whisperingdaze

[whisperingdaze]

stop this was so good nat !! gimme 14 more of these please and thanks ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

BORDERLINE

SOLDIER BOY X SWEETHEART!READER

WARNINGS: soldier boy as a whole, mentions of drugs, crude language

SUMMARY: in a feeble attempt to thwart your crush on soldier boy, you decide to practice shooting a gun with him, realizing that the crush you have on him is on the borderline of obsession.

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

the attraction you held for soldier boy was starting to become a problem.

it had been two weeks since you helped the boys rescue soldier boy from his cold induced sleep, and each waking second you were with him was getting worse and worse for your sanity.

although the man was a grade A jackass, he had this whit and charm about him that had you falling at his feet. it didn’t make it any better that he was totally hot. who cares if he was technically a grandpa, you were so far gone no one could bring you back.

you were gracing the borderline of obsession, and soldier boy would be a fool to have not noticed.

how could he not? you were always batting those pretty lashes at him, staring with those wide eyes when you thought he wasn’t looking, and always nervously biting your lip or stuttering over your words when he spoke to you.

ben thought you were adorable; with your glossy waves, short skirts and tight fitted tops. you were everything he found attractive, your personality just being the cherry on top.

so when he saw you, small denim skirt and tight tank top, making his dick harden, he realized that it was time to make a move.

you were staring down at butcher’s desk, looking at the gun he had given you to protect yourself. though there was a slight problem; you’ve never shot a gun in your life, and there was no way that butcher was going to teach you, even if you asked nicely.

“the guns not gonna bite ya’ babydoll,” the sound of soldier boys smug voice rang from behind you, making you stiffen. “c’mon, pick it up, i’ll teach ya’ how to use it.”

the apples of your cheeks reddened, slowly looking at the weapon and back at soldier boy. “you don’t need to do this ben, i don’t want to inconvenience you.” your words made his jaw clench. it wasn’t even the fact that you used his real name — a small gesture that made his stomach tighten. but it was the fact that you thought the mere idea of him helping you would be annoying to him.

you could never annoy him.

never.

you were the only person in this stupid group he could stand to be around.

“you could never annoy me, babydoll. now c’mon,” he spoke, reaching across you to grab the gun and stopping a breath away from your face, his nose basically touching yours. “you need to learn how to shoot, protect yourself from the fuckers out in the world.” he implemented his words with a sultry kiss on your cheek, the smell of weed and something distinctly soldier boy hoarding your senses as he pulled away and walked towards the shooting range in the building.

standing in place, your eyes were wide as you recounted what just happened. did he really just kiss you on the cheek? face so close to yours you could taste the earthy drug on his breath? it was all so intoxicating. so much so you didn’t even notice the man in question standing by the office’s entrance, a smug smile on his face.

“you comin’ babydoll? or do i need to haul you over my shoulder and carry you myself?” the imagery of your ass on full display as you were flung over his shoulder made the knot in ben’s spine stiffen, having mentally stop himself from getting a hard on as you walked sheepishly closer to him.

the walk to the secluded gun range was silent, your brain running ramped with how close soldier boy was to you; while ben tried to stop himself from pushing you against a wall and kissing you senseless.

as the two of you walked into the stuffy room, your eyes instantly roaming around to notice multiple targets with an onslaught of bullet holes in them. a long, stretching metal table to stand behind was glaring at you, glass panes dull without light reflecting off of them.

with a breeze of nonchalance and arrogance, solider boy walked over to the table and adjusted the gun in his palms. he fiddled with the clip, smacking it on the table and making sure all the bullets were in perfectly.

when he clicked it back into place, the man of the hour in your mind adjusted the safety off before aiming the gun upwards and shooting a couple of bullets at the target.

the loud sound made you plug your ears and jump in shock, but you also couldn’t help but notice how he landed his shots perfectly on the targets skull each time.

it was hot, watching him shoot a gun so effortlessly. yet you also couldn’t help but scold yourself at the thoughts twirling around your brain. how you wished he would kiss you senseless, be as reckless with you as he was with that gun while he pounded into your-

“get that pretty ass over here babydoll,” soldier boy grinned out, crooking a finger in a come hither motion. “gonna start our lessons nice and easy”

timidly, you walked over to the smirking man, gasping as his one arm snaked out and gripped your waist to pull you into him. your noses were brushing each other, breaths mingling as ben leaned forward and quickly nipped at your bottom lip.

no time to even react, soldier boy maneuvered your bodies so he was caging you in between the table and his body — his big arms wrapped around you in a snug and protective shield.

