moved, and the way you treated every little injury like it mattered. When you finished, you gently pushed his damp hair back from his forehead so it wouldn’t ruin the bandage. And without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you. Not tight. Not the way he wanted to. He could feel where you were still hurt, and the last thing he wanted was to make you ache more. 

So he just held you, his head pressed against your chest. You dropped your cheek against his hair as your hand moved to the back of his head. He breathed you in, closing his eyes softly for the first time all night. He froze when he felt you lift your head, thinking you wanted to pull away. But instead, your lips pressed against his forehead. Once, over a bandage. And then, back to his forehead. A quiet hum left him, his arms tightening just slightly around you before he remembered and eased up.

“You should sleep, D.” 

“Don’t want to,” he mumbled against you. 

A soft smile sat on your face. “Yes, you do.” 

“Can’t let you go,” he whispered, and your hand slowed against his hair. 

“Baby,” you said softly, and he hummed again. “Come lay with me. You don’t have to sleep, but just please…lay down.” 

He lifted his head slowly, eyes finding yours immediately. One hand left your back and moved to cup your face, thumb brushing lightly along your cheek.

“Come on,” you said softly, carefully moving off of him. You held your hand out even if the walk to lie down was practically non-existent, but he grabbed it anyway. He rolled into the bed so he was on the right side, knowing you couldn’t lie on yours. He settled against the pillow as you crawled in next to him, resting on him. The room went quiet, and very quickly his breathing started to change. Slower. Deeper. You looked up at him to find his eyes already closed. For the first time all night, he finally gave in and let himself be. You stretched ever so slightly toward the nightstand, flicking off the light before settling deeper next to him to sleep. 

Shortly after sunrise, you woke up on your back with him flopped over on you. He was snoring softly in your neck, lips vibrating gently against your skin. His weight was heavy and warm, and for a moment you sat in it. You didn’t want to wake him, so inch by inch you slithered out to the bathroom. But by the time your toothbrush was in your mouth, he was standing in the doorway. Hair messy. Eyes barely open. 

“You okay?” he asked through a yawn.

“Yeah, D, go back to bed,” you mumbled under the toothbrush. 

“No.” You tilted your head at him. There was something vulnerable about the way he stood there. “Come back,” he said softly, almost like he couldn’t admit it. 

You rushed through brushing your teeth, and he waited the entire time, watching you with sleepy eyes. The second you finished, he took your hand and led you back to the bed. He rolled back into the sheets, still holding you as you settled beside him. Then, without fail, his arm wrapped around you again, and his face was tucked in your neck. Your hand moved slowly along his back, trying to ease him back to sleep. But he didn’t. He just shifted closer. 

His nose brushed along your jaw before his lips pressed softly against your skin. You tried to steady your breath, not because you didn’t want it, but because he was awake enough to know exactly what he was doing. 

His kisses grew slower, lingering as they moved over your face and along your neck. But then he found your sweet spot, kissing you long enough that a tiny moan left your lips. You felt him smile against your skin, kissing you there again. Then, his tongue slipped out, making you gasp. 

“Dean.” 

“Yeah, baby?” he murmured, amusement in his voice. His hand came up to hold your face, and you melted into it, giving him more room. Another moan. 

Then he shifted, moving up to look at you. You both held each other’s tired gaze, but through it, he could see everything—the girl he thought he was going to lose, the girl he’d loved for a while, and the girl he couldn’t imagine letting go of. He didn’t even have time to think before your hands grabbed his face and pulled him to your lips. 

The kiss was long and slow. Neither of you wanted to be the first to pull away. And for a moment, there was nothing but that kiss. That devilishly deep kiss that neither of you could take credit for because it was so evenly done. Everything about last night seemed to have made sense, like it was what you both needed to realize. 

You both rolled onto your sides, closer now, frantic now. His hand lifted your thigh onto him as yours tugged at his hair. Sunlight was beginning to fill the room, and when you felt how hard he was, a moan slipped into his mouth. He pulled you even closer so you could feel all of it—he wanted you to feel it twitch in his boxers. 

His hand left your thigh and moved slowly against your underwear. He could feel your wetness growing as he ran his knuckle up and down, which gained a whimper from you. His lips moved into a smirk, breaking the kiss before you pulled him right back. You were hungry. And he loved that. He kept teasing you, running his knuckle up and down and pressing softly into you. He could feel you shifting your hips toward him, pleading for more of his touch. 

And because he loves you, because he loves every second of this, he pushed himself up on his elbow to pull down your underwear. His fingers curled around the band before he leaned down to give your hip a big wet kiss. He could feel you pulling up his sleeve so you could kiss his bicep, which made him smile against you. He let you kiss him until he couldn’t take it anymore, moving back fast. He looked at you with furrowed brows before kissing you again, fingers moving to your wetness to play with you. 

He was devouring your whimpers, playing with you so slowly that your hips wouldn’t ease off of him. But then he slipped two fingers inside you, making you gasp in his mouth. 

“Fuck baby,” he breathed, feeling you soak his fingers. “You’re soaked.” 

You whined at his words, and he started moving slowly inside you—like it would be a disservice to not learn what you feel like inside. Your mouth was parted against his jawline, moans pouring out as he kept going. He watched your face, how you were crumbling beneath his fingers. He started picking up the pace, and you got louder. 

“Yeah,” he grinned, and you hated him for that. 

“Dean.” 

“What sweetheart?” he mumbled.

“Don’t stop,” you choked out. “Please.” 

He thought about making you beg. God, he wanted to hear that, but at the same time, he wanted to give you everything and more. He went faster, deeper. But then your hand trailed down his stomach and slipped into his boxers. He let out a low groan when he felt you grab his cock, the one that had been throbbing painfully. He’d never been this wrecked from whimpers, whines, and moans before. 

You held him for a second before coming out and tugging at his boxers to let his cock out. His eyes stayed on you as you spat in the palm of your hand. His fingers weakened inside of you when you started twisting and pumping his head. He threw his head back against the pillow at the feeling, moaning your name through a broken breath. Spit was pooling at the base as you moved your hand up and down. He was moaning deeply, and almost forgot to breathe once your lips met his neck. He let this go on for a few minutes before he rolled you over because he couldn’t bear not being inside you anymore. 

“Need to fuck you so bad,” he mumbled, leaning down to kiss you one more time. He looked down at your stomach, hoping this wouldn’t hurt you. You caught it instantly, fingertips running up and down his forearms. 

“I don’t care, D.” The tiniest bit of concern spilled onto his face. “I need your cock.” You paused, shifting so you were flat against the mattress. “Need you to fuck me. Please, baby, please.” 

“Fuck,” he muttered, throbbing at your pleas and the pout that sat on your face. “Just tell me.” 

“I know.” 

The sun had fully taken over the room as he held his thick cock in front of your dripping pussy. He shifted toward you, dragging his head up and down your opening. His eyes were down, watching it the entire time, like he was waiting for the right second to push into you. You kept your focus on the sensation of him sliding up and down, the ache in your pussy deepening with every slow pass until he had you withering beneath him. 

“You want it, baby?” he smiled, sliding even slower. 

“Want it so bad, Dean.” Your voice was quiet, breathy, almost. “Stop teasing and fuck me.” You pouted, reaching out to touch his stomach. 

A hum left his throat, and he pushed slightly inside you. “You’re so cute…need my cock that much, huh?” Before you could even reply, he slipped inside you, getting a loud moan from you. The feeling of you wrapped around him in all your dripping glory completely ruined his original idea of fucking you slowly. He didn’t want to waste any time. He wanted to fuck. He wanted to give you every inch of him and hear every sound that fell off your tongue. 

And he got it. 

Messy moans and cries filled the air as he drove his cock in and out. His own moans began mixing with yours, low, rugged, and sexy. And he was caught on the way your pussy sounded, how sopping wet you were with him buried deep inside you. 

“Ah, fuck, sweetheart,” he said through a pant, grabbing your thighs and pounding even more. 

“I’m yours,” you moaned, the words strong in your throat. “You know I’m yours.” 

He slowed down almost to a stop and looked at you, his cock twitching softly inside. The words hung in the air, and he swallowed them down, letting them settle deep in his chest. 

“Baby, I’m yours,” you repeated, wrapping your fingers around his forearm. 

He leaned down, grabbed your face in his hands, and met your mouth. His hips picked back up, but this time, there was a different rhythm to it. A slower, more deliberate pace. Your foreheads were pressed together, eyes fully stuck on each other. 

“Mine. Fuck—“ He breathed against your mouth. “You’re mine.”

“Not going anywhere, Dean,” you choked out, moans melting with your words. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling you even closer like he could press your words into his chest. 

His pace stayed slow and deliberate, but he was deep. So deep you knew you’d feel him for days after. He couldn’t focus on anything but your sounds and your growing wetness around him. The sounds of your wetness and moans were sending him to the edge. He moved his fingers down to your sweet spot, rubbing softly because he couldn’t bear the idea of you not having an orgasm—he was determined for you to come on his cock. 

And a few more thrusts and rubs, he got you close. He didn’t want to ruin it for you. God, he’d hate himself if he did. You could tell he was near, so you lowered your sounds until your orgasm hit. He kept his pace with both his fingers and his cock, not letting you miss any ounce of pleasure. Your moans filled the motel room, his name slipping through your cries. 

He knew he was done after that.

“Come for me, baby,” you whined, wrapping your arms around him so he stayed close. He let out a low groan and kept pounding, feeling every bit of warmth and plushness you had to offer him. “Dean, gimme it.” 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he moaned loudly, your words opening a floodgate of pleasure. 

Another deep moan left him when you squeezed around him, adding a little extra pleasure for him when he hit the peak. His sounds were heavenly, rumbling through you like they were meant to live inside of you. He took longer to come down than normal, his orgasm hitting harder than it had in a while—like he was saving it just for you. 

He rolled off next to you, not wanting to squish your wound that came out of this unscathed. Pants filled the morning air, the smell of sex mixing with the scent of coffee outside. Without hesitation, he pulled you close, looking at you for a moment before kissing you slowly. 

After a couple of minutes, he mumbled against you. 

“Breakfast, baby?” 

ৎ୭ feedback and requests are welcome here! or in the replies lol

MASTERLIST

[winterstar67]

anywhere for you

Soldier Boy x F!Reader

Summary: After Homelander is defeated, the world is scrambling to move on, but Soldier Boy is locked away in Vought Tower. That is until you free him.

Content Warning: 18+. MDNI. Soldier boy is one horny mf and only thinks about sex. Even if he should be worried about getting out of the tower. And who are you to deny him anything. Couch sex. Vaginal fingering. PIV sex. Slight cockwarming. Spanking. Squint for the breeding kink.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: I took the title from the Backstreet Boys song. Backstreet Boys > NSYNC. I said what I said and I stand by it.

@shroomshop This is for you! 🩷 I hope it is semi what you were hoping for. Sorry it took so long!

Divider credit: @cursed-carmine; Pictures from Pinterest.

AO3 Link

Sneaking into Vought Tower was fairly easy. After Butcher killed Homelander on national television, you had hoped the aftermath of the fallout would be enough of a distraction that no one would be concerned about one singular women on her own mission.

You had begged Ben to leave without talking to Homelander, but the motherfucker was just too damn stubborn. And when he didn't show at your place that night ready to leave, you knew something had happened. You just prayed it didn't cost him his life in the process. Either way, you were going to find answers.

Your first instinct was to go down to the basement, thinking Vought would want to hide the supe away. But as you entered the stairwell, you remembered Ben telling you that when Homelander had woken him up from cryo, the chamber was in his bedroom. You were operating on the hope that Ben was just in stasis rather than dead, and what were the odds that he would have had the chamber removed?

When you finally broke into Homelander's apartment, you still glanced around the space like he might show up and kill you on sight. Despite showing his true colors after losing his power, old habits died hard. Moving silently through the rooms, you entered his bedroom and your jaw dropped.

In the corner, Soldier Boy was there, eyes closed like he was just asleep. Which you supposed he was, in a way. Rushing over, you look at the controls to the chamber, hoping to figure out how to get him out. It was surprisingly user friendly, and you managed to get the door open without much difficulty.

The next part would be much harder. The man was built like a tank, and he was heavy. There was no physical way you were going to be able to move him. The restraints holding him in place would have to do until he woke up.

Your eyes traced over his body, his skin a map of scars showing everything he has survived over thick corded muscles that you knew initimately. Your fingertips graze his biceps and across his chest, unable to help yourself from touching him. You were so caught up that when he cleared his throat, it startled you, jumping back as your heart pounded against your chest.

His voice was rough from disuse. "The fuck happened?"

"Do you always wake up from cryo this angry?" You ask, stepping closer to him again. "Or do you plan on thanking the woman that just saved your life from sleeping the years away?"

Your hands cup his face as you lean up and kiss along his jaw, his beard tickling your skin as your lips finally meet his. His eyebrows raise in surprise as he kisses you back for a moment, letting your presence surround him before he mutters against your lips, "Are you going to let me out or…"

"If you are as big and strong as you say, shouldn't you be able to get out yourself?" You counter, unable to resist the urge to tease him.

His emerald green eyes flash with amusement or irritation, but knowing him, it was probably irritation. You wish he didn't look so damn attractive when he was annoyed, but when his eyes shot to yours with a promise of punishment, you couldn't be held liable for pushing his buttons further. You might be a brat, but you were a well satisfied one.

Without wasting another moment, the restraints around his wrists snap, no longer connected to the board behind him. You take a step back, undoing the straps across his body to free him as he tears the leather restraints from his wrists, shredding them like paper.

"That was the last time I'm ever going back in that damn box." He grumbles.

"You know what they say about famous last words, Ben."

His hands finally come up to your face, thumbs brushing against your jaw as he tilts your head back. He ducks his head down to fully look into your eyes, like he really wants you to hear him.

"I'm never leaving you again." He whispers, his tone soft, but the words unyielding. A promise he intended to keep until he was nothing more than dust and bones.

You grab his wrists, keeping him close as you swallow past the lump forming in your throat, nodding. "I was so scared. You didn't come home, and I thought…"

"Homelander caught me by surprise. I didn't think the bastard would stab me in the back like that. Where is he by the way? I think I need to return the favor."

"He's dead. Butcher killed him. On national tv. It was…gruesome."

Ben's brow raises in surprise. "The bastard actually did it. I'll be damned."

Then he kisses you. It is desperate, hungry, and laced with something close to relief. Your hands run up over his chest to twist around the back of his neck as you pull yourself closer. He groans in response, his hands tracing down your sides to wrap around your back. Despite your anger at him for leaving you that day, seeing him now, having him back in your arms completely assuages the anxiety and worry you had been feeling.

You melt against his body, solid and firm against your own. He starts slowly walking you backwards, murmuring against your lips. "You are wearing way too many clothes."

When your legs hit the edge of the bed, you nearly fall back. "I don't think now is the best time, Ben. We probaly should get out of Vought Tower. And it's not like I want to do it in your dead son's bed."

Ben grumbles under his breath, like he doesn't understand how you aren't ready to jump into the first bed with him like he clearly is. His hands slide down your body grabbing your ass and squeezing. The action pulls you further into him, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Is there anywhere in this god's damned tower you would be okay with fucking me before we leave?" He demands, clearly exasperated.

You chuckle at his annoyance. "Anywhere but this bed."

Hands sliding behind your thighs, the supe lifts you up as your legs wrap around his waist and he carries you straight to the couch before sitting down with you straddling his lap. His erection is pressing against the fabric of the white boxer briefs he has on, straining to get out and sink into you.

His lips travel across your jaw to whisper in your ear. "This better, princess?" He asks facetiously, nipping at your earlobe.

"Much better." You giggle. He starts pulling at your clothes and they threathen to tear under his impatience and strength. "Ben, unless you want me walking out of this building half naked, do you mind?"

He huffs, lips pulling off your neck where he was sucking a deep mark into your sensitive skin. He throws his hands up. "Fine. You do it then."

"With pleasure." You say, winking as you strip off your shirt and bra. You push up to your knees to pull your pants and underwear down, the motion shoving your breasts in his face. Unable to resist the temptation, he licks a strip right up the valley before his lips latch around one nipple, suckling at you. You gasp at the sensation, electricity running straight through your veins to your core.

You kick off your pants, hands flying into his hair as your nails scratch against his scalp and he groans at the feel of your fingers in his hair, the vibrations ricocheting through your body in a tidalwave of pure desire. You pull him closer as one of his hands plays with your other breast, his other hand on your hip, fingers splayed wide. Your head falls back as you moan his name, your tone a desperate whine, and he smiles against you.

"That's right, say my name. Been missin' me something fierce, haven't you?" He goads, pulling your body back down so your core is pressed against his aching cock, his underwear the only thing separating him from entering your sweet tight pussy. Using your hips, he moves your body, sliding you along the ridge of him, each pass dampening the fabric with your arousal until it is nearly translucent.

You gasp and moan as he drags you up and down his length, every movement rubbing just perfectly against your clit, and you start rocking your hips. "More. Fuck, Ben. I need more."

"How much more?" He taunts, his strength keeping you moving at the pace he wants, designed to drag out your pleasure, almost like he wants you to remember how good he makes you feel and only him. Like you could ever want anyone else, the man had ruined you long ago.

"Everything." You gasp out. "I need you."

Your nails dig into the thick muscles of his shoulders as you head drops forward, forehead pressed against his cheek, his beard softly scratching your skin, only reminding you of the feeling of his beard other, more intimate places.

"Tell me how bad you need my cock. I need to hear it. Need to know how much you missed me." He growls in your ear.

"Ben, baby, please." You whimper, knowing you are completely at his mercy. "I need to feel you inside me. I was going crazy without you."

He stills your rocking hips, one hand sliding to your core as his thick calloused fingers quickly find your clit, circling the bundle of nerves as you gasp. Pleasure rushes through you as he plays your body like he knows it better than the back of his hand, fingers dipping into your entrance to gather more of your arousal before moving back.

You kiss him fiercely, your hands running to the back of his neck, holding him still as your lips attack his. You can feel his grin as he lets you control the kiss as he drives you mad with his fingers. You nip his bottom lip with your teeth, and you can feel the change in him as his eyes flash with barely contained desire. This time when two of his fingers slide into you, your mouth drops open with a moan that he swallows, his tongue dipping inside to taste you.

"Ride 'em, doll. Show me how desperate you are for my cock."

You lift your hips, letting his fingers pull almost completely out of you before your hips roll back down, impaling yourself on his thick digits. As much as you wanted feel him inside you, you would gladly take his fingers. You would take any part of him he was willing to give you.

Clenching around his fingers you grind down, your clit rubs deliciously against the heel of his hand before lifting again to repeat the motion. His eyes greedily run over your body, your tits bouncing with each movement. The only thing that could make this better was if he was buried deep in your pussy, but he wanted you good and stretched out before then.

His fingers scissor apart, pressing against your gummy walls, feeling each and every clench of your muscles. You were getting close, panting against his neck between kisses, his name coming out in breathless whispers. But he wanted you screaming his name for anyone in this goddamned tower to hear and know who you belonged to. Who you would always belong to.

"Gonna have you screaming around my cock by the end of the night, doll." He murmured in your ear, pulling the lobe with his teeth.

"So close, Ben." You whimper.

"Come for me, sweetheart. Wanna feel you drench me."

With his permission, you combust in his arms, pleasure running through your veins that you can feel from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Your skin buzzes, everything feeling more sensitive from the coolness in the air against your skin to the way your breasts rub against his chest. He keeps working you, his fingers rubbing against the sensitive spot inside you until you are trembling in his arms.