“first of all,” he started, whispering in your ear as you looked down at the gun in front of you. “this is how you grip a gun.” he showed you the proper ways to hold it, demonstrating and explaining through the proper technique as you tried to listen and not let your brain explode. “does that make sense, babydoll?”

his question caught you off guard, for you’d been staring at his veiny arms instead of listening.

with a sheepish nod, you grabbed the gun and held it in the same position he had. the feeling of his hands gripping tightly onto your waist made you coil tight in anticipation, and the ragged pull of his breath against your ear had yours catching in your throat.

“good fuckin’ girl.” he rasped out, the feeling of his smirk tickling your earlobe. “such a good listener for me, hmm?”

a sheepish nod filtered from your bones, leaving soldier boy to playfully kiss at your neck as his arms wrapped around yours. “now this is how ya do it.” he murmured in your ear, lifting your arms up while his big hands encompassed yours. “keep steady, aim straight at your target, and squeeze the trigger. though be careful ‘bout the recoil pretty girl. as much as i’m always here to catch you, i don’t want you hurting yourself.

nothing came from your parted lips as you focused solely on aiming at the target. nog even the feeling of ben’s hands gripping yours and his arms intwined around your body could shake the wave of concentration that coursed through your body.

with a shaky breath, your finger jumped to squeeze the trigger. a jolt thrummed up your arms, the ricochet from the shot jolting your bones.

you hadn’t even realized you’d closed your eyes until you felt ben’s hands untangle themselves from yours, palms going to your shoulders and squeezing tightly.

“look at you, babydoll!” he praised, lips brushing the shell of your ear as you peaked your eyes open. “that’s my fuckin’ girl! right on the money!”

it took you a while to realize that your shoot had pierced directly through the targets chest, hitting exactly where their heart would lie beating in their bones.

letting out a deafening squeal, you jumped slightly on the spot, turning around and throwing your arms around soldier boy’s neck. “i did it!” you squeaked, feet lifting off the ground as ben spun you around in his grasp. “holy shit ben i did it!”

“yes you did baby” he murmured in your ear, placing you down on the table and spreading your legs so he could fit in between your thighs. “and now it’s time for your reward.”

his skillful tongue dove into your mouth, lips mashing against each other as the both of you indulged in a heated kiss. whatever crush you had on this man turned into full blown obsession as he gripped your hair in one hand, using the leverage to pull your head back and leave trails of kisses down your neck.

this maddening lust you held for him wasn’t going away soon. especially after you learned what his tongue and fingers felt like exploring your pussy.

TAGS: @starzify @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @bluemerakis @gibson-g1rl @deanangel @whisperingdaze @figthoughts @honeyryewhiskey @haunteres @foolinthera1n @ilovedeanwinchester4

NAT BABBLES: first soldier boy fic. . . pls be nice to me🥹

DIVIDER CREDS: @adornedwithlight

[whisperingdaze]

everything in between Ⓒ 1999

the memory box. — headcannons from teenhood.

story intro page !

Your nickname, Bug, came from Dean. Aunt Hadley brought you over to her friend Bobby’s house not long after John left the boys in his care. You were fascinated by the old Chevy parked in the yard, marveling at the fact that Dean, barely 14, already had a car. With endless curiosity, you peppered him with questions while practically crawling over the Impala to inspect it. Dean, arms crossed and brows furrowed, finally huffed, “You’re like a bug, y’know that? Annoying and buzzin' around my head.” Despite his gruff demeanor, it didn’t take long for you to buzz right past the walls he tried so hard to keep up. 

Sam, on the other hand, was shy and polite—so polite it was almost painful. That first summer, he barely said a word to you or Aunt Hadley. He didn’t stray far from Dean, a little doe-eyed shadow trotting behind the two of you every day. But when you noticed his love for reading, you spent your spring earnings on a pile of books for him. The way Sam’s face lit up, his grin brighter than the summer sun, made it worth every penny. From then on, he’d chat your ear off about whatever he was reading. Dean, overhearing one of these enthusiastic book talks, would smirk and tease, “Nerds of a feather flock together.”

You were never a mischievous child, no, as your aunt would say “she's—curious. Can’t help following her nose whenever some stink catches her interest.” Dean—his middle name is mischief. Together, the two of you always found something to get into. Like the time you discovered Bobby’s dusty hunting guns. Dean explained rock-salt ammunition and gave you a crash course on firing them behind the scrapyard. Bobby stormed out mid-lesson, voice booming, “You idjits better quit before you shoot your damn feet off!”