When he removes his fingers, you groan at the loss, but are quickly sated as he pulls his underwear down enough to release himself and impales you on his thick, veiny, reddened cock. You gasp, feeling oversensitive after your release and your nails claw down his chest, leaving red lines in their wake. You wish they would still be there tomorrow, a reminder of you on his skin, but you will just have to leave new marks tomorrow since he heals too quickly.

"God fucking damn." He groans. "Always so fucking tight for me."

"Oh my god. Oh my god. So fucking big." You babble, as you adjust to him.

"You aren't sitting on god's cock, doll."

You nod your head in agreement, feeling too blissed out to understand what he is saying.

"Who's cock is inside you?"

You whimper, acting purely on instinct as you lean forward to press your lips against his, barely hearing his question. His hand comes down, slapping your ass.

"Fuck!" You cry out, lifting up an inch before falling back down on him as his dick rubs against your g-spot perfectly. "Oh god."

His hand lands on your ass again, the sting blending together in perfect harmony with the fullness of him inside you. "Wrong answer."

"Fuck! Ben! Yours. It's yours. Your cock." You gasp.

He grins down at you, his hips bucking up, the tip kissing your cervix just perfectly. "That's much better."

You start to roll your hips, enjoying just how much the supe fills you up, your clit pressed against his groin. You swear you could spend the rest of your life perched on him just like this and die a happy woman. But when his hands return to your hips, he urges you to lift up, watching his cock glistening with your slick before he slams you back down.

You take the hint, starting to ride him, as he helps you keep a steady rhythm. He leans forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking down on you, his tongue circling the pebbled bud with a groan that echoes throughout your body. Your hands find their way to his hair, yanking on the soft strands to pull him impossibly closer to your body.

The heat between you builds to an inferno as you move, his fingers gripping your hips tight enough to leave marks that will turn to bruises by morning. He pulls off your breast with a pop, leaning back to watch you.

"Look so fucking good as you take my cock. My perfect little slut. Riding me like you can't get enough. Bet you would let me knock you up, wouldn't you? Do you want to full and round with my kid?"

You moan desperately, your rhythm stuttering at his words as you clench around him hard. You would. You would let him get you pregnant if he really wanted that. A physical reminder of the desperate need you have for each other.

"Fuck, doll. You like the sound of that, don't you? Letting me fill you so deep, there would be no way you weren't pregnant by the time I was done with you. Want me to come inside your pretty pussy?"

You nod, moving faster against him, chasing your orgasm as the echoes of skin slapping against skin and your panting breath is all you can hear over his words. He reaches between you, playing with your clit to try and push you over the edge faster.

"So close…so close Ben."

"Good. I want to feel you milk my cock dry as I fill you up." He growls.

His hips thrust up in time with your downward strokes before he releases inside you, painting your walls and cervix with rops of his cum with a groan of your name falling from his lips. His orgasm sets off your own as your muscles seize. He keeps thrusting up into you as you clench around him, trying to pull him deeper inside your core, like you want to have his cock imprinted inside you. You scream his name loud enough that if there were anyone on the floor, you were sure they would be aware that Soldier Boy was awake and out of cryo again.

When you both finally come down from your combined pleasure, you smile down at him, satisfied bliss clearly written across your features. He returns your smile, soft and sated, his fingers brushing a strand of hair back from your face.

"You are so fucking breathtaking. You know that?"

"Are you just saying that because I let you out of the box and let you come inside me?"

He huffs at your question. "I'm being serious."

"I'm sorry." You murmur, kissing the tip of his nose. "Please keep singing my praises."

"Too late. It's done. You ruined it." He laid back against the couch, keeping you sprawled over him, cock still buried deep inside your cunt, each residual spasm of your muscles reminding both you and him how good you are together. His fingers trail up your spine, much gentler than you expect, and you wonder if he knows the lengths you would go for him. That anywhere he wanted to go, you would follow. That he owned you, body, mind and soul so completely that you didn't feel like yourself without his presence, he was quinessential to your mental health.

He sighed, drawing your attention away from counting every freckle on his tanned chest as your cheek rested over his heart, listening to each steady beat. "Now that Homelander is gone, I suppose we don't need to go to Bogotá. Is there anywhere you want to go, doll?"

You smile, lifting your head to look him in his eyes. "As long as it is with you, we can go anywhere."

Thanks for reading! 😊🩷

[lickabeefslair]

Eternity

Summary: reunion with Bombsight leads to an interesting trade.

The underground parking lot smelled of oil and concrete dust. Soldier Boy kept USO Girl close as they stepped out of the shadows, his hand brushing the small of her back. After the night’s tears and his quiet promises, she felt steadier but the old ache still lingered whenever old ghosts like Bombsight appeared.

They rounded the corner just as Bombsight came into view. Golden Geisha sat nearby in her wheelchair, looking tired but composed.

USO Girl offered her a gentle smile. The two women had always shared a quiet understanding through the decades.

“Goldie… you really don’t want forever with him?” USO Girl asked softly.

Golden Geisha shook her head, a sad but peaceful smile on her lips. “No, Betty. I don’t want happily ever after forever. I just want a mortal life with Robbie growing old together, aging side by side, the way normal people do. That’s enough for me now.”

USO Girl reached out and squeezed her hand. “I want that too… the happily ever after part. Ben and I already have forever.”

Golden Geisha looked up at her with warm eyes. “You still look as beautiful as the day I first met you, you know. That USO sparkle hasn’t faded a bit.”

USO Girl laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve aged, Goldie. But you… you’re still just as beautiful. Stronger, even.”

Before Goldie could reply, Soldier Boy stepped forward.

“Hiya, Robbie,” Soldier Boy said, driving his fist straight into Bombsight’s face.

Bombsight grunted, staggering back. “Ben.”

Bombsight’s jaw tightened, but he turned his glare back to Soldier Boy. “You know how long I’ve wanted to smash in that pretty face?”

“Buddy, the Queen sat on this face,” Soldier Boy shot back with a smirk. “It’s a national fucking treasure.”

Bombsight wiped blood from his lip, eyes narrowing at USO Girl. “Still playing the loyal little USO girl, Betty? Even after everything with him?”

USO Girl let out a sharp, bitter laugh, stepping forward. “Still jealous over Ben, I see. God, Robbie, it never gets old with you, does it? You spent decades sniffing around after me every time he looked the other way, hoping I’d finally pick the second choice. You never wanted me you just wanted something of Ben’s. Like the jealous fuck you are.”

The fight exploded. Fists flew, grunts echoing off the concrete as the two men traded blows. USO Girl stayed back but watched closely, heart pounding as pipes bent and concrete cracked. Soldier Boy broke off a metal pipe and jammed it toward Bombsight’s throat before taking flight. Soldier Boy grabbed him mid-air, and the two crashed through the ceiling, exploding out into the open field above.

USO Girl rushed outside after them, heart in her throat.

“Goddamn it, I hate flying,” Soldier Boy growled, slamming Bombsight down. “Tough skin or not, I can still break your fucking neck.”

“Ben, stop. Please,” Bombsight gasped.

Soldier Boy released him, breathing hard. USO Girl moved to his side, hand on his arm the same steady touch she’d given him for decades.

“I can’t give it to you,” Bombsight said.

“Goldie doesn’t even want to take it.”

“Then maybe someday I’ll find someone who will.”

“You were always gonna fuck it up with Goldie anyway,” Soldier Boy said. “You could never hold down a girl. It was either a smack needle up your dick or—”

“Having to stand next to you?” Bombsight spat. “You were everyone’s favorite from the start. Especially Clara. Everything they wanted us to be, everything they were working towards, they saw it in you. Then they wheel out, you..” he turns to USO Girl then back to Soldier Boy. “The little USO Sweetheart, and who do they pair her next to.. you. Always you. I fucking hated you for it.”

USO Girl cut in before Soldier Boy could respond, her voice calm but edged with steel. “You keep talking like Ben won me. I wasn’t a trophy, Robbie. I made my own choices. Clara made hers too.”

Soldier Boy’s jaw tightened. “No. No, I wasn’t everything Clara wanted. I didn’t know how to be.”

Bombsight let out a bitter laugh. “But you loved her,” he said to Soldier Boy. “What wouldn’t you give to have her back… forever?”

“I really fucking hate you,” Soldier Boy muttered.

“No shit.”

“But we don’t have to kill each other,” Soldier Boy continued. “I can take away your immortality. And your powers. You won’t have to live forever alone. Then you and Goldie can spend whatever time you have left like you want.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“I’d do it for the V1.”

Bombsight finally handed over the small tin container with the syringe.

After Soldier Boy’s controlled energy blast drew blood for the first time in decades, Bombsight smiled faintly. “This is the first time I’ve seen my blood in… I can’t remember.”

USO Girl felt her throat tighten. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she watched the two old rivals share that strange, almost tender moment. They’ll get their chance, she thought. A mortal life. A quiet, aging kind of love the kind Goldie had wanted.

She glanced at Soldier Boy, her chest warm despite everything. They already had forever. No ending, no fading away. Just the two of them, choosing each other again and again across endless years. The thought made another tear fall. She didn’t bother wiping it away this time.

Before anyone could say more, Homelander descended from the sky, cape fluttering.

Soldier Boy pulled the syringe from the case. USO Girl tensed beside him, her hand tightening on his arm.

Soldier Boy met his gaze. “You know, Clara used to say the craziest shit. That I was the strongest Supe alive, the ‘ultimate expression’ of what we could be. But she was wrong. She hadn’t met you yet.”

He handed the V1 to Homelander.

“But you hate me,” Homelander said, surprised.

“I love her more,” Soldier Boy replied. “And this is what she would want.”

USO Girl stayed quiet as Homelander injected himself, groaning through the pain. She stayed by Soldier Boy’s side as the supe trembled through the dose. When it was over, she leaned up and whispered just for Ben’s ears, “It’s still you and me. Forever?”

Soldier Boy wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “Damn right, baby.”

—

Here we are the Bombsight chapter!

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[lickabeefslair]

Motel Confession

Summary: Soldier Boy gets a moment alone to speak to USO Girl one on one.

USO Girl wiped quickly at her eyes like she was embarrassed by them.

“I’m okay,” she whispered again. Nobody believed her. The motel room had gone painfully quiet. Even Hughie didn’t know where to look anymore. Ben stayed crouched in front of her, jaw tight. His thumb still rested lightly against the back of her shaking hand.

Then he looked over his shoulder.

“Out.”

Hughie blinked. “What?”

“I said get the fuck out.” Butcher didn’t move immediately. Of course he didn’t. His eyes flicked between them carefully, analyzing.

USO Girl sitting curled into herself on the motel bed. Soldier Boy kneeling in front of her looking one bad second away from putting his fist through a wall because he didn’t know how to handle this softer kind of damage.

“Easy there, mate” Butcher drawled. “We’re on the same side.” Ben stood slowly. “No,” he said flatly. “You’re useful.” The threat underneath it was crystal clear. Hughie immediately grabbed Butcher’s sleeve. “Yep. Cool. We can go.”

Butcher held Ben’s stare another second longer before smirking faintly. Then he let Hughie drag him toward the door. But before leaving, Butcher glanced once at USO Girl. And softened almost imperceptibly. “Get some rest, love.” Ben’s expression darkened instantly. The door slammed shut behind them.

Silence settled over the motel room. USO Girl kept staring at her hands. Ben hovered awkwardly for a second before dropping onto the bed beside her with a heavy sigh. The mattress dipped under his weight. “You scared the shit outta the kid,” he muttered. A weak laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “There she is,” Ben said quietly.

That slipped out accidentally. So he immediately ruined it. “Christ, you look like hell.” USO Girl leaned slightly against his shoulder without thinking. Ben went still for half a second. Then relaxed into it, he put an arm around her and held her close. Her voice came out small. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Ben snorted.

“Yeah? You got kidnapped by commie nutjobs, tortured for forty fucking years, and turned into a radioactive science experiment.” He shrugged. “That fucks anyone up.” She smiled faintly despite herself, that’s a good sign. That seemed to settle something in him. But the smile disappeared quickly.

“I can’t calm down unless I know where you are.” She confesses, she kept talking quietly, eyes fixed downward. “When I can’t see you…” Her fingers twisted together. “I keep thinking you’re gone again.” Ben’s jaw flexed because that he understood.

He leaned forward,dragging a hand over his face. “Sweetheart,” he muttered roughly, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” She nodded immediately like she believed him completely.

Ben looked genuinely uncomfortable now. Not because she needed him. she trusted him that much. After everything.

So naturally, he deflected.

“Besides,” he grumbled, “who else is gonna explain all this insane future bullshit to me?” He pointed vaguely toward the motel television. “Bluetooth sounds fake as fuck.”

Another tiny laugh.

“What the fuck does that even mean? I guess I’ll figure it out” she speaks. Her voice is small. Fragile. But hers. Ben glanced at her from the corner of his eye. And for the first time since escaping Russia he felt comfortable and at home with her.

“Eat, sweetheart. It’s just you and me.” His words showing an ounce of care while lighting up a joint. She takes a bite of her tenders and shovels a few fries in her mouth. “We’ll get you feeling back to yourself soon enough.” he says playfully while taking a drag and handing it to her. “It’ll relax your nervous ass, dollface”

She takes it then makes herself comfortable on his chest. She grabs the to go cup of Coca-Cola and sips on it before putting it on the nightstand. She lifts her head up to look in his green eyes then leans in to plant a kiss on Ben’s lips. It was a kiss 40 years overdue. “I’ll take care of you, always have.” His words a familiar and comforting promise. “Now please, for my sake finish your fuckin’ tenders before I do, doll.”

———-

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[lickabeefslair]

Complicated Love

Summary: A detour on the road to Bombsight. A video found in an abandoned house sparks a tense confrontation.

The three “heroes” pushed into the abandoned house. Soldier Boy’s tension radiating off him. USO Girl stayed close at his side, her hand resting lightly on his arm the same steady touch she’d given him for decades, through every war and every storm. She was his anchor, had been since the beginning. USO Girl was home.

“You sure this is the right address?” Soldier Boy grunted.

“I’m sure,” Homelander said.

“Well, there’s no sign of Bombsight… or fucking anyone,” Soldier Boy muttered, kicking a broken chair aside. “Maybe Crime Analytics got a bad tip.”

USO Girl scanned the shadows. “We should still check every room. We don’t want any surprises.”

Homelander stepped to the kitchen counter and opened the laptop. The screen lit up with unmistakable sounds moaning, wet and rhythmic.

“Come on, rub it. Rub it with your stump. Oh yeah, just like that…”

Stormfront’s voice slid into German, low and commanding. The slick, intimate noises filled the stale room.

USO Girl’s breath hitched. She knew that voice knew the woman behind it. She’d watched Clara and Soldier Boy burn bright and reckless together for years, hell she’d been a part of it many times. It had never threatened what she and Soldier Boy had. Clara was passion and danger. USO Girl was the one he always came back to.

Homelander slammed the laptop shut. USO Girl stared at Homelander with wide eyes, disturbed by the whole situation. “This seems like a father son conversation.” She says stepping closer to Soldier Boy feeling completely off her game and he can feel her power bring unease into the room.

Soldier Boy’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “What the fuck was that?”

Homelander turned. “I can explain.”

“That was Clara,” Soldier Boy said, stepping forward. “You told me she killed herself.”

Soldier Boy punches Homelander. USO Girl’s chest tightened. She stood firm beside Soldier Boy.

“She did,” Homelander insisted, eyes flicking briefly to her before locking back on Soldier Boy. “After Ryan did that to her. It’s his fault.”

“So then what,” Soldier Boy snarled, “you locked her in your apartment like some kind of amputee fuck doll?”

“No.”

“And filmed her for kicks?”

“No. No. No!” Homelander’s voice broke. “It wasn’t like that. I did… I did everything I could to keep her alive, to make her happy—” He grunted, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Just listen to me. Okay? It wasn’t all like… that. I couldn’t let her go. I didn’t know how. Because I loved her.”

His gaze moved between them, raw and pleading. “And so did you.” He continued

Soldier Boy’s jaw clenched. “You’re goddamn right I loved her.”

USO Girl squeezed his arm, her voice soft but clear meant for both men, but especially for the one she’d loved longest. “She got under your skin in a way no one else could. But she was never between us,” she added quietly to Soldier Boy, the words just loud enough for Homelander to hear. It was important he understood Clara had been wildfire, but USO Girl was the steady flame Soldier Boy had chosen to build a life around.

Homelander’s eyes narrowed on her, a cruel little smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, please. We both know he loved her more than you. Decades of sneaking off with Clara… you were just the safe choice he settled for when the real fire burned out.”

USO Girl felt the words land like a punch to the gut, but she kept her chin up, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Fuck you, you do NOT get to make the presumption, Ben settled for me. We spent countless nights the three of us, you can’t even imagine… I was never the consolation prize. I was the one who stayed for decades.”

Soldier Boy’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer in a clear, possessive hold. “Damn right,” he growled, glaring at Homelander. “Don’t you ever fucking talk to her like that again.”

She stood in front of Homelander with rage in her eyes. “For the record you pathetic little man-child, Clara and I never were in competition with each other.” Her right hook made contact with his nose. It didn’t do much but he stumbled back. Her mood was already altering the air with her upset emotions.

Homelander latched onto the opening. “She wouldn’t want us fighting over her—”

“Don’t fucking tell me what she would want,” Soldier Boy snapped. “You knew her for five minutes. I was with her for decades.”

“Hold.. hold on,” Homelander stammered, hands raised. “This-this is a setup. Someone’s trying to separate us. This has been plan— Fucking Sage. It’s Sage. You see? She’s trying to screw with us. Oh, come on. I can’t find the V1 without you.”

Soldier Boy stared him down, USO Girl stayed pressed close to his side, silent support in the heavy silence.

“Good,” Soldier Boy finally said, cold and final. “You don’t deserve to live forever.”

He turned, guiding USO Girl toward the door with a firm hand on her back. “Come on, baby. Let’s get the hell out of this shithole.”

They left Homelander standing alone in the house, the laptop still closed on the counter behind him. The door slammed shut, cutting off whatever pathetic plea he might have made next.

Outside, the cool night air hit them as they walked a few paces down the cracked sidewalk. USO Girl’s steps faltered. Tears welled up suddenly, spilling over before she could stop them. She wiped at her cheeks angrily, but more followed.

Soldier Boy stopped immediately, turning her to face him. His big hands cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing away the tears. “Hey, hey… look at me,” he said, voice low and rough but tender in the way it only ever got with her. “Don’t let that cape-wearing prick get in your head. You’re my girl. Always have been.”

USO Girl leaned into his touch, her voice cracking as the words poured out. “I know I’m not the other woman, Ben. I’ve always known that. Clara was my friend we were never competing for you. But people… they always insinuate it. They look at me like I’m some poor thing who got stuck in second place, like I’m just the one who waited around while you were off with someone more exciting. First with Clara, then Crimson Countess. It makes me feel pathetic, even when I know the truth. I hate that they can still make me feel like that after all this time.”

Soldier Boy pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly, shield resting against his back. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then tilted her chin up so she could see his eyes. “Listen to me, Betty.” He used her real name softly, just for her. “Fuck what they think. Clara was a wild chapter, yeah. But you? You’re the whole damn story. You were there before her, you were there through her, and you’re still here now. I chose you every single time I came home. You’re not second place. You’re the only one who’s ever really had me. I love you. Not the idea of you. Not the memory. You.”

She sniffled, clinging to him as the tears slowed. “Promise?”

“On my shield,” he murmured, a small, rare smile tugging at his lips. “Now let’s go find Bombsight without that asshole. You and me. Like always.”