Not all your troublemaking was dangerous. Some of it was downright silly, like distracting Dean from working on cars by showing up with candy and a box of cassette tapes. Bobby would find the two of you sprawled out in the garage, music blaring and laughter bouncing off the walls.

Of course, none of you were above pranks either—like the time you and Sam hid Dean’s toolbox. His revenge? Removing the front wheel of your bike and leaving it by the porch with a note jammed under the tire shield: This is what betrayal looks like.

as you and Dean grew closer, you spent many nights up in his room talking for hours. Lying on opposite ends of his bed, staring off into space, your conversations would roll into the stuff neither of you cared to talk about in the light of day. "Do you miss him, your dad I mean, do you ever wish he'd come back?" you whisper. Dean was quiet, rolling your words over in his head before sighing, "No—I used to think I wanted him to come back. Especially that first summer." A dry chuckle came out of him before he continued, "But, I don't know... Sammy's happy here. Bobby's good to us. And besides, Bug, I've got you now." He couldn't see your smile from where he rested, but it was growing across your features. "Yeah,I guess I don't mind having you two around." "What about you, huh? You never talk about your dad." "Not much to miss," you shrug, "can't miss someone you never really knew."

You and Sam would study together at your Aunt’s Bakery after school. Dean, bored out of his mind, would hang around to eat Aunt Hadley’s pie and pester the two of you. 

At fifteen, you had your first date with a senior boy. Nervous and jittery, you spent all afternoon at Bobby’s trying to distract yourself from thoughts of the date. When he pulled up in his muscle car, Dean made a big show of polishing a wrench and glaring at the guy. Bobby told him to “quit tryin’ to scare the damn kid.”  But Dean just quipped back, “I’m doing my job.”

It was shortly after that date, when things didn’t work out with Mr. Muscle Car, that you got your first kiss. It was with Dean, during one of your movie nights in Bobby’s living room. The two of you were quiet for a moment, an awkward silence filling the air as neither of you could really look at each other. “Dean, I don’t think I can see you as anything other than like—my annoying best friend that snores in his sleep and burps too loud.” He gave you a sheepish laugh, cheeks a bright pink as he nodded.  “Yeah,” his hand goes up to rub his jaw, “yeah, you’re right. Pretend this never happened?” “Deal.” you were quick to respond, and the agreement was sealed with a handshake. 

Sam roped you into a science fair project when he was 12. The experiment ended in a minor explosion in Bobby’s garage. Dean walked in coughing through the smoke, muttering, “What the hell are you two doing? Trying to blow up the yard?”

You and Dean often worked on cars in the yard while Sam sat nearby with a book. Dean would teach you how to fix things. Bobby once walked by as Dean leaned over your shoulder to help, grumbling, “Get a room, you two.” Both of you turned bright pink and stumbled over awkward denials.

John’s rare calls were a shadow over those years. You always knew when he’d called the moment you saw Dean. He’d go find you—whether in your bedroom or the library—and wordlessly drop into a chair beside you, his teasing smile nowhere in sight. You never pressed him to talk. Instead, you’d hug him until the weight on his shoulders spilled out in quiet confessions.

Aunt Hadley once caught Dean sneaking out of the bakery with extra cookies. She crossed her arms and said, “Dean Winchester, put those back.” Dean sheepishly returned them…except for one he hid behind his back.

You stole Dean’s leather jacket once, just to see how long it would take him to notice. When he finally did, he cornered you and said, “Bug, if you don’t give that back, I’m telling everyone about your obsession with NSYNC.”

Whenever you and Dean got into one of your bickering matches, Sam would sigh dramatically and say, “You two fight like an old married couple.” Earning a matching pair of glares, and a unison, “shut it, Sammy.”

He was also the first to notice how fond you were of each other. Even if neither you or Dean had a clue about it. Once, he sat on the edge of the tub as you were patching up a cut on Dean’s hand—after he’d gotten a little too mouthy with the school meatheads and had to fight his way out. Sam would scoff, his squeaky puberty voice muttering, “Just kiss already.” You and Dean both turned crimson, shooting half-hearted insults at him in retaliation.