—

This chapter was a tough one to write I wanted to show how secure Betty is in Ben’s love while everyone (including Homelander) are quick to make assumptions. Poor girl just wants to live her life with her man, peacefully. Next chapter we’re finding Bombsight.

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[scarletqueenx]

PLEASE, DON'T LEAVE ME

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It was your last hunt. But in the middle of the fight with the vampires you ended up getting hurt. Now, you and Dean would learn some news that would change your future together.

Word Count: 1252

Tags/Warnings: mentions of blood and death

A/N: Wrote this in a half hour, I hope you like it.

You knew how stupid it was. God, you'd promised yourself you'd never fall in love with another hunter. And yet, here you were. Bleeding out in the backseat of the one person who had given you a reason to live, to keep fighting.

Dean Winchester was driving his beloved Impala as fast as he could. Hands tense clenching the steering wheel, green eyes crystallized with tears of fear and frustration, blood and sweat streaming down his forehead.

"Stay with me, baby. Don't even think about closing your eyes." His voice sounded broken. Full of feelings he normally hid away from the world beneath his tough exterior.

A muffled gasp left your lips in an attempt to reassure him.

The world was spinning around you. And the pain in your body was so unbearable that your head had decided to ignore it completely. You felt like you were outside your body. You were screaming for being able to say something, to feel something.

"Sammy. Keep her awake."

Dean's voice became more demanding and desperate as he watched your eyelids start to close.

Stay awake. You were screaming to yourself. You have to keep fighting. After all you've been through, you have to keep fighting.

You were supposed to stop hunting. That little nest of vampires was supposed to be your last hunt. A sweet goodbye to the life you'd lived the past years.

You were supposed to live. To breathe one more day, to see the sun rise and the birds sing. To feel the wind on your skin without the pressure of having to save the world.

You were supposed to find the courage to tell Dean what you had promised yourself to never feel again.

You didn't know when exactly you arrived at the hospital. Sam had been trying to keep you conscious the entire ride. Your heart was still beating and your eyes were struggling to stay open, but your mind was far from present inside of Baby.

You did feel Sam's strong arms carry you from the car to the emergency room of that hospital, though. The neon lights and the smell of antiseptic bringing you back to some sense of consciousness.

You felt Dean's hands caress your face and the comfortable gurney embrace you as several people asked him to let them work.

Dean wanted to stay with you. He couldn't leave you alone. Part of him knew that if he wasn't by your side, you might forget to stay alive.

You didn't.

You could feel his presence with you. Hear his voice in your head despite the irritating sound of the machines that kept you alive.

Despite him not being in the same room as you.

Whatever they gave you took the pain away from every inch of your body. Your mind, though fuzzy and groggy, was finally able to focus on thinking once again.

Your hand trembled as you tried to lift it. However, someone grabbed it and set it back down on the gurney, asking you to stay still in the sweetest voice you'd ever heard.

“Baby.”

You whispered almost to yourself.

Your vision cleared slightly then, recognizing the confused expression of the woman beside you.

“Baby.”

You repeated in a hoarse voice.

She tried to tell you not to speak, to rest your voice and save your strength. But you insisted.

“Baby.”

This time your voice rose a little higher above a whisper. Hoarse, tired and barely audible. But the woman understood you.

You knew she had understood you because her face changed drastically all of a sudden before another person walked into the room.

Your hand trembled again as you brought it to your lower belly. Praying that the life inside you was still there.

Dean couldn't keep still. He tried to sit in the waiting room next to his brother, but his legs bounced nervously. Then he tried to go outside to get some air, as Sam had advised him to do. But his feet couldn't even take a step out of that hospital. As if stepping out of that building meant leaving you.

He tried everything.

Even praying.

He prayed for Jack and for Castiel. Desperate that one of them would come back to save you. To take him in your place.

That's when, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the woman who had taken you in. Her face was serious and her stride determined, but her look... Her look was what scared him the most.

“She's stable.” The sweetest voice he'd ever heard—just behind yours —left her lips.

Dean felt the air rush back into his lungs, his heart beat again, his dreams and desires becoming more than just that, and more like reality once again.

"She just got out of surgery. The doctors have repaired the damage and closed the wound in her abdomen without complications. She'll need rest, but she'll be fine."

Dean didn't know how or whom he should thank. Inexplicably his body wanted to wrap that woman in the world's biggest hug.

But what he wanted most of all was to see you and thank you for fighting.

“Oh.”

The woman spoke up again. This time with a faint, tender smile peeking through her lips.

“The baby is healthy and strong.”

Before Dean could fully comprehend her words, Sam shifted beside him. Breathing with relief and joy as his eyes watched his brother in awe.

You and Dean had started sleeping together after a rough hunt. It was a little mutual agreement between the two of you to release pent-up energy. No strings attached. No relationships. No love.

It was a stupid thing to do.

But that agreement had had the best possible outcome. Especially now that your future no longer looked black and full of death and pain.

You were pregnant. You were going to have a baby together.

“The baby?” Dean stuttered, barely able to pronounce the word. No matter how many times he'd used it before to refer to you or his prized car.

The woman nodded with a smile and a gleam of happiness in her eyes. She knew—after Dean had grabbed your hand and begged to stay by your side—that he had to be the baby's father.

“Can I...?” Dean coughed nervously. “Can I see them?”

“She hasn't stopped asking about you since she woke up.” The woman said as she nodded.

With a sheepish smile on his lips, mixed with the tears—now of happiness—that were pooling in his eyes, Dean sighed in relief and took a deep breath before following her up to your room.

Your eyes lit up as you watched him walk in. It was as if life had come back to you. Your skin was no longer pale, the blood was gone from your face and your hand reached for him.

Dean didn't hesitate to move closer, intertwining your fingers and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you.” The words came out of his mouth without thought. He felt it, though. Damn right he did. You were his whole world, his reason to live, his future.

As his forehead rested against yours, tears of happiness streamed down your cheeks as your lips turned into a smile.

“I love you.” You said back. Because he was your whole world, your reason to live, your future.

Dean squeezed your hand lovingly while his other hand rested on your lower belly. His nose brushed yours. Your breaths mixing and your lips just a few inches apart.

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[iamkeruhh]

showering with bf dean

headcannons ٠࣪⭑ non-explicit, Dean Winchester x reader (f), Dean in love, major fluff, Ig I’m just pumping out hcs today

٠࣪⭑ Dean would wash your hair while murmuring about all the unnecessary girly products you use, yet his heartbeat would stutter in his chest at the smell, because it reminds him of you, and he’d smile while watching you melt under his hands that are threaded in your hair.

٠࣪⭑ he would act all cocky, constantly cracking suggestive jokes and looks, until your soapy hands glide all over him, massaging the knots in his neck and getting all the dirt and grime from the hunt off his skin— yeah he’s a goner. The man melts like butter in a hot pan.

٠࣪⭑ dramatic soft shower kisses are mandatory, whether it’s you stealing a kiss from him while his eyes are closed or he pulls you in while “innocently” washing your body. Neither of you caring about the suds dripping into your eyes.

٠࣪⭑ a long domestic hug under the spray after you’re all clean, just his big arms wrapped around you, engulfed in the shower steam and weak water pressure, warm bare bodies pressed together just right that it feels like you’re one. He’d press an absentminded kiss to your wet hair and sigh as he let the post-hunt exhaustion comfortably fall over him.

٠࣪⭑ he’d get out and towel himself off first just so he can wrap you up in a fresh towel, with such concentration it’s almost comical, right when you get out so you’re not too cold.

٠࣪⭑ Dean would also totally help brush and blow dry your hair— and for my fellow curly girls, he’d put in all your products (he’s practically a pro after watching you do it so many times), running his hands through your hair so reverently, scrunching with his big hands, and he’d even diffuse it for you because he knows you can’t fall asleep with wet hair, and that you’re tired after the hunt (so is he but he doesn’t care)

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐀𝐢𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧

Parings → Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings → fluff, a bit emotional

Summary → After three months, Tom finally comes home and you go to the airport to pick him up.

Today is the day. Tom is coming back home from the US. It's been three months since you last saw your boyfriend. You couldn't visit him because of your university classes.

You arrived at the airport right on time, your heart pounding with excitement. The anticipation was nearly unbearable. It had been three long months since you'd last seen Tom, and though you tried to stay strong, you missed him terribly. The texts and late-night FaceTime calls weren't enough; you needed to feel his warmth, hear his laugh in person, and see the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you spotted him. He looked tired but still impossibly handsome in his dark coat and maroon sweater, pulling his suitcase behind him. The moment your eyes met, you couldn't hold back.

"Tom!" You called out, your voice ringing with joy.

Tom's face lit up as he saw you. He let go of his suitcase, leaving it for Harry to deal with, and broke into a run, meeting you halfway. Without thinking, you jumped into his arms, and he caught you effortlessly, holding you close. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms clung to his neck as if you'd never let go.

"Gosh, darling, I missed you so much," Tom whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. He held you so tightly you could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

"I missed you too, so, so much," you replied, your voice barely more than a breath as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent that you'd longed for.

Your lips met in a soft, tender kiss, full of the love and longing that had built up over the months. It was gentle, yet powerful, and as his lips moved against yours, the world seemed to fall away.

You were so wrapped up in each other that you didn't even hear the loud clearing of a throat until Harry spoke up, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Uh, we're here too, if you haven't noticed."

You pulled back slightly, still holding onto Tom, and looked over at Harry and Jack, who were watching with amused smiles. Tom reluctantly let you down, and you turned to the others with a sheepish grin.

"Of course, I missed you guys too," you said, pulling them into hugs, one after the other. Harry squeezed you tight, lifting you off your feet for a moment before setting you down.

"You're like the annoying sister I never had," Harry teased as he released you, but there was genuine affection in his voice. "Tom wouldn't shut up about how much he missed you. It was sickening."

"Don't act like you didn't miss her too," Tom shot back, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close to his side.

Jack, who had been standing back with a grin, finally stepped forward. "I'd be offended if you didn't miss me," he joked as he pulled you into a hug.

"How could I not?" You teased, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at being surrounded by the people you cared about most.

As you all made your way out of the airport, Tom's hand never left yours. His fingers intertwined with yours as though he needed the reassurance that you were really there beside him.

Once you reached the car, Tom pulled you aside for a moment, his eyes soft as they gazed into yours. "I don't think I can ever leave you for that long again," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You leaned into his touch, feeling tears prick the corners of your eyes. "It was hard, but you were worth the wait," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of your emotions.

Tom's eyes glistened as he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "I love you so much, babe. I never want to be apart from you again."

"I love you too, Tommy," you replied, your heart swelling with the depth of your feelings. "We always make it work, no matter what. I'll always be here, waiting for you."

Tom kissed you again, a slow, lingering kiss that spoke of promises and the future you would build together. When you finally pulled away, both of you were smiling, your hearts light and full.

Harry, ever the prankster, chose that moment to roll his eyes dramatically. "Alright, lovebirds, let's get going before I lose my lunch," he called out, already sliding into the backseat of the car.

You and Tom laughed, and with a final squeeze of his hand, you climbed into the car together, your hearts beating in sync, knowing that no matter the distance, your love would always bring you back to each other.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞

Parings → Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings → Embarrassment, teasing, suggestive content, swearing, fluff, chaos, Tom being dramatic, public humiliation, Instagram live, playful banter, secondhand embarrassment.

Summary → During an Instagram live, Tom embarrasses himself by getting too handsy, not realizing it’s live.

You weren’t even planning on going live, but boredom struck, and here you were—sitting in front of your vanity, phone propped up, chatting with thousands of people while doing your skincare routine.

“Okay, so this is the toner I’ve been obsessed with lately,” you said, holding up a pretty glass bottle. “It’s so hydrating, and my skin has been drinking it up like—” You paused as you tapped the product into your face, glancing at the flood of comments.

“Queen is blessing us with a random live? We won today.”

“Not me ignoring my assignments for this.”

“The skincare routine, finally!”

You giggled. “I love how invested you guys are in my skincare. Should I do this more often?”

The chat exploded with “YES!!” and variations of “Absolutely,” making you laugh as you moved on to serum.

You were mid-way through explaining how this particular product made your skin look “glowy but not greasy” when the bedroom door creaked open. Tom walked in, fresh out of a shower, towel slung around his neck, wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, looking all soft and cuddly. His curls were damp and tousled in that unfairly attractive way.

A soft smile formed on your lips as you caught his reflection in the vanity mirror. “Hey, love.”

Tom came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and leaning down to press a kiss against your temple. “Hey, darling,” he murmured, voice raspy from sleep.

You saw the chat go wild.

“OMGGGG TOMMMM”

“PLS HE’S SO CLINGY”

“This man is in love, your honor.”

Completely unaware of the audience watching, Tom pressed another kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, moving closer to your neck. “Missed you,” he murmured.

You snorted. “Tom, you were literally in the other room.”

“I know, but I still missed you,” he whined dramatically, swaying you side to side.

The chat was eating it up.

“Tom is the clingiest bf ever confirmed.”

“He’s such a golden retriever lmao.”

Tom finally glanced up at your phone. “Are you recording a video?” He asked, tilting his head.

You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could, Tom’s hand slid up and—without hesitation—he gave your boob a playful squeeze.

S Q U E E Z E.

At the same time, he leaned in and whispered into your ear, “Fuck, you look so hot in this top.”

You let out the most unholy yelp known to mankind.

“Thomas!”

“What?” He grinned.

“I’m LIVE ON INSTAGRAM!”

The color drained from Tom’s face so fast you swore you could see it happening.

His eyes went wide like a deer caught in headlights, and then—without a word—he bolted. Full on, Olympic sprinter, ran out of the camera frame.

The chat absolutely lost it.

“OH MY GOD DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?!”

“TOM. THOMAS. THOMAS STANLEY HOLLAND. YOU DID NOT.”

“I CAN’T BREATHE LMFAOOOO”

“Poor Y/n is TRAUMATIZED.”

“NOT ON THE LORD’S INTERNET.”

Your jaw was still on the floor as you turned to the camera, completely flustered. “I—” You put your hands over your face, groaning. “That did not just happen.”

Tom was yelling from somewhere off-camera. “WHY DIDN’T YOU WARN ME FIRST?!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW YOU’RE GONNA DO THAT!!”

Your phone kept buzzing with comments, and then the real chaos began.

Harry: “I was so invested in the skincare routine. You had to ruin it, you idiot!”

Sam: “We did NOT need to see that, Tom 😐”

Paddy: “Does someone have holy water?”

Harrison: “Keep the freakiness for the bedroom, mate.”

Tuweine: “Did NOT expected that, T.”

Zendaya: “There are CHILDREN present HERE!”

Nikki: “Thomas Stanley Holland, you better behave!”

Your jaw dropped at that last comment. “Oh my god—your mum is in the chat.”

You heard a muffled scream from the hallway. “NOOOOO.”

Laughter bubbled out of you as the chat continued to go crazy.

“Y/n, go check if Tom is still breathing.”

“The way he ran out, I’m crying.”

“Nikki Holland coming in with the FINAL BLOW.”

Still reeling from what had just happened, you barely registered the nonstop buzz of notifications. The comments were relentless.

“Y/n, drag him back on camera. We need a public apology.”

“TOM GET BACK HERE.”

“He’s literally in his ‘cringe I wanna disappear’ era.”

You snorted, calling out over your shoulder, “Tom, they want a statement from you, Mr. Holland.”

From the hallway, you heard a muffled groan. “Tell them I’m dead.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned the phone slightly toward the open door. “Guys, he’s being dramatic.”

There was another flood of messages.

“Drag his ass back.”

“We demand accountability.”

“Not him hiding like a guilty puppy.”

Taking pity on your boyfriend, you got up and walked out of frame, finding Tom leaning against the wall, face buried in his hands.

You poked his arm. “Tommy?”

“I can never show my face on the internet again,” he mumbled.

You giggled. “Aw, c’mon, it’s not that bad.”

Tom peeked at you through his fingers. “Babe, I grabbed your boob. On live. While thousands of people were watching.”

You bit your lip to stop from laughing. “Yeah… yeah, you did.”

Tom groaned, dropping to the floor. “This is worse than that time I accidentally liked a thirst tweet about myself.”

“Oh, way worse.” You grinned, leaning against the wall next to him. “But at least you’ve given the internet something to talk about for the next decade.”

He whined, tugging at your hoodie, burying his face into your stomach. “I hate it here.”

You ran your fingers through his curls soothingly. “You’re fine, baby. I think they loved it. But you still owe an apology.”

“Tell them I’m deceased,” he mumbled dramatically, voice muffled against your hoodie.

You rolled your eyes before gripping his shoulders. “Nope. Get up, babe. You’re not getting out of this one.”

He whined. Whined. Like a toddler being told to share his toys. “Y/n, please.”

But you had no mercy. You grabbed his wrist, tugging him up onto his feet.

“Nooo—don’t make me go back there,” he whined as you dragged him toward the vanity, his feet literally dragging against the floor.

The chat absolutely lost it.

“NOT HER DRAGGING HIM LIKE A CHILD 😭”

“This is the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Tom, buddy, you did this to yourself.”

With one final tug, you plopped him back in front of the phone. Tom dramatically flopped onto the chair, throwing his head back like he was in physical pain.

Then, with the biggest sigh in the world, he stared at the camera, and said in the most deadpan voice: “I would like to formally apologize for what just happened. I am a disgrace. A fool. An absolute idiot. Please respect my privacy during this difficult time.”

You burst out laughing, and the chat exploded.

“HIS FACE LMAOOO”

“We forgive you, but only because this was HILARIOUS.”

“You’re a menace, Tom.”

“HIS FACE I’M WHEEZING”

“THE DRAMATICS.”

“You are NOT escaping this, Thomas Stanley.”

Shaking your head, you wiped away a tear of laughter. “Oh my god, you are so dramatic.”

Tom glanced at the chat, saw Nikki’s comment again, and groaned. “I am so getting a call from Mum later.”

You patted his cheek. “That’s a future Tom problem.”

He pouted. “Can I at least get a kiss to make me feel better?”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

The chat went crazy.

“HE’S SO ADORABLE 😭”

“Not him sneaking a kiss mid-apology.”

“The way they’re so in love I’m sick.”

Tom smiled against your lips. “See? They forgive me.”

You shook your head, turning back to the camera. “Okay, I think that’s enough chaos for one night. Love you guys, but I’m ending this before Tom does something else embarrassing.”

“Hey—”

You ignored him and waved. “Bye, everyone!”

As soon as the screen went dark, you turned to Tom with a smirk. “So… still feeling like an idiot?”

He sighed, wrapping his arms around you again. “Yes. But at least now I have you to comfort me.”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it.”

Yeah. Yeah, you really did.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

[ptergwen]

omg can you write a blurb where peter and the reader are in the stage of their relationship where they can't keep their hands of each other and keep leaving hickeys on each other and sexiling their roommates ? love your stuff <3

my place or yours?

ask box  |  taglist  |  blurb masterlist  |  main masterlist

w/c: 793

warnings: 18+!, smut (p in v), language

a/n: hehe one of my fave tropes, when everyone's fed up because they can't get enough of each other :D hope you enjoy! and friendly reminder to join my new taglist it's dead y'all lmao

you move your hips against peter's, rubbing yourself against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. you both make noises of content, lips and tongues intertwined. peter helps you take off your shirt and works on your bra next. you smile coyly from above him as his hands find your chest.

"when's harry gonna be back?"

peter's hands massage your breasts, eyes glazed over with lust.

"uh, i don't know... or care."

he leaves a trail of kisses going down between your breasts. you giggle and push his head back playfully.