— Unbeknownst to you at the time, the Winchesters and Bobby became the family you hadn’t realized you were missing. Growing up, you’d always hovered on the fringes of social circles—too shy to make the first move, too quiet to join in. That summer of ’95 changed everything. The pangs of loneliness faded, replaced by the warmth of belonging. Your Aunt Hadley had always been your rock, her love steady and unwavering, but the boys brought something back: your spark.

[whisperingdaze]

⟡ ₊ . ༄.° postcards under the bed

pairing: dean winchester x reader synopsis: how dean became a part of reader's little family. tags/warnings: fluff, fwb, reader has custody of her 5yo niece wc: 1k a/n; your girl was craving fluff!!!

dean winchester masterlist ♡

when you and dean first started going out, you knew that he was always traveling and never really stayed in one spot for too long, which was more than fine with you; you were too busy working and taking care of your niece for a proper relationship, anyway.

so, whenever the man came back to kansas and you managed to get a babysitter, the two of you would get tangled up in your bedsheets for a night. until things started changing.

what started as dean calling you up when he was back in town slowly turned into him texting you when he was gone, asking you how you were doing and telling you he couldn't wait to see you, coming over as soon as he was back in kansas.

what started as dean coming straight to your place and almost immediately taking you to bed slowly turned into pots and pans clanging in the kitchen as he cooked you dinner while you simply watched him with a glass of wine on your hand, the man telling you all about whatever monster him and his brother had been hunting while he made you his so-called specialty.

what started as dean leaving before you had even woken up slowly turned into waking up to his snores, spending lazy mornings tangled in each other's arms while the two of you talked about everything and nothing in hushed voices, exchanging small, nearly feather-light kisses.

he started bringing you postcards from all the places they'd travel to, the back of them filled with chicken scratches about what they were hunting, and although he always gave them to you in person, he made sure to write your name on the lines meant for your address with what was dean's attempt at cursive, the shoe box under your bed soon filled with postcards from different places.

neither of you called it what it was; when sam queried dean about where he'd disappear off to the moment they got back from their cases he'd mumble something about 'going to see someone', and when your friends wondered who was the guy picking you up from your girls' night in the black impala you'd just shrug and grin before making your way outside, straight into the arms of the man leaning against the car.

"i'm gonna have to cancel tonight." you said into your phone, using your shoulder to hold it up to your ear as you used your hands to decorate a bunch of cupcakes.

"what? aw, come on." dean's voice rang out, "i got popcorn and sour patch kids, and you finally agreed to watch terminator with me. are you bailing on me because of that? because if you really want to, we can watch one of your chick-flicks. again."

you let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, a small smile now lingering on your lips, "it's not that. my sitter has a fever and had to cancel. so instead of our planned explicit date night i'm gonna be playing board games with aurora."

"ah, damn." dean sighed on the other line, "i really wanted to see you, sammy and i are probably gonna be back on the road tomorrow, we found some vamps up in duluth."

"i'm sorry." you say with your lips turned down in a slight frown, "let's take a raincheck, 'kay? i should go get rory, i finished decorating our cupcakes."

"oh? what cupcakes did you make?"

"red velvet. they're her favorite."

dean let out a small chuckle before humming, "hey, i was thinking... if it's not a girls-only night... maybe i could join you."

"really?" you raised your brows, "you wanna spend the evening playing monopoly with me and my niece rather than, i don't know, go to some bar and spend the evening with some hot chick?"

"i mean, you do have cupcakes. and board games are no fun with just two people."

you hummed, your lips pursed as you thought about his suggestion for a moment, before swallowing, "yeah. you can join."

after that evening, it seemed like things changed all over again.

dean no longer texted to ask you how you were, or to tell you how much he wanted to see you. he no longer cooked for you while you got to relax. you no longer woke up next to him. you didn't receive postcards addressed to you.

instead, he'd call you, checking in on you and aurora, saying how much he couldn't wait to see both of you again. he cooked for you while you were busy coloring with your niece. by the time you woke up, led zeppelin was blasting in the kitchen and the entire house smelled of pancakes, and when you got up, you'd see aurora dancing clumsily while dean was making pancakes. and the postcards were no longer addressed to you, but to you and aurora, and instead of ending up hidden under your bed, they were displayed on the fridge, until you no longer had enough magnets.

you were laid on dean's chest, your fingers drawing slight patterns on his skin, until his own hand came to stop you, bringing your hand to his warm lips, pressing a kiss on it.