"but what if he walks in again?"

"don't worry about it, i put a sock on the doorknob... just in case."

you ruffle peter's hair, dipping your head down so your faces are just inches apart.

"you're so extra, pete. you could've just texted him."

"i know, but i really wanted to piss him off this time."

"i feel kind of bad, though. we've been sexiling him a lot lately."

peter moves his hands down to your hips, guiding you forward so your clothed center presses against him. he gives you a cheeky smile.

"so next time we'll go to your dorm and sexile betty."

you scoff at peter and capture his lips in a kiss. he bucks his hips up, into you, needing you. you need him just as bad.

you can't seem to get enough of each other recently, so much so that you'll go at it anytime and anywhere. your friends aren't too happy about it. they either get kicked out of the room or banned from entering.

you and peter finish undressing each other, fast but somehow still not fast enough. in one swift motion peter flips you over and grabs your leg, lifting it up to his shoulder. his dark eyes lock with yours. you nod repeatedly, desperately. he pushes into you with ease, a moan instantly falling from his lips.

"fuck, baby."

you hum happily. peter keeps his hips still for a moment, lets himself fill you up and feel you wrapped around him. he takes the opportunity to connect your lips once again in a slow kiss. you smile into the kiss and curl your other leg around peter's waist, encouraging him to move. he pulls out of you just enough so he can thrust back in.

peter begins to find a rhythm as his cock thrusts into you again and again. he can tell it's one you like by the way you grab at his shoulders and let out soft moans. he holds your leg in place on his shoulder so he keeps hitting the right spot, at the right angle. you can feel yourself drip between your thighs from how bad you'd wanted him and how good he's fucking you.

"pete... feels so good, baby."

neither of you are making any effort to be quiet. peter presses his forehead to yours, hips moving at the same perfect pace. you take his face in either of your hands. you close your eyes and focus on the pleasure. peter brings a hand down to rub your clit, earning a gasp from you at the sudden intensified feeling. he chuckles at your reaction.

"you like that?"

"mm, you know i do."

"wanted to hear you say it anyway."

you groan at peter's cockiness, but god does it turn you on.

"of course you did."

peter continues stroking in and out of you as his middle and ring fingers circle your clit. you crane your neck so you can kiss across peter's jaw, his chin, then back to his lips, his tussled hair tickling your forehead. you give him a look, the look with the eyes that gets him every time.

"harder."

peter brings your other leg up to his shoulders, holding them both in place, starting to pound into you. he groans out a fuck. you arch your back and reach up, hands still cupping his cheeks. you're breathless and he's panting. you want more and more, as much of him as you can take, even more than that.

"oh my god, y/n. shit, baby."

"needed you so bad, pete."

"i’m all yours."

peter takes one of your hands and kisses your palm. you squeeze your intertwined hands, eyes fluttering closed in pure bliss.

the moment is interrupted when you two hear harry call from outside.

"again, parker? really?"

he bangs on the door for emphasis. peter stifles a laugh, continuing to thrust into you, making you have to stifle a moan.

"hey, man! respect the sock!"

"yeah. you're a real class act, you two."

you wait until harry leaves to join peter in a fit of giggles. you push some damp hair out of his face, scrunching up your nose.

"okay, yeah. my place next time."

tags (join my new taglist!)

@spidermans-gf @sacharinee @thollandsgirl2013 @pettypeety

[officallyunstable]

Could you write something about Dean Winchester's daughter reader? Maybe something about Dean as a foster father. The reader gets injured in a hunt or is kidnapped and is very scared. Dean rescues her, bandages her wound, and sleeps with her, seeing her trembling with fear.

🖤𝓨𝓸𝓾’𝓿𝓮 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓮🖤

A/N: Sorry for the wait I have a lot going on. Just a heads up for everyone my requests are closed and my waitlist is long. Feel free to request once my box is available 

Summary: Dean has become your foster father. You make a poor decision and he’s forced to patch you up 

Genre: Slight angst ends in fluff 

Pairing: daughter!reader x Dean Winchester

Word count: 6.2K

Warning: Slight injury, mentions of blood and needles. 

Life as a Winchester wasn’t easy, especially when you didn’t consider yourself a real one. Your father… foster father, took you in one night when your parents were tragically killed. Before then you knew nothing about hunting or monsters. Your life was great, your parents were kind to you, you had friends. One camping trip sent everything down the drain

You were the only survivor, you were eight. The Winchester’s found you after reading about a missing family in Minnesota. They didn’t expect to come across a shaky kid curled up in the back of a beat up tent, but when they did they saved you. The tall one, Sam, was the first one to approach you. He managed to get you out of your hiding place and into the impala. The other brother, Dean, connected with you later that day. 

He was gruff and rough around the edges but he was comforting for some reason. They tried to pretend like your parents had been mauled by a bear but you knew what you saw. Eventually they told you the truth about monsters and how your parents died. Apparently it was a wendigo. They took you to a cabin they were renting and kept you safe for the night. The next morning you heard them discussing how they’d hand you over to the authorities. 

You bolted. You were young but you weren’t stupid. You were friends with a kid in your science class, his name was Keith. His parents had given him up as a baby and he was forced into foster care. He’d cry about his life every class period. You were gonna end up like that poor kid. You didn’t make it very far fortunately. Dean caught you pretty quick and scooped you up. You threw a fit and tried to run off again until they sat you down and had a talk. 

You told them you didn’t have any family, which was true. Your grandparents weren’t around and your parents didn’t have any other connections. It was just the three of you. You told them how you didn’t wanna end up like Keith and how scared you were of the foster system. 

Long story short they decided to take you back to their bunker. It was huge and insanely cool for an eight year old. Their deal was to keep you for a few days and let you calm down before they gave you up…. But that day never happened. Weeks turned into months and eventually the months turned into years. The boys became your guardians and Dean became your father. 

It was unconventional and odd but it fit. Sam was a total mother hen, he homeschooled you and made sure you focused on your studies. They gave you a new life, a fresh start. The news wrote you and your family off as missing persons and since the bunker was in Kansas you didn’t have to worry about people recognizing you. Life was… ok. Dean treated you like his own kid because after a while you were. 

He raised you and parented you. He showed you how to use a gun, how to handle a knife. He helped you decorate a room and made you feel loved. He even taught you how to cook up a few things. The only thing you weren’t allowed to do was hunt. That was the deal. If you were gonna stay with the boys you were gonna stay home. No fighting no danger just research. That all changed when you turned seventeen 

“Dean please” you begged, rolling your eyes for the tenth time 

“No Y/n, you know the rules. You don’t hunt, you read” Dean said 

“But I’m not a little kid anymore. I can fight” you argued 

“I know you’re not but that’s not the point” Dean walked over to the table you were siting at and stroked your hair 

“I’m not saying you’re not capable, I’m sure you are. But it’s not safe and I’m not putting my girl in danger” he said sternly 

“But-“

“Uh uh” he cut you off and ruffled your hair. “No but’s, finish your schoolwork, Sam and I were thinking pizza” he said, gently tapping your nose 

“Again” you groaned 

“Oh hush, you know you love it” he chuckled and strolled back towards his room. You did as you were told and kept working on your research paper. A few minutes later you heard a pair of footsteps walking towards the library. You turned your head and saw Sam 

“Hey kiddo” he greeted you with a soft smile, you huffed 

“Can you talk to Dean” you asked 

“Bout what- oh” he trailed off when he saw your expression. He walked up towards the table and leaned against the edge 

“You know the rules” he said gently 

“Yea but it’s different now, I’m older” you whined 

“I know but Dean doesn’t want you out there and frankly neither do I” Sam said. Sam was like another parental figure for you. More of an uncle than anything, he let Dean take the lead when it came to discipline and lecturing. 

“I swear you two act like I’m still ten” you complained, Sam laughed and gently grabbed your shoulder. He gave it a tender squeeze and started working his fingers through a stubborn muscle knot 

“Look, I’d love to have you hunt with us. God knows we need the backup. But it’s not safe and we’d rather keep you home then have you get hurt” 

“But it’s so boring here” you moaned and flopped down on the table, mushing your face against your arms 

“I know” Sam huffed a soft laugh and started rubbing the back of your neck. “You’re young and full of teenage angst” he teased, you scoffed 

“Maybe one day, ok? But for now all you need to worry about is your punctuation”He nudged your elbow and tapped your paper with his pointer finger 

“I wanna see this done by dinner ok?” He said, you nodded. He gave you a head pat and let you finish your work. An hour passed before Dean called you and Sam into the kitchen. He laid a box of pizza down and grabbed a couple plates for the three of you. You sat across from the boys, per usual, and grabbed a slice with a dramatic sigh. Dean chuckled and rolled his eyes 

“You gonna pout all day honey?” He joked, grabbing his own piece of pizza 

“M’not pouting” you mumbled before taking an angry bite. Sam smiled and nodded 

“Definitely doesn’t look like she’s pouting” he loudly whispered to Dean. Dean shrugged 

“Yea how could I even ask” 

You whined and tossed your pizza onto your plate “guys” you groaned. They both laughed and gave you a sympathetic smile 

“We’re only teasing” Dean reached out and squeezed your hand 

“I’m serious” you huffed

“I know you are” Dean said “and so am I” he gave your hand another squeeze, a silent way of saying “this conversations over”. You rolled your eyes and took another bite of your food 

“You get the rest of that paper done?” Sam asked

“Yes” you snapped 

“Hey, try that again” Dean said, sternly correcting your tone 

“Yes” you repeated, forcing yourself to sound a little less irritated 

“Fix your face” Dean added, you let out a loud sigh and relaxed your pursed lips. You finished dinner and helped Sam clean up the table. Later that night on your way to take a shower you overheard the boys discussing a hunt 

“We can leave in the morning” Dean said, his voice was hard to make out but you were determined to eavesdrop 

“What about Y/n” 

“She’ll stay here like she always does” 

“She really wants to hunt Dean” Sam sighed 

“I’m aware, she yaps my head off about it every damn day” 

You tried to contain your laughter. You leaned in closer towards library to hear them 

“Are you ever gonna let her hunt?” Sam asked 

“I dunno Sammy, maybe?” Dean shrugged “I know how bad she wants too but I just… I don’t wanna put her in danger. I mean hell livin with us is danger enough” Dean scoffed, Sam nodded 

“Alright, you want me to give her a heads up?”

“Nah I got it” you heard Deans chair creek and you immediately bolted towards your room. You threw yourself on your bed and picked up a random book off your nightstand. 

“Hey kiddo” you glanced up at your doorway and smiled 

“Hey” you put the book down and watched Dean stroll into your room 

“Sam and I are leaving in the morning” he said, he plopped down beside you and sat his hand on your knee 

“Another hunt?” 

“Yep, we’re thinking spirit but it could be something else you know how it goes” he said 

“Can I come?” You asked, even though you knew the answer 

“Y/n” he said sternly 

“Fine” you huffed, Dean chuckled and stroked your hair 

“I’m just trying to look out for you sweetheart” he pulled you towards him and kissed your temple 

“What time are you going?” You asked

“We’ll probably head out at seven, don’t worry I’ll let you sleep in” he winked

“K” you said dryly, Dean just shook his head and gave you a pat on the back 

“Get some sleep, I’ll call you tomorrow” he left you alone for the rest of the night which was unfortunately a big mistake. The only reason you wanted to know when they were leaving was so you knew when to get up in the morning. You had a plan, a stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless. You set your alarm for six that night and made sure you were up early enough to sneak out of your room in  the morning. 

You knew Dean wouldn’t pack till he absolutely needed to. He’d probably start getting dressed by 6:45. Sam on the other hand, you had to worry about him. He liked getting up, making breakfast, going for a run. You had to be stealthy. You snuck out of your room at 6:03 AM. You were exhausted, you rarely got up that early, but you were determined. You tip toed your way down the hall and into the garage. 

You walked up to the impala and made sure you had everything you needed. Your knife, a flashlight, and…. you slipped your hand inside your jacket pocket and nodded. Your snacks. You shut your eyes and let out a deep breath, you knew Dean was gonna be pissed when he found you. Despite your better judgement you proceeded with your stupid plan. You opened the trunk, tossed your crap inside and quietly crawled into the car. You managed to shove all the weapons and equipment further back to make room for your body

Plan stowaway was in motion 

You laid in the trunk for a while before you finally heard footsteps. You shut off your flashlight and tried to keep your breathing as quiet as possible. 

“Did you check on Y/n?” You heard Sam’s muffled voice through the trunk. 

“Yea, she’s out like a light” Dean chuckled 

Perfect 

The pillows you shoved under your comforter worked brilliantly. 

“Did you talk to her about the hunt?” Sam asked, you heard the door open and felt the car shake when Sam tossed his bags into the back. 

“I told her we were heading out but I didn’t discuss the details” Dean said, he opened the drivers side and hopped in. 

“You think it’d be too much for her?” Sam opened his side and got into the passenger seat 

Too much? What were they talking about?