"what are you thinking about?" he asked against your skin, and you looked up at him, wondering if you should tell dean what you were really thinking about or just brush him off. but the look in his eyes was reassuring, almost pleading you to tell him what was on your mind.

you took a deep breath before locking eyes with him, chewing on your lower lip, slightly anxious about what he was going to think.

"i don't think i can live without you."

dean's eyes widened slightly in surprise, before he let out a soft chuckle, the feeling of his breath on your hand causing shivers to run down your spine. he let go of your hand and moved his hand to your cheek, and you almost automatically brought your face closer to his.

"that's good, sweetheart, because i don't think i can live without you, either."

[whisperingdaze]

hi my angels !!

i just wanted to say i’m sorry for my inactivity, i’ve been getting assignments for college and family has been round so it’s all been hectic.

i don’t know how much i’ll be able to do— writing wise. as i have to do my assignment before wednesday, due to me going on a holiday for a week.

i doubt i’ll be able to get much done during now till the 13th of february, but i will try my hardest to be writing a bunch of stuff so i can post it when i can.

i hope you are all well and having an amazing day/night <3

[whisperingdaze]

How do u think Dean proposes?

oh bae, lots of thoughts on this,, loverboy!dean is back .ᐟ

okay so call me cliché, but i fully believe dean is a very sentimental guy. i just know he’d be so giddy throughout the whole proposal process. before choosing a ring, i think he’d probably snoop through your jewellery to get an idea of what you like—maybe even going as far as asking your friends what they think you’d like for an engagement ring.

and dean’s definitely getting sam or cas to go with him to the jeweller’s when he’s finally decided. he’d be standing at the glass cabinets in front of the clerk, grinning and rambling about you like a bumbling idiot, clearly so head over heels for his ‘fiancée’ (yeah, he’s already calling you that to people before he’s even proposed).

and when he’s finally picked out your ring, he takes the next few days to plan out the perfect proposal. he knows he doesn’t want to do something over the top or too cheesy.

so he settles on something he knows you’d like. something that just seems so quintessentially you and dean.

dean picks you up in the impala, dressed to impress—but not suspiciously so—and flicks on your favourite love songs from the mixtape you made together a few years ago.

you both hum along, and he taps his hand on the steering wheel as he drives, trying to not let the proud grin show on his face at the fact he got your friends to help you pick out an appropriate outfit and a fresh new set of nails for the occasion. he knows you’ll thank him for that later. dean makes casual small talk, trying to appear as normal as possible, like this was any other regular date.

eventually he pulls the impala up at a familiar place—the place where he asked you to be his girlfriend. dean debated and contemplated between here, the cliff overlooking the lake not far from the bunker, or the little italian restaurant he took you to on your first date. he figured a more private setting would be better suited for his plans.

so as you joke about the sweet memories of this place, dean laughs, hoping you’re not catching on quite yet. you pull out the picnic blanket and lay it across the hood of the impala. you and dean take a seat on top of it and unpack the basket he’d packed for your afternoon picnic. he pulls out the sandwiches he’d sam made and the cherry pie, along with the attempted charcuterie board—keyword ‘attempted’. you compliment it nonetheless, and the efforts he’s gone to, even if the spread looks a little messy. you can tell it’s all been made with love, and that’s what’s important.

as the time with you passes, dean’s chest gets heavier and heavier with anxiety. his eyes flicker over your face and god, it hits him; he’s so in love with you. his heart races as the sun begins to set over the pair of you, colouring you both in warm amber hues. the sun reflects off the lake as the water ripples, and all dean can think is ‘please, let her say yes.’

dean just manages to keep up his nonchalant act, disguising his inner turmoil. he tries to keep everything seemingly lighthearted and normal, despite the doubt and fear plaguing his thoughts. the sun eventually dips down under the horizon, and he smiles at you, “wait here just a sec, baby. i left something in the car.”

he grabs some tealight candles and a piece of paper from the glove compartment and returns back to his place next to you on the hood.

instead he places the few candles between you, lighting them as you laugh and ask what’s going on, though by this point you’re beginning to put two and two together. dean looks up at you and lets out a nervous huff, plastering a smile on his face to cover the anxiety clenching at his chest.