“I don’t know Sammy, I don’t like talking to her about hunting let alone this. Let’s just keep it between us ok?” You raised your brow. Keep what between them? The car started and the engine roared, you almost yelped. The car was definitely louder in the trunk. You couldn’t make out what they were saying anymore so you just decided to get comfortable. It was gonna be a long ride. 

~~~~~

You didn’t know how long you’d been in the trunk. All you knew was that your neck was aching and your back was cramping. Your flashlight kept flickering and you ran out of snacks two hours ago. You tried taking a nap but the roads were too bumpy and every time you laid your head down you banged it against the side of the car 

You were about to start counting the crumbs from your granola bar for the fifth time before you felt the car stop. You didn’t panic at first, the car had stopped multiple times already. Red lights, pee breaks, gas stops. You figured they were just grabbing another bag of jerky from a convenience store again until you heard the engine shut off. Your heart immediately started to pound. You felt your stomach flip and your face suddenly felt hot 

You had two options. Try and sneak out of the trunk before they got out of the car. Or wait for them to open the trunk and find you themselves. Both were guaranteed to go wrong. There was no way you’d be able to pop the trunk without them seeing or hearing it. Staying in the trunk was just as terrifying. You felt the car shake a little, the boys were clearly shuffling around in the front seat 

Screw it 

You went to grab the lever to unlock the trunk when you realized… it was gone. 

Crap 

Of course the lever was gone, Dean yanked it off just in case they needed to transport a monster. Guess you were going with plan b. 

“You sure this is the right trail?” You heard Sam’s muffled voice just above the trunk. 

“Pretty sure, the ranger said it was the one with the yellow sign” Dean replied. You could already see the future trouble you’d be in. You heard shoes scraping across a gravelly surface and braced yourself for a lecture. The trunk creaked open slightly and a sliver of light beamed through the crack.  

“Flares in here?” Dean asked 

“Should be” Sam answered, the trunk flew open 

“We should-“ you squinted your eyes and held your hand over your face. The sunlight was bright but you could make out a figure standing in front of you. You blinked a few times and slowly moved your hand, revealing a very surprised, very pissed off Dean 

“What the hell” he said, Sam came around the corner, his eyes grew wide 

“Y/n?” He said 

“Hi..” you said shyly. Dean didn’t answer he just glared down at you and clenched his jaw. 

“I can-“ 

“Get out” Dean said sternly 

“Dean-“

“Get. Out” he growled, you quickly scurried out of the trunk and swept as many crumbs away as possible 

“Look I just wanted to-“

“I don’t care what you wanted Y/n” Dean snapped

“Dean” Sam warned 

“I gave you a direct order and you disobeyed me” Dean said 

“I didn’t think it was a big deal” you whispered 

“A big deal?! Are you serious? Do you understand what we do Y/n, people die out here. Do you understand that? People die” 

“I can handle it Dean” 

“No you can’t! You’re a child, you’re my child Y/n, and I specifically told you I wanted you nowhere near this crap” 

“I just wanted to help” you choked, your voice was quiet and broken 

“Help? You’re gonna get yourself killed out here” Dean barked 

“Dean go easy” Sam cut in 

“What are we supposed to do Sam?” Dean turned around, Sam sighed and shook his head 

“We can’t leave her in the car, it’s already getting dark. If it finds her…”

“If what finds me?” You asked, Dean glared at you 

“The thing we’re hunting” He answered sharply 

“Which is..?” 

Dean paused and let out an angry huff “a wendigo”. Your stomach dropped 

“A wendigo?… You mean the thing that..” you trailed off 

“The thing that killed your parents” Dean finished for you 

“Dean!” Sam yelled 

“What Sam? She needs to know that this isn’t some game this is real life” Dean stepped closer to you and grabbed your chin. “I can’t leave you in this car because it’s not safe. You are going to glue yourself to me do you understand?” He ordered, you nodded 

“You don’t take off, you don’t speak, you stay directly beside me the entire time. If I tell you to hide you hide, if I tell you to run you run. Understood?”

“Yes” you said quietly 

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve done in a long time Y/n” Dean mumbled, he let you go and grabbed a handful of weapons. He handed Sam a knife before he turned back towards you. You looked down at his hand as he pushed something at you 

“This is a flare gun. It’s dangerous and incredibly hot. You do not fire this thing off unless it is absolutely necessary, ok?”

You nodded 

“You shouldn’t have to use it if you stay behind me but if you do you aim for the chest. Don’t try for the head you’ll miss, hold it with both hands and pull the trigger” he explained. He handed you the gun and took in a deep breath. 

“Alright cmon, it’s getting late” he turned towards the trail and you followed the boys into the woods. After a few minutes Dean turned around and bent down 

“Hold onto my jacket. Don’t let go” he whispered, you clutched onto his pocket and held it tight. The boys kept walking, following a trail of broken twigs and snapped leaves. You were only in the woods for twenty minutes or so before you heard something that made your heart break 

“Y/n! Y/n help me!” You froze, the boys snapped their heads in the direction of the voice 

“Mom” you whispered, Dean grabbed your wrist and yanked you towards him 

“That’s not your mom Y/n, you stay close to me, do not move” he commanded

“Y/n!” It screamed again, you couldn’t control yourself from pulling towards the voice. Dean’s hand was wrapped around yours so tight you were pretty sure your skin would be bruised in the morning. The boys created a makeshift protective circle around you. Keeping you in between their bodies. The leaves around you rustled, the twigs were snapping in every direction. 

“Sam” Dean warned 

“I know” Sam held up his flare and aimed it at the woods. You were about to raise up your gun before there was a shriek. You whipped your head to the right, a large mangled figure jumped out of the brush with its teeth bared. It slammed its body into Sam and knocked him to the ground 

“Get down!” Dean shoved you away from the monster causing you to tumbled into the dirt. 

“Sam!” Dean screamed and held up his flare, he aimed it at the creature but it was quicker. It smacked his arm, knocking the flare out of his hand. It had its fingers on Sam’s throat, restricting his airway with a tight hold. Sam was thrashing around on the ground struggling to breathe. He was scratching and clawing at the creatures wrist, trying his best to rip it off of him. 

“Dean!” You yelled, Dean was busy trying to pull the monster off of Sam. He snatched his knife out of his pocket and stabbed the wendigo in the back. It screamed and let go of Sam, who was limp and covered in sweat. It lunged for Dean and your heart stopped 

“NO!” You hollered, it didn’t seem to care. It threw Dean into a nearby tree trunk before it locked eyes with you. You scrambled back on all fours but you couldn’t get through the thick bushes. You didn’t want to abandon the boys but you knew you wouldn’t be able to take down a wendigo. The creature slowly crept towards you, its fangs were glistening in the moonlight. Despite your internal self doubt you raised your flare gun and aimed for its chest. The sight of the gun clearly pissed it off because it let out a sharp cry. 

You didn’t hesitate. You pulled the trigger and prayed you wouldn’t miss. A loud bang echoed through the woods and a bolt of bright flames slammed into the monsters torso. It shrieked again but this time it was a sound of pure agony. It backed away and crumbled to the ground. Disappearing in a dark black cloud of ash and smoke 

“Y/n!” Dean scrambled off the ground paying no attention to his bruised back or slightly injured brother. He dropped to his knees and cupped your face 

“Are you ok?! Did it get you?” He started ruffling through your clothes, checking for injuries. 

“No, no I’m fine, I’m fine” you said, but your voice was shaky and your cheeks were covered in tears. 

“Hey, hey, hey” Dean instantly started wiping them away with a concerned expression 

“Sorry” you apologized quietly 

“Don’t be sorry” he shook his head “just scared you didn’t it?” He said, you nodded. He was about to say something else before Sam groaned. He glanced over and remembered that he had just been strangled and immediately hopped up 

“Hold on” he mumbled, he was at Sam’s side in seconds, helping him sit up

“You good?” He asked, holding Sam’s shoulder tightly. Sam rubbed his neck with a grimace and nodded 

“Yea” he croaked and cleared his throat “yea I’m good” he said, Dean checked him over one last time before he gave him a pat on the back and returned to you 

“Cmon, let’s go” he hooked his arm under yours before you let out a pained gasp

“What! What?” He yelled, he immediately loosened his grip. You hunched over and grabbed your leg, you hadn’t notice before but there was a nasty gash across your shin.

“Damnit” Dean cursed “did I do that?” He asked nervously. You remembered him pushing you away from the monster, when you hit the ground you must’ve torn your leg up on the roots 

“No you didn’t mean to” you said, trying to make him feel less guilty but you could tell it wasn’t work 

“I’m sorry” he apologized “I’m so sorry” he stroked your hair back and grimaced at your leg 

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine” you lied, internally you were freaking out. You hadn’t seen a wendigo since the night your parents died and you certainly hadn’t had an injury to this degree 

“I gotcha” Dean didn’t even try and let you walk, he bent down and scooped you off the ground in one swift motion 

“Hey- I can walk” you went to roll out of his arms but he held you tighter 

“Uh uh, cmon Sammy” he carried you out of the woods, glancing behind him every few seconds to check on his brother. Once you reached the car he gently laid you in the backseat but instead of taking his usual position in the front he shook his head 

“Sit up a bit” he said softly, you pushed yourself up on your elbows and watched him slide into the back with you. He tapped his thigh, signaling for you to lay back down 

“C’mere” he gingerly laid his hand across your chest and pushed you back down. He used his thigh as a pillow and let you lay across his lap. Sam took the drivers seat and started the car. You looked up at Dean and saw how upset he looked. You felt your eyes begin to water, a wave of guilt hit you like a train. 

“I’m sorry” you whispered, he looked down at you and rubbed his finger across your forehead 

“For what” he questioned 

“For sneaking out” you said quietly, he let out a tired chuckle and nodded 

“It’s ok, I’m just glad you’re safe. We’ve all been there, but don’t do it again” he said sternly 

“I won’t” you looked away from him but he could see your teary eyes and twitchy lip

“Hey” his hand slid from your head to your chin. He lifted your face up so you were forced to look at him again

“I’m not mad” he said 

“You’re lying” you tried to turn your head away but he held you firmly 

“Hey, uh uh, I’m not. Look I wasn’t happy about it earlier but what’s done is done. All you need to worry about is getting that leg fixed” he said, motioning towards your ripped jeans 

“Hurts”you choked, accidentally letting a tear slip down your cheek. 

“I know” he cooed, gently wiping his thumb across your skin. 

“Do you think it’s bad?” You asked, the fear in your voice was so painfully obvious. Dean bit his lip and sighed. He didn’t wanna lie to you but he also didn’t wanna scare you any further 

“It’s not gonna feel nice but it’s not too deep. You’ll probably need a few stitches” your eyes went wide. 

“Stitches?” You whispered, Dean let out a quiet laugh 

“Yea that’s what happens when you mess around with hunting buttercup” he teased and poked the tip of your nose. He continued soothing you the rest of the way home. Reassuring you, answering all your questions, rubbing your arm. When you made it back to the bunker your leg was throbbing. Dean was well aware, your expression made it obvious 

“Alright don’t put any pressure on it, I’ll do all the heavy lifting” 

“I can carry her in” Sam offered, Dean almost turned him down till he saw the worry on Sam’s face. For a moment he forgot that he wasn’t the only one who cared about you as much as he did 

“Ok, Uncle Sammy’s gonna getcha ok?” He winked, he slowly slid out of the car, careful not to jostle you too much. Sam reached into the backseat and gently pulled you into his arms. He scooped you up with ease and shut the door with his hip. You melted against his chest, his warmth was comforting and his scent made you feel safe. 

“I gotcha sweetheart” he murmured, tucking you as close as possible to his body. He carried you through the bunker and into the infirmary. When you reached the beds he laid you down and stroked your hair back. He bent down and gave you a kiss on the head before he backed off and let Dean take the lead again. Dean darted towards the sink and washed his hands before he started frantically rummaging through the medicine cabinets. He pulled out gauze, antiseptic, and a small kit 

“Alright kiddo, lemme see that leg” he said, he walked towards the bed and sat down near your feet. He laid his supplies beside you and grabbed a pair of scissors

“I’m gonna cut off the fabric, it shouldn’t hurt” he explained. He gently lifted the bottom of your jeans and started to cut. He pulled it back so he could see the wound and sat the scissors back down. He cringed at the dirt and gunk smeared across the gash and sighed 

“I gotta clean it out honey” he said softly 

“Will it hurt?” You asked, sounding like a kid. Dean grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze 

“I’m gonna try my best to keep the pain at a minimum” he kissed the top of your hand before he let go and grabbed the med kit. He pulled out a small vial and a packaged syringe

“Woah” you immediately tensed up and pulled away from him. He let out a deep chuckle and rolled his eyes 

“What are you afraid of needles now?” He teased 

“What’s that for?” You asked 

“It’s just lidocaine, it’ll help with cleaning and stitching” he took the syringe out and filled it up. He grabbed a small wipe and gently dabbed the edges of your wound. You flinched a few times whenever he ran over a sensitive area 

“Sorry” he mumbled before bringing the syringe up. “Quick pinch” he warned, you clenched your jaw and prepared yourself for the jab. He inserted the needle and slowly pushed the plunger down. He let it sit for a few minutes before he got to work. He started cleaning your wound with gentle hands, surprisingly gentle given his lifestyle. 

“You doing ok?” He asked softly, you gave him a hesitant nod. “You sure? Is it hurting? I can give you more” 

“No it’s fine” you said quietly. He stared at you for a few seconds, scanning your face for any signs of discomfort. He went back to cleaning and eventually managed to wipe and pluck out all the dirt and grim. 

“Ok I’m gonna start the stitches, I need you to be very still ok?” He ordered calmly. He noticed how wide your eyes were and how shaky your hands looked. A small subtle smile crept up the corners of his lips. Almost like he was slightly amused by how innocent and sheltered you were to the lifestyle of a hunter. He’d been through hundreds if not thousands of stitches. He’d been on the verge of death multiple times. And here you were, scared of a little needle and a handful of stitches 

He held back the urge to chuckle. He didn’t want you to feel weak, because you weren’t, you were just normal. He glanced at Sam and gave him a silent gesture. Sam immediately crossed the room and sat down beside you on the bed. He grabbed your clammy hand and locked his fingers around yours 

“Don’t worry, it’ll be over before you know it” he reassured. You looked up at him and for a split second all he saw was the little girl he found in the woods all those years ago. He squeezed your hand and kissed the top of your head before he gave Dean a little nod. 

“Alright sweetheart, I’m gonna start now, try not to move” Dean said. He gingerly began to stitch up your wound. You expected it to be extremely painful but the medication seemed to take the edge completely off. He finished after thirty minutes and wrapped your leg up nice and tight. Sam helped him clean the bloody rags and wrappers before he left to give you some space. Dean stayed, he refused to leave you unattended 

“You should get some sleep” he said, he pulled up an old chair and sat down near your bedside 

“M’not tired” you lied, your eyes were already starting to droop. The left over adrenaline was gone now 

Dean let out a warm deep chuckle. “Yea I can see that” he said, he went to turn the lamp on the nightstand off before you stopped him 

“No! Don’t” your eyes snapped open as you stretched your arm out to stop him 

“Woah, woah, woah, alright kiddo, alright. We’ll leave it on tonight, no worries” he raised his hands up to calm you back down. You sunk back into the mattress and laid your head down. You tried to keep your eyes open but the fading adrenaline and sheer exhaustion was winning. You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until you were back in that forest. 

You were standing in the middle of the woods, alone, cold. You looked to your left and saw something you hadn’t seen in years. The mangled tent the monster ripped your parents from years and years ago. You felt your stomach drop when you heard the sound of rustling leaves. You went to grab your gun but you realized your pockets were empty. You were completely helpless. Completely vulnerable. 

You heard twigs snapping in the distance and your eyes welled up with tears. You wrapped your arms around yourself and started hyperventilating. You heard a loud groan, then a scream. A human sounding scream but you knew better. It howled and wailed, piercing your ears with a sharp pitchy tone. You smashed your hands against your ears and pushed down as hard as possible 

You didn’t realize that your brows were furrowed and your face was starting to sweat as you dreamed. You unconsciously let out a quiet whimper, sparking Dean’s attention. He looked up at you and immediately realized you were having a nightmare. 

“No” you groaned, you went to roll and squirm. In your mind you were getting away from the monster. In reality you were dangerously close to tearing your stitches. 

“Hey, hey” Dean jumped out of his chair and sat down on the edge of the bed 

“Y/n” he reached out and grabbed your shoulder 

“Mmph” you huffed and continued to squirm 

“Hey, hey, easy, easy, Y/n? Cmon” he gave you a gentle shake but you continued to dream 

“No” you said, louder this time. You kicked out your leg and pushed the covers with it 

“Ah, ah, easy, baby, hey” he shook you harder “wake up, you’re having a nightmare” he said softly 

You were full on running in your dream now. You were so close to the edge of the woods. So close you could see the impala siting in the clearing. 

“Dean” you mumbled, eyes still closed

“I’m right here honey” he tried to wake you again with a gentle pat to the cheek 

You kept running. You were so close until you felt a cold boney hand latch onto your arm. It pulled you back and threw you into the dirt. You turned around just as the thing was preparing to sink its teeth into your flesh when 

“Y/n!” 

You shot straight up with a loud gasp. You clutched your throat with one hand and held your shirt with the other. 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s ok, you’re ok” Dean grabbed your wrists and redirected your attention. Your breathing was labored and shallow, Dean stayed as calm as he could 

“Hey, breathe, look at me” he let go of your wrist to cup your face. He turned you towards him and stared at you with such deep paternal affection. “Slow it down” he commanded with a gentle tone. You looked at him and realized you weren’t in the woods anymore. You were safe, you were home 

“Dad-“ you went to say something before your cheeks went red and you realized what had escaped your lips. Your eyes went wide and you immediately felt ashamed. You couldn’t call him dad, he didn’t look at you that way. You felt so stupid and embarrassed 

“I didn’t- I wasn’t-“ you couldn’t even come up with an excuse or proper apology before he cut you off. He grabbed your chin and shook his head 

“Shh” he cooed “you’re ok” he reassured “it’s ok, look at me” he rubbed his thumb across your cheekbone. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for you understand?” You nodded 

“I know I should’ve had this talk with you a long time ago but I guess there’s no time like time the present. We might not share the same blood, you might not have my last name but you’re my daughter no matter what anyone says” he said softly, your eyes started to water with hot tears 

“I never called you that in front of people because I didn’t want to push you or scare you away but you’ve been mine since day one” he said sternly, you looked up at him with teary eyes 

“If you wanna call me dad you call me dad, ok?” 

“You don’t mind?” You whispered 

“Mind? You’re my baby girl, why would I mind?” He pushed your hair back and kissed your forehead. “You call me whatever you like” he whispered. Suddenly all your fear, all your anxiety, all your worry vanished. You forgot about the wendigo and the gash on your leg. All you could think about was the fact that your dad was holding you and your world together. 

“I’m sorry I snuck out and woke you up” you said, feeling a twinge of guilt 

“Hush. You didn’t wake me up, you were having a nightmare. It’s not your fault” he said softly. He pushed himself against the headboard and pulled you to his chest. “Just get some rest” he cooed, he brought his hand to your face and started rubbing gentle circles across your temple. You readjusted and snuggled under his arm. You sat there for a second before you glanced up at him 

“Hey… dad?” You tested

“Hmm” he hummed and looked down at you. You grinned and looked away 

“Nothin” you said. He smiled and let out a warm chuckle. He didn’t say anything, he was well aware of your intentions. He just laid his head back and continued stroking your temple. You practically melted into his touch, finally feeling completely and totally accepted. You felt his thumb move from your temple to your brow. He ran it across your brows before he slowly stroked his thumb down the bridge of your nose. 

His breathing was a lullaby in itself. His chest moved up and down slightly, and his warmth was incredibly comforting. He left the light on for the rest of the night and he stayed with you till morning. Even though you had a busted leg it was the best nights sleep you’d had in a long time. 

Taglist: @luula @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl

PS: I’m sorry I’ve been lacking with fics I’m trying to write quickly. (Also, I don’t love writing daughter fics I prefer sister, so when requesting pls keep that in mind) 

[fanfics4all]

Not Walking Away

Request: Yes / No

Request are open but ONLY if they’re Twilight or Supernatural! <3 Have a nice day/night

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 1025

Warnings: 

Y/N: Your Name 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

The first thing I notice is the smell. Rotten eggs, rust, and old blood. My wrists are bound above my head with thick iron cuffs, the metal biting into my skin every time I move. My toes barely brush the floor- just enough to keep my shoulders screaming as the strain pulls through my arms and down my spine. I try to remember how I got here. 

Dean’s face flashes behind my eyes. His stupid grin. The way he kissed my forehead before leaving for a “beer run”. I rolled my eyes, told him not to be long. 

The door explodes inward. I scream before I can stop myself. Three figures step inside, eyes black and smiles that are too wide, too sharp. Monsters. 

“Well,” One of them drawls. “Aren’t you just adorable.” 

I pull against the cuffs. “Dean!” I shout, voice breaking. “Dean!” 

Laughter fills the room. 

“Oh, honey.” Another man says, circling me slowly. “He can’t hear you.” 

The first blow comes out of nowhere. Pain detonates across my ribs, stealing the air from my lungs. I cry out, body jerking violently against the restraints. The man doesn’t even look impressed. 

“Let’s start simple,” He says. “You scream, we stop. You don’t scream… we keep going.” 

I scream anyway. 

Time stops meaning anything. They don’t rush. They savor it. Fists. Boots. The sharp crack of something solid across my back. Every hit is calculated- never enough to knock me out, never enough to kill me. Just enough to break me down piece by piece. They douse me in cold water when I start to fade, laughing as my teeth chatter uncontrollably. The cuffs are heated next- hot enough to burn, not enough to melt skin. Pain blooms white-hot and relentless, and I sob until my throat is raw. 

“Tell us about Dean Winchester.” One of them croons, grabbing my chin hard enough to bruise. “Where he hunts. What he fears.” 

“I don’t know!” I choke. “I swear, I don’t know!” 

Another blow. This time to my stomach. I retch uselessly, bile burning my throat. 

They leave me there for hours, maybe days? The lights stay on. Then off. Then on again. Sleep is impossible. Every time my head droops, pain snaps me awake. At some point, they bring a blade. Not to cut deep- just enough to remind me they could. 

“This is your fault.” One whispers in my ear. “You know that, right? Loving him.” 

I think I might die here. 

I think Dean will never know. 

*Dean’s POV*

I feel it before I see it. The sulfur hits my nose like a punch. The warehouse is warded, crawling with demonic energy, and every instinct in my body is screaming, too late, too late, too late. Sam grabs my arm. 

“Dean-” 

“No.” My voice is like ice. “They took her.” 

The door bursts open, and demons pour out. I don’t hesitate. The first one lunges- I jam my angel blade up under its jaw, twisting until black smoke erupts from it’s mouth. The second doesn’t even get a chance to speak before I unload a full clip into its skull, exorcism rounds tearing it apart. I don’t stop moving. Don’t stop killing. 

Sam watches, grim and silent, as I go feral. Knife. Gun. Fists. Nothing measured, nothing restrained. This isn’t a hunt. It’s a god damn massacre. 

Then I hear it. 

A whimper. 

“Please…” 

I freeze. 

The door at the back of the warehouse creaks open. And there she is. Hanging. Broken. 

“NO!” I roar. 

I cross the room in seconds, hands shaking as I fumble with the cuffs, ripping them open with brute force when the lock sticks. She collapses into my arms, boneless and shaking. 

“I’ve got you…” I say, voice breaking. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.” 

She doesn’t recognize me at first. But then she does. And she sobs. 

*Y/N’s POV*

I don’t recognize the hum when I wake up. Soft light. Warm blankers. Pain, everywhere, but muted, distant. I try to move and hiss as fire shoots through my ribs. 

“Easy.” Dean says immediately. He’s sitting beside the bed, sleeves rolled up, hands steady as he cleans and bandages wounds with practiced care. His jaw is tight, eyes bloodshot, like he hasn’t slept in days. 

“Where am I?” I whisper. 

“Our place.” He says quietly. “Safe.” 

I swallow. “What… What were those things?” 

Dean stills. 

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. 

Then: “Demons.” 

My breath catches. 

Sam appears in the doorway, gentle and careful like he always is. “Hey, you’re okay. We got you.” 

My world fractures. 

“Demons aren’t real.” I say weakly. 

Dean meets my eyes. “I’m sorry…” 

He explains everything. 

Hunters. Hell. Monsters. Heaven. Why he never told me. Every word feels like another weight pressing down on my chest, but somehow… it all fits. Too much makes sense. Dean’s hands never stop moving- cleaning, stitching, wrapping. He’s good at this. Too good. 

“I should’ve kept you out of it…” He says hoarsely. “I should’ve left. I should’ve-” 

“Dean.” I interrupt. He looks at me like he’s bracing for a verdict. 

“I love you.” I say simply. “That doesn’t change because demons are real.” 

His breath shudders. 

“I understand if this is too much.” He says quietly. “If you want out, if you never want to see me again- I’ll understand.” 

I stare at him. 

Then I laugh, weak and incredulous, which immediately turns into a wince. 

“What?” I say. “No, Dean, this is terrifying and insane, and I’m probably going to need therapy for the rest of my life, but I love you.” 

Tears spill down his face before he can stop them. 

“You went to hell and back for me.” I continue softly. “I’m not walking away.” 

He presses his forehead to mine, hands shaking. 

“I swear,” He whispers. “No one ever hurts you again. Not while I’m breathing.” 

I believe him. Wrapped in the hum of the bunker, stitched back together by the man who loves me, I realize something terrifying and true. I didn’t just survive hell. I chose the hunter who burned it down to get me back. 

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @princessjayll

[spacejjunk]

burn it down to build it back up

w/c: 6500

firefighter! dean x reader poll winner ♡

tags: firefighter! dean, hurt with comfort, established relationship, smut, fluff, injury and recovery

masterlist

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You had known your husband for as long as memory could reach back.

Dean Winchester had been a constant in your life since the days when the two of you were small enough to fit under the same hastily put together fort in either of your front yards, knees scraped and cheeks flushed from running wild through sprinklers and chasing fireflies until the streetlights buzzed on. Your houses sat side by side on that quiet suburban street, fences low enough to climb, windows close enough that you could tap on the glass and he’d answer. Your parents used to laugh from the porch, cold beers in hand, saying one day the jokes would stop being jokes and you two would end up married. 

They had no idea how right they were.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When you were little, Dean was simply the best. On the hottest summer afternoons, when the park swings burned your hands and the metal slide felt like it could fry an egg, he’d split his ice cream cone with you without a second thought- never mind that it was his favorite flavor. You’d sit shoulder to shoulder on the grass, sticky fingers and all, while both your moms fussed over little Sam in his stroller, cooing and adjusting the tiny sun hat Mary had bought him. Dean would roll his eyes at the baby talk but never once complained when you dragged him back over to “help” push the stroller. Those days felt endless and golden, the kind of easy that only exists before the world starts carving lines between people.

Pre-teen years turned him into something else entirely. Annoying didn’t even cover it. He was older by a few months and he never let you forget it. He would tug your ponytail hard enough to make your eyes water in the school hallway, then smirk like he’d won a prize when you spun around to glare. He’d call you names under his breath in front of his new friends, pretend you were invisible when groups formed at lunch, and act like the very idea of you existing in his orbit was some kind of cosmic joke.

But the nights were different. When the house got too loud or the thoughts in his head got too heavy, he’d still sneak out his bedroom window, drop down into the bushes, and find you already waiting in the backyard like you’d known he was coming. You’d lie side by side on the cool grass, staring up at the stars, his voice quieter than it ever was in daylight as he pointed out constellations he barely remembered the names of. Those nights were the only place the armor came off.

High school was the lost years. The world split you into different orbits so cleanly it almost felt deliberate. Dean became the guy everyone wanted to be around- tall, broad-shouldered, leather jacket thrown over flannel, that cocky grin that made girls forget their own names.

He had the Impala by then, and it seemed like every week there was a new one sliding into the passenger seat, laughing too loud as he peeled out of the driveway. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You told yourself the sharp twist in your chest every time you saw him with someone else was just leftover kid stuff. But it hurt. God, it hurt. You’d stand at your window pretending to study while he walked some cheerleader or drama club girl to the car, and you’d have to blink hard against the sting in your eyes before going back to your homework like nothing had happened.

So you got close to Sam instead. Mary had started picking up extra shifts, and someone needed to be around after school to make sure the kid actually did his homework instead of disappearing into comic books and sci-fi reruns. You volunteered without thinking twice. Sam was fourteen when it really started- lanky, all elbows and enthusiasm, eyes lighting up when you showed up on the porch with your backpack and a bag of microwave popcorn. You helped him through algebra that made his brain hurt, watched bad sci-fi movies on the living room couch with the volume low so Mary could sleep, and let him ramble about plots and theories until he ran out of breath. He felt like the little brother you’d never had. Safe. Easy. Warm in a way that didn’t ask anything complicated of you.

Dean noticed.

He didn’t get angry. He didn’t snap at Sam or glare at you. He just… watched. He’d come home from school or work, drop his keys on the counter, and pause in the doorway when he saw the two of you together. Sometimes he’d hover for a minute, hands in his pockets, a small, almost sad smile on his face as he listened to Sam explain some plot point to you with wild hand gestures. Other times he’d quietly offer to grab drinks from the kitchen or ask if you wanted the good blanket from the hall closet. He never interrupted. He just looked like he wished he knew how to step back into the circle without breaking it.

The longing showed up in quieter ways. He started coming home earlier on the days he knew you’d be there. He’d sit on the arm of the couch instead of taking the empty chair across the room, close enough to be part of it but careful not to take up space. Once, when Sam fell asleep during a movie, Dean gently pulled the blanket higher over his little brother’s shoulders and then glanced at you with something soft and aching in his eyes.

“You used to fall asleep during movies too,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Back when we were kids. I’d have to carry you home.”

You smiled, but the air between you felt heavier than it used to.

The night everything shifted started like any other. You’d stayed late helping Sam with a project that had him stressed. Dean had been in and out of the room, never demanding attention, just… present. When Sam finally went to bed, you stayed to clean up the mess of papers and colored pencils scattered across the coffee table. Dean lingered in the kitchen, pretending to look for something in the fridge.

You found him there a few minutes later, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, staring at nothing.

“You don’t have to keep coming over so much,” he said, voice low and careful. Not mean. Just tired. “Sam’s doing better. He’s got his own friends now. You don’t have to babysit him every day.”

You paused with a stack of papers in your hands. Something in his tone made your chest feel tight.

“I’m not babysitting him, Dean. I like being here. Sam’s easy to be around.”

Dean let out a soft breath, almost a laugh but not quite. He ran a hand through his hair, the way he did when he was trying to find words.

“I know. I just…” He shrugged, eyes on the floor. “I miss when it was us. When you used to come over and it was me you were laughing with. Feels like I blinked and you were his person instead.”

The words hung there, quiet and honest. No accusation. Just a simple, aching wish.

You set the papers down. The hurt you’d been carrying for years finally found its way out.

“You were the one who pulled away first,” you said, voice steady but thick. “We started high school and suddenly I didn’t exist unless it was convenient. New girl every week, new parties, new everything. I was still here. I was always here. You just stopped looking.”

Dean’s head came up. His eyes widened a little, like the words had landed somewhere he hadn’t expected. He opened his mouth, closed it again. For a long moment he just stood there, the realization settling over him in slow, heavy waves.

You kept going, softer now. “I waited. I kept waiting for you to remember I was next door. But you were too busy being cool and popular and whatever else you thought you needed to be. So yeah, I started hanging out with Sam. Because he actually wanted me around. Because he didn’t make me feel like I was just another inconvenience.”

Dean swallowed hard. The cocky mask he wore so well was gone. In its place was something raw and guilty.

“Shit,” he whispered. “You’re right.”

He pushed off the counter and took a small step closer, hands open at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I’m a dick,” he said, voice rough. “I got caught up in all the stupid high school crap and I acted like you were just… there. Like you’d always be there no matter what I did. And you were. You were always there. And I treated you like you didn’t matter.”

The kitchen was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. Dean looked at you like he was seeing the last few years clearly for the first time, and the weight of it sat heavy on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said, simple and sincere. “I didn’t even realize I’d done it until you weren’t waiting anymore. And then I got jealous of my own little brother because he got the version of you I used to have. That’s on me. All of it.”

You stood there in the dim light, the years of distance between you finally named out loud. Dean didn’t try to fix it with charm or jokes. He just stood there, honest and a little lost, waiting to see if you’d let him try to earn his way back.

The rest of the story unfolded from that quiet kitchen night when Dean finally saw what he had done.

After you laid it all out- how he had pulled away first, how you had stayed right where you always were- he stood there like the words had knocked the air out of him. The cocky, popular boy who used to have a new girl every week was gone. In his place was someone who looked at you like he was terrified he had already lost the only thing that had ever really mattered.

“I was a dick,” he said again, quieter this time. “And I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to just… forget it. But I want to earn it back. However long it takes.”

He meant it.

That night didn’t magically fix everything. But it was the first time in years he looked at you like he used to when you were kids- like you were still the person he wanted to share his ice cream with, the one he snuck out to find under the stars. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe he might actually mean it.

Dean started small. He showed up the next afternoon with your favorite takeout and didn’t try to insert himself into your time with Sam. He just sat on the floor a little ways off, listening while Sam talked about his latest ‘Men In Black’ obsession, occasionally chiming in with a dumb joke that made both of you laugh. When you left that night, he walked you to the edge of the yard like he used to when you were kids and asked if he could take you stargazing again. No pressure. Just the two of you on the grass, the same way it had always been before high school got in the way.

He kept showing up. Not to compete with Sam, but to rebuild what he had broken with you. Some nights he brought old photo albums his mom had dug out and you sat on the porch steps flipping through pictures of the two of you as tiny kids, covered in mud and missing teeth. Other nights he just listened while you talked about what you wanted after graduation. You told him you were thinking about staying in town for college, becoming a teacher. The way his face lit up when you said it- like he could already picture you in a classroom- made something warm settle in your chest.

“I always knew you’d be good at that,” he said. “You made Sammy into a certified nerd. I mean- more than he actually was.”

He started talking about his own dreams too. The ones he’d whispered about during those late night stargazing sessions when you were little. He wanted to be a firefighter. He’d wanted it since the first time he saw the trucks race down the street with their lights flashing. “Scary as hell,” he admitted one night, “but it feels like something I’m supposed to do.”

You believed him.

The months after that kitchen argument were slow and careful, but they were steady. Dean never pushed for more than you were ready to give. He rebuilt the friendship first- showing up, remembering the little things, making space for you in his life instead of expecting you to orbit his. When he finally kissed you, it was on one of those backyard nights, both of you lying on the blanket staring up at the stars. It was soft and a little shaky, like he was still afraid you might disappear. You kissed him back and felt something click into place that had been missing for years.

Graduation came and went in a blur of caps and gowns and your families taking too many pictures. The second the ceremony ended, Dean found you in the crowd, pulled you into his arms, and whispered against your hair, “We’re not doing that apart thing ever again.” And you didn’t. From that day forward, the two of you moved through life side by side.

You enrolled at the college in town and threw yourself into your teaching degree. Late nights were spent at the small apartment you eventually shared, textbooks and lesson plans spread across the kitchen table while Dean quizzed you on educational theory with a goofy grin. He started firefighter training right after graduation- long, brutal days that left him exhausted and smelling like smoke and sweat. But he came home every single night, kissed you hello like it was still brand new, and listened while you told him about your classes.

Some evenings you’d sit on the couch with his head in your lap, your fingers carding through his hair while he told you about the drills, the fear, the pride he felt when he passed another test. Other nights he’d come home after a rough shift, still in his gear, and you’d just hold each other in the quiet until the weight of the day eased off his shoulders. He never took for granted how easily you let him back in. Every time he looked at you, there was still a flicker of that old guilt, followed by the quiet determination to keep earning the life you were building together.

You became a teacher. He became a firefighter. And somewhere in between the lesson plans and the late night calls, the shared apartment and the stargazing that never stopped, Dean asked you to marry him on the same patch of grass where he used to sneak out to find you when you were kids. You said yes before he even finished the question.

Because the truth was simple- once Dean Winchester decided to earn you back, he never stopped proving he was worth it. And you never spent another day apart.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You married Dean on a warm evening in early fall, in the backyard of the little house you’d rented together now just outside town. It wasn’t fancy- no big church, no long guest list. Just the two of you, Sam standing up for his brother with a proud, teary smile, your families gathered on folding chairs in the grass, and strings of warm lights hung between the trees.

You wore a simple dress that fluttered in the breeze. Dean wore a suit that still somehow looked a little like he’d rather be in anything else, but the way he looked at you when you walked toward him made everything else disappear.

He cried when he said his vows. Quietly, just for you. Promised he’d never stop earning the life you were giving him. You promised you’d never let him forget how much he was loved. When he kissed you, the small crowd cheered and Sam whooped loud enough to make everyone laugh. That night, after everyone left, the two of you lay on a blanket in the backyard, staring up at the stars like you were kids again. Only now his ring was on your finger and yours was on his.

Married life settled into something soft and steady. You got your teaching job at the elementary school in town- little kids with sticky fingers and endless questions, papers to grade at the kitchen table while Dean moved around behind you, kissing the top of your head between bites of whatever he was cooking. He loved being a firefighter. It fit him in a way nothing else ever had. The long shifts, the brotherhood at the station, the way he came home smelling like smoke and dirt and still managed to look at you like you were the best part of his day.

Some nights he’d come through the door exhausted, strip off his gear in the laundry room, and find you already running a shower for him. Other nights you’d both end up on the back porch with a couple of beers, his arm around your shoulders while he told you about the calls that went well and the ones that kept him up. The danger was always there, unspoken but understood. You worried sometimes, but he always came home. And when he did, he held you a little tighter, like he was reminding both of you that this quiet life you’d built was real.

You never spent a day apart. Not really. Even on his longest shifts you texted throughout the day- silly memes from you, pictures of whatever ridiculous thing the guys at the station were doing from him. At night you fell asleep tangled together, his hand resting over your heart like he needed to feel it beating. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was good. Peaceful in a way neither of you had expected after everything that came before.

Then one ordinary Thursday, everything changed.

You were at the kitchen table after school, red pen in hand, half a stack of spelling tests still waiting when your phone lit up with an unknown number. You almost let it go to voicemail- probably a robocall- but something made you answer.

“Is this Mrs. Winchester?”

The voice on the other end was calm, professional, but you could hear the weight underneath it. Your stomach dropped before he even finished the sentence.

“There’s been an incident at the station. Dean was injured during a call. It’s serious. They’re taking him to County General. You should get there as soon as you can.”

The rest of the words blurred. Something about a structural collapse, smoke inhalation, possible internal injuries. You were already on your feet, keys in your hand, heart hammering so hard you could barely hear your own voice asking which entrance, which floor.

The drive to the hospital was a blur of red lights you ran and prayers you didn’t even realize you were whispering. Every awful scenario you’d ever quietly feared played on a loop in your head- Dean not coming home, Dean hurt in ways you couldn’t fix, the life you’d built cracking wide open in the space of one phone call.

By the time you reached the emergency room, your hands were shaking so badly you could barely sign the paperwork. A nurse led you to a small private waiting area and told you someone would come update you soon. You sat on the edge of a hard plastic chair, staring at the floor, trying to breathe.

All you could think about was the way he’d kissed you goodbye that morning- soft and lingering, like always- before heading out for his shift. The way he’d smiled and said, “See you tonight, Mrs. Winchester.”

You pressed your hands over your mouth and tried not to fall apart.

Because this time, you didn’t know if he was coming home.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You sat in that hard plastic chair for what felt like years.

The doctor finally came out, still in scrubs, and the words hit like a hammer.

“He’s alive. It was close- really close- but he’s going to make it.”

Dean had been trapped when part of the roof collapsed during a warehouse fire. Broken ribs, a punctured lung, a fractured femur, deep lacerations across his back and arms from falling debris, and severe smoke inhalation that had left his lungs raw and struggling. They’d rushed him into surgery to stop the internal bleeding and stabilize the lung. He’d coded once on the table. They brought him back.

You didn’t breathe properly until they let you see him.

He looked so much smaller in that hospital bed- tubes everywhere, machines beeping, his skin ashen under the bruises and bandages. His leg was in a large cast. His chest rose and fell with the help of oxygen. But he was breathing. He was alive. You pulled a chair as close as they would let you and took his hand, careful of the IVs, and just held it while silent tears ran down your face.

“I’m here,” you whispered, over and over. “I’m right here, Dean. You’re not allowed to leave me. Not after everything.”

He didn’t wake up that first night. Or the second. But on the third day his fingers twitched in yours, and when his eyes finally opened- hazy with pain and drugs- the first thing he did was try to smile at you.

“Hey, Mrs. Winchester,” he rasped, voice wrecked from the tube and the smoke. “Told you I’d come home.”

You laughed and cried at the same time, pressing your forehead gently to his.

The weeks in the hospital were brutal. Infection set in once. His lungs fought every breath. The pain meds made him groggy and frustrated. But he fought. And you fought with him- advocating with doctors, learning how to help with his breathing exercises, sleeping in the chair beside his bed every single night because you couldn’t stand the thought of him waking up alone.

Sam came every day. Your families rotated through. But it was you Dean reached for when the pain got bad. It was your voice that calmed him when the nightmares from the collapse hit.

Eventually, they moved him out of ICU. Then to a regular room. Then, after what felt like a lifetime, the doctors said the words you’d been praying for-

“He can go home. But recovery is going to be long. He’s going to need help- physical therapy, daily care, someone to make sure he doesn’t push too hard too fast.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“I’ve got him.”

Bringing Dean home was both the best and hardest day.

The house felt too quiet when you helped him through the door on crutches, his body still heavily bandaged, every step clearly agony even with the meds. You’d already turned the downstairs guest room into a recovery space so he wouldn’t have to do stairs. You’d bought a shower chair, a raised toilet seat, all the things the occupational therapist recommended. You’d cleared pathways so his crutches wouldn’t catch.

Dean hated every second of it.

He hated needing help to get to the bathroom. Hated that you had to help him bathe because his ribs and back were still too damaged for him to do it himself. Hated that he couldn’t even stand long enough to make you coffee in the morning. The man who had spent years proving he could be steady and reliable now had to lean on you for almost everything, and it ate at him.

But you never made him feel small for it.

Every morning you helped him through his breathing treatments and the painful range of motion exercises the physical therapist had given you. You learned how to change his dressings without hurting him too much. You cooked the foods that were easy on his healing body and made sure he took his meds on time even when he tried to tough it out. At night you helped him into bed, careful of his leg and ribs, and then curled up beside him so he could feel you there.

Some days he was quiet, staring at the ceiling while pain and frustration rolled off him in waves. Other days he tried to joke through it- “Pretty sure I used to be sexier than this”- but you saw the fear underneath. Fear that he’d never be the same. Fear that he was a burden.

You shut that down every time.

“You’re still mine,” you told him one night, brushing damp hair off his forehead after a particularly rough physical therapy session that had left him shaking and sweating. “Hurt or whole, stubborn or soft- I married all of it. And I’m not going anywhere while we put you back together.”

Slowly, the rebuild began.

Week by week his color came back. The bruises faded from violent purple to yellowy green. His lung function improved enough that the oxygen tank could leave the house. You helped him stand longer each day, then take steps with the walker, then graduate to crutches with more confidence. You massaged the scar tissue on his back and leg the way the therapist showed you, even when he hissed through his teeth. You celebrated every small victory like it was monumental. The first time he could sit up without help, first time he could shower mostly on his own, first time he managed to make it to the kitchen and start coffee before you woke up.

And through all of it, the quiet life you’d built didn’t disappear. It just changed shape for a while.

You took time off from teaching. You put together lesson plans for your sub at the kitchen table while Dean did his exercises on the living room floor. You watched bad movies together in the middle of the day because he needed the distraction from the pain. Some nights he still had nightmares about the collapse and you held him through them, whispering that he was safe, that you had him, that he was home.

He was going to live.

You woke to the sound of Dean’s breathing- sharp, ragged, panicked.

He was already half sitting up, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other clutching at his own chest like he couldn’t get enough air. The nightmare had him hard. You could see it in the wild look in his eyes, the way his whole body was tense and shaking even though movement clearly hurt his healing ribs and leg.

“Dean,” you said softly, sitting up fast but careful not to jostle him. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. You’re home. You’re safe.”

He didn’t seem to hear you at first. His eyes were glassy, still trapped in whatever hell his mind had dragged him back to. His breath kept catching, shallow and fast, the way it had right after the accident when his punctured lung was fighting him.

You moved slowly, deliberately, letting him see every motion. You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs stroking over his stubble.

“Dean. Look at me. I’m right here. Feel my hands. You’re in our bed. You’re home. I’ve got you.”

It took a few long seconds, but his eyes finally focused on your face. The panic didn’t vanish, but it cracked enough for him to drag in a deeper breath that turned into something close to a sob. He reached for you like he was drowning, one big hand wrapping around your wrist, the other sliding around your waist and pulling you closer even though it made him wince.

“I couldn’t find you,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “In the dream. I kept trying to get to you and everything was burning and I- I couldn’t-”

“I’m here,” you whispered again, leaning in to press your forehead to his. “I’m not going anywhere. You came home to me. You’re still here. We’re both still here.”

You stayed like that for a while, breathing with him, letting your calm steady his. Your fingers stroked through his hair, down the back of his neck, careful of the healing scars along his back. He clung to you, face buried against your shoulder, body still trembling with leftover adrenaline and pain.

But slowly, the trembling changed.

“Need you,” he said, voice rough. “Need to feel you for real. Please.”

You kissed him- slow at first, then deeper when he groaned into your mouth and slid his tongue against yours like he was starving. His hands pushed under your shirt, palms rough and warm as they cupped your breasts, thumbs dragging over your nipples until they tightened. You arched into his touch with a soft sound.

Carefully, you straddled his good side, bracing your weight on your knees so you didn’t press on his ribs or bad leg. You pulled your shirt off and let him look at you, watch the way your breasts moved as you leaned down to kiss him again. His cock was already hard, straining against the thin fabric of his sleep pants, a damp spot forming at the tip.

You reached down and wrapped your hand around him through the fabric, squeezing gently. Dean’s hips jerked and he let out a low, filthy groan.

“Fuck, baby…”

You freed him, wrapping your fingers around his thick length and stroking him slowly from base to head, thumb swiping over the slick bead of precum at the tip. He was hot and heavy in your hand, throbbing with every slow pump. His head fell back against the pillows as you worked him, eyes half lidded, lips parted.

“Been thinking about this,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “Every time you touched me to help me bathe… every time you got close… wanted to pull you on top of me and fuck you so bad.”

You moaned softly at his words and let go of him just long enough to push your underwear down and off. Then you took his hand and guided it between your legs, letting him feel how wet you already were for him.

“Jesus,” he breathed, two thick fingers sliding through your slick folds, circling your clit before dipping lower and pushing inside you. You were soaked, clenching around his fingers as he fucked them into you slowly, curling them just right. “So fucking wet for me already. Been needing this too, huh?”

You rode his fingers for a minute, hips rolling, soft wet sounds filling the quiet room, before you pulled his hand away and positioned yourself over him. You reached down, lined him up, and sank down onto his cock inch by slow, deliberate inch.

The stretch was intense. He was thick, and you were tight from going so long without this. You both groaned as you took him deeper, your walls fluttering and clenching around every ridge and vein until your ass was flush against his hips and he was buried to the hilt inside you.

“Fuck- fuck, you feel so good,” Dean gritted out, hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks. His head was tipped back, throat exposed, chest rising and falling fast. “So tight around me. Been dreaming about this pussy.”

You started to move- slow, rolling grinds of your hips rather than bouncing, careful of his ribs and leg. Every time you sank down you ground your clit against him, the head of his cock dragging over that perfect spot inside you. The wet, filthy sound of your bodies moving together filled the room. You were dripping down his length, making everything slick and messy.

Dean’s hands roamed everywhere he could reach- your breasts, your waist, your ass. One hand slipped between you to rub tight circles over your swollen clit while you rode him.

“That’s it,” he groaned, watching where you were stretched around him, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over. “Ride me just like that. Use me. Take what you need.”

You leaned down, bracing your hands on either side of his head, and kissed him deep and messy while you kept moving. Your nipples dragged against his chest with every roll of your hips. His free hand slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine before gripping the back of your neck.

You could feel him getting close- the way his cock swelled inside you, the way his breathing turned ragged and broken.

“Gonna come,” he warned, voice strained. “Fuck- gonna fill you up. Been saving it for you.”

You clenched around him on purpose and whispered against his mouth, “Do it. Come inside me, Dean.”

He came with a deep, guttural moan, hips jerking up into you as much as his injuries would allow. You felt every hot pulse of him as he spilled deep inside you, thick and endless after so long without this. The feeling pushed you over the edge right after him- you came hard, thighs shaking, walls pulsing and milking him while you moaned his name into his neck.

You stayed there afterward, both of you trembling, his cock still twitching inside you as you caught your breath. You kissed his jaw, his temple, the corner of his mouth, soft and soothing now that the urgency had passed.

Dean’s arms wrapped around you carefully, holding you close even though it pulled at his healing scars.

“Stay right here,” he murmured, voice hoarse and sated. “Don’t move yet. Just… let me feel you.”

You stayed wrapped around each other for a long time that night, Dean still buried inside you, both of you too content to move.

The nightmare didn’t return, but others did in the weeks that followed. Some nights he woke up gasping, heart racing, convinced the ceiling was coming down again. Other times he’d go quiet for hours after a sound or smell triggered him- the sharp crack of wood, the scent of smoke on his own clothes buried in the closet.

He started seeing a therapist. Twice a week at first. You went with him to a few sessions when he asked, sitting beside him while he talked about the helplessness he’d felt trapped under that roof, the terror of thinking he’d never see you again. It wasn’t easy. Some days he came home frustrated and short-tempered, hating how much the accident had changed him. Other days he let you hold him on the couch, your fingers in his hair while he admitted he was scared he’d never be the same firefighter again.

You were patient with all of it. You learned the signs when he was spiraling and grounded him with soft touches and steady words. Some nights you’d drive out to the edge of town, lay a blanket in the bed of his truck, and stargaze the way you used to as kids. Those nights seemed to help the most. He’d hold your hand in the dark and slowly come back to himself.

When the doctors finally cleared him for light duty, Dean went back to the station in a smaller role. He started with training new recruits, running drills, and handling some of the administrative work he used to complain about. It wasn’t the same as being on the trucks, but it kept him connected to the job he loved while he continued healing- both physically and mentally. He still had bad days. Days where the nightmares came back hard or his ribs ached in the rain. But he kept showing up. Kept doing the work.

You went back to teaching around the same time. The first morning you left for school, Dean walked you to the door on his own two feet, no crutches, and kissed you like he used to before everything happened. “Go teach those kids,” he murmured against your lips. “I’ll be here when you get home.”

And he was. Every single day.

Months passed. Dean’s leg grew stronger. The scars on his back faded from angry red to silver. His lungs improved enough that he rarely needed the inhaler anymore. The PTSD didn’t disappear, but it became something he managed instead of something that controlled him. He kept seeing his therapist. He kept talking to you on the hard nights. And slowly, the station started easing him back onto full duty- first on lighter calls, then eventually back to the trucks he’d missed so much.

The day he came home in full gear after his first real shift back, you were already waiting in the kitchen. He looked tired but lighter than he had in months. The second he saw you, that familiar crooked smile spread across his face.

“Missed you today, Mrs. Winchester.”

You crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him carefully, breathing in the familiar mix of smoke and dirt that clung to his turnout coat. “Missed you too. Proud of you.”

He held you tighter than usual that night. Later, when you were curled up in bed together, his hand resting over your heart the way it always did now, he spoke quietly into the dark.

“I know I’m not completely fixed,” he admitted. “Might never be. But I’m getting there. And having you… coming home to you every day… it makes all the hard shit worth it.”

You turned in his arms and kissed him, slow and deep.

“We’re okay,” you whispered against his mouth. “We’re happy. That’s enough.”

And it was.

Life wasn’t exactly the same as before the accident- there were still nights when Dean needed you to talk him down, still moments when the fear crept in- but it was good. It was solid. You went to work teaching every morning and came home to the man who had fought like hell to earn his way back to you. Dean went out on calls and came home to the woman who had never once made him feel broken for needing help.

Some evenings you still ended up in the backyard under the stars, his head in your lap while you traced lazy patterns on his arm. Other nights you made love slow and careful, or fast and desperate, or anything in between- always with that same deep, steady love running underneath it all.

You were happy.

You were in love.

And after everything you’d been through together, that quiet, somewhat normal life you’d built felt like the greatest victory of all.

[bookloover35]

Sugar and Gasoline - Dean Winchester.

The bell above your shop door jingled — the sound that usually meant a customer, but today, it meant him.

You didn't even have to look up from the rolling pin to know it was Dean Winchester. You could tell by the heavy boots, the smell of leather and motor oil, and that voice that made your stomach flip faster than a pancake.

"Morning, sweetheart."

You glanced up, flour dusting your cheek, and smirked. "You're early. Again."

Dean leaned against the counter, flashing that grin that had probably broken a few laws of nature. "Couldn't help it. I was cravin' somethin' sweet."

"You mean pie," you said, dusting your hands on your apron.

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Didn't say I wasn't."

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile too hard. "You know, most boyfriends bring flowers. Not a constant demand for baked goods."

Dean chuckled, watching you knead dough like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "Yeah, but my girl runs the best pie shop in Kansas. Flowers don't taste like apple-caramel perfection."

You paused your work, leaning across the counter. "Flattery gets you one slice. Maybe."

"One slice?" he gasped dramatically. "You're cruel, sweetheart. Pure evil."

"Evil?" You grabbed a towel, tossing it at him. "That's rich coming from a guy who's literally fought demons."

He caught it, laughing. "Yeah, but demons don't cut me off from pie."

You couldn't hold back your laugh then — that warm, soft one that Dean always said was better than anything in heaven.

After closing time, he stuck around, helping you clean up (which mostly meant stealing leftover crumbs and trying to kiss you while you worked). You finally gave up, letting him pull you close, his hands still smelling faintly of sugar and cinnamon.

"You know," he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek, "I used to think Baby was my favorite thing in the world."

"Oh?" you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Then I met you. And your pie."

You laughed against his lips. "So I'm competing with dessert?"

Dean grinned. "Sweetheart, you are dessert."

[piece0fgarbag]

need you now - s. b.

(Soldier Boy x F!Reader)

Summary: Watching your husband defend you at a Vought party turns you on so much that you need him to fuck you now.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: +18 MDNI. SMUT (unprotected p in v, public sex—they’re in a bathroom, m!receiving oral), established public relationship, good husband!ben, FLUFF but angsty at the end ngl, homelander and the deep existing is a warning as a whole.

a/n: this is heavily inspired by “Thank Goodness” from Wicked. great musical. watch it pls.

Vought would forever be your heaven turned hell. 

You still remembered the excited tears you spilled when you were accepted into The Seven, the happy squeals at the news that you would do most of Vought’s propaganda, and the butterflies in your stomach when Soldier Boy asked you out. 

But those happy memories were tainted by your cruel coworkers at The Seven, the humiliating, pervy stuff the marketing team had you do almost every week, and the pit in your stomach when Vought found out about your relationship with Ben and turned you into America’s sweethearts. 

Homelander was people’s favorite, their savior, their perfect hero… but Ben and you were the greatest symbol of love, the goal everyone desired to reach. 

The perfect, happy couple.

Your discreet dates turned to extremely photographed walks in the park; Ben’s soft kisses started being scripted for the fans to go crazy; and Vought even reached the point of forcing your wedding to be at Madison Square Garden with a whole audience full of celebrities and millionaires. 

Yet despite everything, Ben and you kept your genuine, profound love behind doors. They could take away what was supposed to be the most special day of your life, but they would never watch Ben and you dancing in your kitchen at one in the morning, or listen to the sweet promises he whispered in your ear every night as he hold you gently against his chest, or catch a glimpse of how devoted your husband really was to you…

Vought’s anniversary was one of the biggest events of the year, so of course everyone was expecting America’s couple to arrive hand in hand, kissing on the red carpet and waving at fans. 

Your gaze was lost in the tinted window, the only surface that separated the cruel world from your precious life. 

Ben noticed your frown and kissed your temple. “You look beautiful, doll.”

The car turned right, nearing Vought’s tower and making you clutch the car seat. 

Ben placed an arm around you. “We will only be there for around two or three hours. Then we will… eat some of your favorite food.”

You looked up at him. “McDonalds?”

He smiled softly and nodded. “We’ll get a twenty McNuggets combo and finish that awful reality show you love at home.”

“Love Island?” Your hand searched for his and squeezed it. “How did you know there is a new season?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Because you’ve talked about it every day for the past two weeks?”

You giggled and kissed his nose. “Did I?” 

He caressed your cheek before diving down to your lips. You pulled back. “Careful with the lipstick!”

Ben sighed but forced a smile. Right, you had to look perfect for the cameras. For the fans. For the entire world. 

The limousine stopped at Vought’s tower, right at the start of the red carpet. 

Ben grunted at the sight of the multitude. “They could be normal and watch from their televisions or from that small square you all carry.”

He was a phone hater.

As he was about to open the door, you grasped his wrist hard. “W-wait!”

Ben turned to you, fully concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

The worried frown decorating his handsome face made your stomach drop. Sometimes you couldn’t believe you were dating such a beautiful man.

“I love you.” You gulped and caressed his arm. “Just… needed to say it.”

He felt a pang in his chest, those three words always causing his heart to race. Ben kissed your forehead before murmuring, “I love you too, princess.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself and clutching your tiny purse. Ben huffed as he finally pushed the door open. The second he stepped out into the cold night air, thousands of flashes bombarded him. It seemed as if everyone had been expecting this moment.

Ben got out first, waved casually at the cameras, and turned to you, offering a hand. You made a show of just showing your manicured hand first. Your recognizable diamond ring made fans scream.

Your husband helped you out of the limousine, gently holding your waist as he closed the door behind you. The flashes seemed to duplicate in your presence. 

“Y/N! Y/N!”

”Soldier Boy, over here!”

“We love you!”

You chuckled charmingly as you waved and sent kisses. “We love you too!”

Vought was a vicious company and you felt used most of the time, but you couldn’t deny you loved these moments, these showers of attention and love. There were people crying at the sight of you, dressed with your superhero suit, wearing shirts with your face… Most of them had probably camped for hours outside of the tower just to get a glimpse of you.

How could you ever let go of this level of stardom?

Ben’s big hand caressing your waist brought you back to reality. While you were smiling and posing for the cameras, his green eyes were focused on you. Still getting giddy by his devoted stare, your cheeks turned red. 

“What is it?” you asked with a shy smile.

He shook his head and pulled you closer to his side. “Nothing.”

Ben sighed and finally posed for the cameras too. He knew that even though he was one of the first superheroes, you were the people’s favorite. Their Princess Diana. He could pretend people were excited for him, but deep down he knew the popular one was you. 

And, honestly, he didn’t mind it, you deserved all the adoration and love. But he still felt a bit territorial and protective when people got too close.

He came from a different time. Sharing you with the world was something he would never get used to or be okay with. You were his wife, his woman… but Vought had gotten their hands on you before him, so now you were a superhero, a model, a socialite, an actress, an icon, and anything they wanted you to become.

Ben grew up in a different society, one that made him an angry, explosive mess. A society that taught him that he was destined for greatness and fame. But when he met you, he turned into a completely different person. The simple idea of hurting you, of treating you like an object, or of disrespecting you caused a shiver to run down his spine. He didn’t understand how people could look at you and exploit you.

You… beautiful, sweet, caring you.  

He never hid that he would kill for you. He would destroy everything and everyone in Vought if you asked for it. But this was the life you had wished for… 

As a security guard led you through the red carpet to the tower’s lobby, a paparazzi managed to jump over everyone and approached you with his blinding flashes. 

“Y/N, Soldier Boy! When will you be back to Keeping Up with The Seven—”

“Back the fuck off!” Ben yelled, quickly getting in front of you to shove the man away. 

More Vought security guards swarmed over and dragged the paparazzi away.

You had a hand on your chest and one on Ben’s arm, slightly paralyzed by how they were treating the man. Well, he could’ve been dangerous, but it still left a bittersweet feeling. 

“Are you okay?” Ben whispered and cradled your face.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, forcing a smile. “Thank you.”

Ben kissed your temple and you could already see the tweets: “Oh, he saved her! He is such a great husband! I need a man like Soldier Boy!” 

“Let’s go inside. It’s getting cold,” he said, reaching for your hand to lead you to the lobby’s elevator. “Last thing I need is to play nurse again.”

“Wait!” You stopped and took a quick, impulsive decision.

Bunching up your gown, you ran towards the fans and signed pictures, took selfies, and even kissed a puppy. You could feel your husband’s worried eyes on your back but you didn’t care. These people literally made you the most followed person on every social media platform.

”Y/N, how is Soldier Boy in bed?!” a brave fan asked.

Normally, you would’ve ignored her, but she was recording you directly to the face and you never lost a chance for a viral video. 

You chuckled and pretended to be shy. “Y’all are crazy! But between us… there is one big reason I didn’t hesitate saying yes to that ring, girl.”

Everyone screamed excitedly at your answer. Oh, thank goodness Ben hated social media and would never see that video.

He looked serious as you walked back to him with an apologetic smile. “You almost gave me a heart attack,” he muttered before placing an arm around you. Then he whispered in your ear, “Don’t fucking do that again, okay?”

You forced a smile and pinched his cheek. “You’re peachy today, aren’t you?” 

Ben smirked at your annoyed tone. “And you’re bratty today.” His hand wandered to your lower back, not quite reaching your butt. “What happened to my good girl?”

“Don’t start,” you mumbled. 

He would always tease you in the worst moments. At least this time you weren’t in the middle of a combat… and it wouldn’t end in you giving him a blowjob on an abandoned rooftop… again.

The elevator ride was swift but nerve-wracking. Now that the fans’ part was over, came the worst part of the night: dealing with your peers.

The event’s salon was all marble and glass with Vought’s logo everywhere. It was packed with wealthy businessmen, celebrities, superheroes, and more big names.

Ben glared at the crowd with disdain, not trying to hide his dislike. 

Not even half a step in, people noticed you two. Everyone tried to start a conversation with you as Ben dragged you across the crowd to the bar. You faked smiles and shook hands, trying not to be as rude as your husband.

As soon as you reached an empty spot, Ben placed an arm around you to create a wall between people and you. “Enough talk. The lady’s thirsty.”

You leaned on the bar and looked up at him. “You could’ve greeted the president.”

Ben grimaced. “Why would I do that?” He ordered a glass of whiskey for himself and a margarita for you.

You were in the middle of a joke when a different type of piercing eyes met yours. Not adoring in the slightest. A stare full of cold, hard jealousy and hatred.

Ben noticed the sudden tension in your body and followed your gaze. He went stiff too at Homelander’s attention.

He grumbled and turned back to you. “What does that bastard want now?”

You gulped. “I don’t know, but he’s coming this way.”

Ben grunted, taking a long sip of his drink. He had never tolerated Homelander, but his disdain grew when the supe made obvious his disapproval of your relationship, laced with his dislike for you.

“Father,” Homelander greeted him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He glared at you. “You look lovely tonight, Y/N.”

”She does,” Ben mumbled, his arms snaking around your waist to engulf your body. “Most beautiful woman in every room.”

Homelander sneered but quickly masked it with a fake smile. “What happened to your suits? Laundry day?”

Apart from your status and beauty, Soldier Boy and you stuck out like a thumb for your lack of superhero uniforms. Vought knew that pictures of everyone’s favorite supes with dashing outfits would be trending, so they sent a green tuxedo for Ben and an emerald gown for you.

You placed your hands on your husband’s shoulders and joked, “I think the dress code memo got lost in the mail.”

Ben smirked. “Seems like it, honey.”

Homelander’s eyes wandered down your body for a little too long before they snapped to Ben. “Then my multiple meeting invitations must have gotten lost too, huh?”

Ben kissed your cheek, making a show of not looking at his son. “Mhm, most likely.” He bit your jaw playfully. “I’m never really in the mood for leaving our bed.”

You blushed and giggled at his sexual innuendo. “Honey!”

Homelander’s deep, long sigh was a call for their attention. “So… I heard you’re giving this year’s speech.”

Ben noticed your stillness and swiftly caressed your back. You muttered, “Yeah, I will.”

The blond supe scoffed and muttered, “That’s so weird since I’m the one that always does it.”

Your husband was starting to lose his peanut-size patience. “Sometimes we don’t get chosen and we have to suck it up and move on, don’t we?”

Homelander stared at him quietly for a long second, then patted his father’s back and faked a big, predatory smile. “Have fun, you two.”

And he stormed away like an irritated child, his cape flowing behind him. You felt your soul coming back to your body. 

“You know he won’t hurt you, right?” Ben whispered. “Boy’s too needy for my approval that he won’t ever lay a hand on you.”

You gulped, your eyes still on Homelander’s back. “Maybe not him, but he has an army of idiots following his every order.”

Ben sighed and pecked your lips. “Don’t think about that right now. Last thing you need is more stress tonight.”

A second margarita was delivered by the bartender, who gave Ben a flirty smile. He didn’t look at her as he grabbed the glass. “You’re drinking too fast.”

You rolled your eyes. “Can you blame me?”

Ben sipped the margarita and grimaced. “This tastes like a gasoline store’s lemonade, honey. How can you drink this shit?”

Playing with his tie, you jokingly replied, “Are you saying I have bad taste?”

He huffed and cockily arched an eyebrow. “I mean, clearly you don’t since I’m your husband.”

You snickered and kissed his cheek. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Ben grabbed your wrist as you reached for your purse. He looked at you with wide eyes. “Don’t leave me alone,” he mumbled. “Honey…”

You frowned at your antisocial husband. “I’ll be right back. Go talk—”

”Nooo,” he whined, looking around to make sure no one could hear him. Various people were still staring at them in awe. “They will come to me like vultures. I’m too sober for this.”

“I told you to do a line with me in the car and you refused like the boring bitch you’re becoming.”

He clenched his jaw. “I’m trying to be more responsible… and I mentally scheduled that line for midnight.”

You shrugged and freed yourself from his hold. “Too late. I’ll do another one and come back.”

”Don’t finish the bag,” he called weakly as you walked away to the main hallways.

The second you were far enough from him, people started to approach him like nervous, sorta-scared fans. He posed for pictures with a stoic face, mentally cursing you for leaving him alone so early.

Being good at playing the sweet celebrity card also meant knowing how to avoid crowds. You knew Vought Tower all too well, so naturally, you went to the farthest bathrooms. 

You swung the door open to the posh women’s restroom and checked every stall. “Empty,” you sang and excitedly took out your bag of coke. 

It was boring doing it without Ben, but he had recently started using weed to relax. You weren’t complaining much; more coke for you.

You did the line, wiped away all evidence from the counter, and washed your hands. Faint music from the party reached your ears as the bathroom’s door opened. You barely glanced up as a hooded person came in.

Not caring much, you dried your hands and started fixing the lip combo that your husband’s kisses had messed up.

The figure stepped closer, leaning against the wall near you. They still hadn’t said anything, just stared at you with an unsettling intensity.

You side-eyed them. “Hi?”

They pushed the hood back and revealed your least favorite person, The Deep. “‘Sup,” he greeted you with a smirk.

You sighed and continued with your makeup. “Didn’t you read the sign on the door?”

He looked you up and down. “Mid dress, by the way. Are you on a mission to be a flop all year?”

Ignoring his words, you muttered, “What do you want?”

The Deep and you had never gotten well. He tried to hit on you at the start, but after humiliating him a couple of times in front of the team, he placed you on his enemies’ list. So you were absolutely sure he wasn’t there to gossip or giggle with you. 

“I heard you’re giving tonight’s Vought speech,” he said between gritted teeth. “Who did you fuck to get that, huh?”

”Let’s see…” You bit your lip, pretending to be deep in thought as you counted with your fingers. “The executives from the twentieth floor, Noir, the lobby guy, all the marketing team and, yeah, basically everyone… except an octopus.”

His hands turned to fists as his face turned pink. “Watch your mouth.”

You smirked, always happy to rile him up. “I didn’t need to move a finger to get tonight’s speech. I’m the most famous Supe. What did you expect?”

The Deep’s jaw dropped. He seemed genuinely shocked for about ten seconds. “Are you serious? Like, seriously serious, dude?” He gestured to himself. “I am the most famous Supe in the whole world. Have you seen me? I’m handsome, rich—”

“Add comedian to the list,” you interrupted him with a sarcastic smirk.

He placed a hand on his hip. “I’m the fucking Deep, sweetheart. I have endorsements with Wendy’s and Old Navy. I’ve been in magazines. Meanwhile, you…” He scoffed. “You’re nothing without Soldier Boy. You’re just a hot housewife and a slutty puppet.”

You could feel your powers trembling inside you from the rage. He was completely wrong and just pushing your buttons, but you weren’t known for your patience.

“I’m the most followed person on Instagram and I’ve been on Vogue. Lie to yourself all you want. Nothing will change the fact that people love me while they just tolerate you.”

The Deep’s nostrils flared. “Love you? I haven’t seen you on most of this year’s red carpets, though.” 

You couldn’t believe you were arguing with him about something that stupid. “I’m invited to everything, fried fish. I just prefer to spend time with my husband and loved ones… something you obviously don’t have.”

He inhaled as your words hit him. “Love…” He let out a fake chuckle. “You think that’s some kind of flex? Love only makes you weak.”

The drugs were starting to affect your system. You placed your makeup in your purse. “You think I’m weak?”

The Deep looked down at you with condescending confidence. “Sure do. Without powers, you’re nothing but a good pair of tits and—”

You raised one of your arms to send him flying across the bathroom. He crashed into the wall, his body slamming against it hard enough to crack the paint. 

The Deep groaned as he slid down to the floor. “You little…” he whimpered, struggling to breathe. “Little bitch. I’ll get—”

Not wishing to listen to his pathetic rambling anymore, you walked out of the bathroom. Your heart was pounding like crazy and it definitely wasn’t from the coke.

You weren’t an idiot; you knew where The Deep and you had been standing: in the perfect, water-full place for him to use his powers. So you had no other option than to attack first and hard.

Ben was still in the bar, clutching his whiskey while surrounded by people. The second you re-entered the party, as if pulled by nature, his eyes found yours. But the relieved smile didn’t make it to his face.

Something was wrong; he noticed instantly.

Without hesitation, Ben excused himself from the group and walked straight to you. He gently grabbed your arm and studied your face. “You okay, princess?”

You tried to force a smile, but it wavered. “Hi. Yes, don’t worry.”

He squinted his eyes, noticing the tension in your expression and the slight flush in your cheeks. “What happened?”

Your hands found his shoulders. “Honey, you don’t wanna know.” You kissed his cheek. “I’m fine.”

Ben frowned, clearly not believing you. He had heard that lying tone from your stubborn mouth before. “Tell me,” he insisted. His hands cupped your face as he whispered, “You’re upset, doll.”

His firm (not angry… never angry at you) voice pulled your heartstrings. You gulped and mumbled, “The Deep appeared randomly, said some shitty things and we ended up fighting.”

Ben’s face darkened, his ears turning deaf to every voice but yours. “What did he say?”

“It’s not impor—”

“What did he say, Y/N?” he cut you off.

You sighed, stressed. “Classic Deep stuff, Ben. Called me a slut and—” 

“That motherfucker…” he growled under his breath. 

Without another word, Ben let go of you and marched out of the party. He knew which bathroom you usually took for coke breaks, so he didn’t look back as he planned many ways to make The Deep regret ever speaking to you. 

“Ben, stop,” you muttered, following behind him and trying not to trip on your heels. “C’mon, let’s go back—”

The ladies’ room door opened as The Deep walked out, limping. He noticed your angry husband walking towards him and quickly scurried back inside.

Ben kicked the door open and wasted no second in throwing Deep to the ground. Just in case the sea boy tried anything, you used your telekinesis to control all the pipes in the room.

Ben grasped Deep’s collar and slammed him against the floor. “Who do you think you are, huh?”

”I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Deep cried.

Your husband punched him hard enough to draw blood and screamed to his face, “I should kill you for even daring to speak to my girl.”

Deep was sobbing now. “I won’t do it again. I swear!”

Ben wanted to throw more punches, but he couldn’t kill Deep tonight, so he just kicked him in the balls. 

“You’re pathetic.” He pulled him up and threw him out the door. “Get the fuck off this party.”

You let your guard down as silence filled the bathroom. Ben sighed and washed his bloody hands on the sink. The sight caused your thighs to press together… and he noticed. 

Ben closed the tap and smirked at you. “Really? Now?”

You bit your bottom lip and shrugged. “That was… something.”

The sexual tension was thick as you just stared at each other. Then, impulsively, you held onto his shoulders as his hands propped you up to wrap your legs around his waist. He pressed you to the wall and attacked your mouth hungrily and carelessly. 

Bunching up your dress, Ben held you with one hand and wasted no time to move your panties with the other. He smirked against your lips. “So wet already. Did watching me beat that idiot turn you on?”

You clutched his shoulders at the feeling of his fingers teasing your entrance. “Y-yes. Fuck. You look so hot when you defend me.”

Ben snorted and pulled his hand back. “That’s why you’re always dripping for me like a damn fountain.”

You twitched your hips, desperate for contact. “Ben…”

But he gently lowered you to the ground. “I think I deserve a thank-you gift for tonight, right, princess?”

Despite the lust clouding your mind, you understood his words and quickly got on your knees. Ben helped you unclasp his belt as your trembling hands tried to push it all down. 

Once his boxers freed his painfully hard cock, you looked up at him. “Did beating Deep turn you on?” you joked. 

Ben rolled his eyes and grasped your hair in a makeshift ponytail. “Honey, I’ve been hard since you came out of our room in that dress.”

You smirked and grabbed his cock. There was no time for slowness, so you opened your mouth wide and took as much as you could. Ben groaned loudly and tightened his grip. You held onto his strong thighs and moved as fast and deep as his big size could let you. 

Sucking Ben off had always been a challenge, but in the last six months, you had gotten on the mission of trying to deepthroat him. It was inhumanly possible, but now you could at least reach the middle without suffocating to death. 

Ben looked down at you lustfully as you pleased him with devotion. “Just like that, princess. You’re doing so good.”

You pulled back until his tip reached your tongue, dived in until your jaw hurt, then repeated the cycle. Ben had to use all his willpower to not come right there and make you swallow it all. Seeing you do your best effort to please him, in a public bathroom at a party, was too much for him. 

“Such a pretty mouth. So perfect,” he groaned. “But I need to come inside that pussy, baby. Get up.”

Disappointed by the interruption, you pulled away from his cock and stood up with wobbly knees. “I was almost reaching the base.”

Ben kissed your forehead. "I know, sweetheart. You were doing great, and we’ll continue that at home.” 

He took off his jacket and placed it next to the sink. You bit your lip at the sight of his firm muscles pressing through his white shirt. You pulled your husband by his tie and kissed him passionately. His arms wrapped around your waist as he pressed his hard-on against you. 

“Need you so bad, doll,” he mumbled. “Please.”

You pecked his lips and pointed to your discarded purse on the floor. “Grab a condom.”

Ben pouted and caressed your waist. “Baby... c’mon. I need to feel you,” he begged. He kissed your jaw and neck, looking for your weak spot. “Need to feel my wife coming as I fill her up.”

You moaned as he kissed you right below your ear. You had gotten back to birth control for this exact reason: Ben's infinite need to fuck you raw.

“Alright,” you muttered. “Just because you look so handsome tonight.”

Ben propped you up and aligned himself to your entrance. “Only ‘cause of that?”

You gasped at the warm feeling of his tip. “And... because you are the best husband ever?”

Ben pushed in just a centimeter. “Try again.”

You hated how cocky he could get during sex, but you couldn’t lie that he was an expert at making you desperate. 

“And because I love when your cock fills me up— Oh!”

Ben slammed into you swiftly, thanks to how wet you were. 

You whined and slapped his shoulder. “That hurt!”

He pouted mockingly. “Sorry. Too big?” He pulled back until the tip was almost slipping out of you. “Thought you could handle it by now, honey.”

He pushed in half-way slowly and elicited a moan out of you. “I c-can. I've had bigger,” you whimpered.

Ben scoffed, knowing you were lying but still getting a little jealous. He held you firmly by the thighs, got you off the wall and started pounding into you. Your husband could have placed you on the counter, but he wanted to show you how he can fuck you while only using his strong arms as support. 

And, fuck, it turned you on badly. 

You placed your arms around his neck and moaned uncontrollably as Ben manhandled you into him. His effort grunts against your lips were making your pussy clench. 

“Fuck, fuck, baby…” you moaned. “Yes, right there!”

He bit your lip and squeezed your left thigh. “You feel so good, doll. Best pussy I’ve had.”

You smirked, realizing your previous comment about other men had struck a nerve. “Yeah? That’s why you married me?”

Ben nodded as he sped up. “Can’t let other men touch you. You’re mine forever, princess.”

You messily pushed down your cleavage, needing him to kiss you everywhere. The moment your breasts spilled out of the dress, your husband lowered his lips to your nipples. You threw your head back at the feeling of his tongue encircling them. “Oh, God!”

Ben squeezed your thighs hard to get your attention back. “Eyes on me. Say you're mine.”

“I’m yours,” you moaned. “F-forever. I’m never leaving you.”

Ben smirked as he noticed you were entering a submissive headspace. “Bet you would let me lock you home to keep you like my personal whore.”

You whined and nodded. “Y-yes.”

“No other job but letting me fuck you dumb.” 

Your pussy clenching hard around his cock was answer enough. He grunted and drove rougher into you. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Y/N? Are you here—?”

You two barely registered when the bathroom door was opened by a stressed-looking Ashley. She froze at the sinful sight. Her eyes lowered to where your bodies connected and she smirked. “Damn.”

You looked to your right and frowned. “Oh, hi. You need s-something?”

Ben shifted you up to leave hickeys around your breasts. 

Ashley blinked and struggled to look into your eyes. “Uhm... It’s time for your speech. Everybody is waiting.”

You moaned as Ben sucked your left nipple. “Gimme t-three.”

“Five,” Ben grunted. 

Ashley nodded, took one last glimpse at his enormous size splitting you open, and left in a hurry. Now she understood why you had married him after just a year of dating…

Ben held you in one arm, finding a comfortable position to keep fucking you without support, and rubbed your clit with his free hand. “Come for me. I can tell you’re close.”

You arched your back and kissed his face messily. “D-don’t stop. Right t-there.”

Ben rubbed you in a practiced way as he searched for your lips. “Come around me like the good girl you are.”

You whimpered, trembling as the waves of pleasure hit you. Your vision turned blurry and your lower body shook as Ben kept pounding into you. “Just like that, doll. Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up.”

You nodded pathetically. “I love you. Come where you deserve to.”

Ben smirked, your words squeezing his heart, and kissed you softly. “Love you too, baby.” He let out a loud grunt as he let go deep inside you. “Fuck!”

You rested your forehead on his shoulder when he finally stopped moving. “Holy shit…”

Ben walked to the sink counter and gently placed you on it. Both of you whined as he pulled out, his cum dripping out of you and staining your dress. 

"Shit!" Ben looked around for napkins, then took a quick decision and sank two fingers into you. 

You whimpered at the overstimulation. “Ben, no. I have to go.”

“I know,” he muttered and reached for paper towels with his free hand. “Sorry for not wanting your dress to get ruined.”

He slowly pulled away his fingers and replaced them with the napkins. He cleaned you gently and readjusted your underwear. “There you go.”

You were still panting as your husband put on his jacket and picked up your purse. Realization sinked in and you slowly turned to look at your reflection.

You were a fucked mess. 

You groaned and stood up. “How am I gonna give a speech looking like this?”

Ben frowned and readjusted your cleavage. “You look gorgeous.”

“I don’t! Give me my purse,” you whined. 

With napkins and water, you tried to fix your makeup while Ben helped with your hair. 

Ashley knocked. “It’s been ten minutes!”

Your husband started cursing her, but you stopped him. “I’m ready!”

Your reflection wasn’t as perfect as before, but you looked acceptable. 

Sensing your insecurity, Ben hugged you from behind and kissed your cheek. “You’re still the most beautiful woman at this party.”

You smiled lovingly at him. “Only this party?”

He huffed and playfully squeezed one of your breasts. “Saying ‘in the world’ was too corny.”

You teasingly pressed your back to his front before freeing yourself. “Let’s go before Ashley offers a threesome.”

Ben grimaced at the thought and followed you out. 

Like the woman had said, everyone was waiting around the main stage. Cameras and lights were pointing at the microphone stand. 

“Remember,” Ashley whispered. “Read the teleprompter. Don’t improvise. Orders from the high-ups.”

You reached the side of the stage with Ben holding your hand. Even though you were the speech deliverer, Ben had to enter with you to remind people that he was a supportive, perfect husband. 

He squeezed your hand. “Don’t overthink it. Just another day at the job.”

You forced a smile. “Mhm.”

“And now, some words from our dear Y/N!”

The crowd went crazy as you two entered. Ben walked you to the microphone, kissed your temple, and stood a few steps to your left. The teleprompter behind the camera started running. 

You smiled perfectly and read, “Hello, everyone! Hope you’re having a great night. I sure am and it’s all thanks to Vought. Let’s give them a round of applause!” 

Everyone followed your order like a trained flock. 

“Fellow Americans, as terrifying as the Starlighters’ actions have become recently, let us put aside our panic for tonight and celebrate our wonderful Vought.”

People applauded again. You took off the microphone and walked around the stage as you discreetly kept reading. 

“I speak for all Supes when I say that we couldn’t be happier. This year we’ve done so much together to fight evilness, and it’s all from the goodness of our hearts and our wishes to help all of you.” You point at the camera. “And we’ll keep doing it with a wide smile. Because thanks to Vought, we are living our dreams. For example, me. Thanks to Vought I found the love of my life.” 

You followed the teleprompter’s orders to smile at Ben and leave three seconds of silence for cheers. He just smiled politely to the camera. You walked to him and placed a hand on his chest as his arm found his usual spot around your waist. 

“Thanks to Vought, I found my other half, my perfect, thoughtful, kind, most handsome husband. And—” you gulped as you tried to not let the next words affect you. “And maybe we will get our perfect finale soon by…” You touched your belly. “Expanding the family.”

Ben's smile wavered, but people were too excited to notice. He soothed your waist discreetly as he cursed Vought and whoever wrote the teleprompter’s script. 

A while ago, you both had agreed to avoid having children while being Vought’s trained dolls. Ben would rather die than have his kids be Vought's products too. But if they had constructed your wedding as a big marketing show and had made you say this in front of millions of viewers... they were definitely brewing some plans for your love story’s next chapter. 

You kept talking but not really processing the words as you used all your energy into not crying. 

“... and that’s why my Soldier Boy and I are so thankful for Vought. Right, dear?”

He cleared his throat and replied to the mic, “Of course, honey.”

'FAMILY-FRIENDLY KISS' said the prompter. Ben hesitantly leaned down to kiss you. People were eating it up with cheers and hoots. 

But you two... you knew what this kiss represented; it was the seal of it. The signature to your contract. And the speech was a wake-up call to both. You could miss red carpets and events; could go to the beach and the mountains; could try to have a normal married life, but at the end of your day, Vought was the one in control. 

Vought was the one making decisions, and if they wanted you dead, alive, or pushing babies... you would obey. 

“I love you,” Ben whispered for your ears only. Three words that were a promise: that no matter what Vought did, he would always be by your side. 

You smiled weakly and intertwined your fingers. “I love you too.”

He kissed your hand, not for reactions, but so you could know how much you mean to him. 

Ben wouldn’t react to Vought’s silent threats; he wouldn't destroy the party and run away. He was planning his next move quietly because he was determined to not let that sad spark remain in your eyes. 

He would find a way to save you from Vought. This was the end of being nothing but their products. 

From now on, It was only you and him.

--- more soldier boy!