“let just me just—” he says, fumbling with the paper in his hands. dean meets your gaze and studies you silently for a moment, taking in your beauty and how you seem to be giving him an almost encouraging expression. he nods and begins reading off his paper.

dean reads his scribbled words, his hands shaking as he holds the crumpled note, recounting all the memories you’ve made together and how he yearns to have a lifetime of more with you. he tells you how you’ve bettered him as a man and how he’d be nothing without you. he tells you how important you are to him and how much he strives to be as good and as kind as you one day. he tells you he can’t imagine a world where he’s not by your side.

dean finishes his speech by telling you why he loves you, and it’s not just superficial things. it’s things that make you feel seen and heard; things that only someone like him would notice and internalise. by the end of it, dean’s trying to swallow the lump in his throat that grew when he noticed your teary eyes looking back at him.

he sets down the paper and lets out a breath, trying to steel himself for the question he’s about to ask. he pulls out the ring box and holds it up in front of you in his shaking hands.

“will you marry me?”

A/N: okay so this was meant to be like quick headcanoning points but here’s a story for u LOL this makes sense in my head for dean. i don’t think he’d do anything outrageously exuberant, like propose in front of a crowd or anything,, but anyways i hope this was sweet anon!!!

✩ taglist bc yolo: @chevroletdean @fitxgrld @jasvtsc @bluestrd @1-imbroglio @titsout4jackles @faithfulsofi @tortureddarkstar @abellmunsonmovie @legalmente-loca @theoneandonlystonedspiderman420 @manicjk @aileenunfiltered @minettacreekk @winchester-whiskey @emeraldcrs @freyabear @floralscented @cosmopolitan-thedrink @jwritestuff @suhnisideup @spookyysinsanity @kimxwinchester @bleuatlas @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @deansbeer @artemys-ackles @bluemerakis @misatxox @star-yawnznn @ambiguous-avery @starzify @whisperingdaze @deanswidow @psychicnatural @ghostlyaccurate @k-slla

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[whisperingdaze]

STOOD UP AND APPLAUDED

HURT MY FEELINGS

─── hockey player! stanford! dean winchester

warning! sexc time, p in v, unprotected sex (don't be silly wrap your willy), cheating

word count! 3.6k

the house is alive, practically throbbing with the bass of the music blasting from every corner. it’s the first big party of the semester, and everyone seems determined to start the school year with a bang. red solo cups are everywhere, laughter and shouts mixing with the pounding rhythm. the place is packed—too packed—and the air feels heavy, a mix of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne.

dean leans against the arm of the worn couch, matt, one of his hockey teammate beside him, laughing about some dumb summer story. his arm is draped casually around lana’s shoulders. she’s perched close to him, her hand tracing slow patterns on his chest, her giggle loud enough to rise above the noise. they’re surrounded by a circle of teammates and their girlfriends, the conversation flitting between summer internships, upcoming games, and the professors everyone’s already dreading.

dean’s in the middle of some half-hearted response about his internship when you walk in.

his voice stalls. he doesn’t mean for it to, but he can’t help it. his eyes zero in on you instantly, cutting through the haze of bodies and noise. you’re with kennedy, laughing about something as you make your way to the drink table, and damn if you don’t look like you just walked out of one of those stupid teen movies lana keeps making him watch.

you’ve always been able to turn heads. but tonight, it’s different. it’s like you’re doing it just to spite him.

lana shifts beside him, tugging his attention back. her lips brush against his ear, something flirty and suggestive spilling out, but he doesn’t really register it. she must notice where his gaze lingers because her touches grow bolder—her nails scraping his jaw, her lips trailing over his neck. dean forces a grin and leans into her just enough to play along, but his attention keeps drifting back to you.

you don’t look his way. not once. not even when kennedy’s eyes sweep the room, sharp and observant as always, like she’s daring anyone to come over and ruin your night. it’s almost impressive, really, how you’re managing to avoid him—or maybe you’re just lucky. either way, the distance gnaws at him. are you ignoring him, or do you genuinely not care that he’s here? he’s not sure which answer stings more or better yet why it stings.

hours blur by, the party growing messier as the night deepens. lana disappears at some point, off with her friends—or maybe to make herself the center of attention somewhere else. dean doesn’t care enough to track her down.

he spots you again at the drink table, alone this time. the crowd around you has thinned out, and there’s no kennedy to run interference. you’re focused on mixing something into your cup, your movements unbothered, graceful even.

before he can talk himself out of it, dean pushes off the couch and makes his way over. he doesn’t bother with subtlety; he walks up like it’s the most natural thing in the world, a cocky grin already tugging at his lips.

”real cute that you think being my leftovers is something to flaunt,“ he says, leaning against the edge of the table. his voice is low, teasing, laced with just enough snark to draw a reaction.

you glance up, caught off guard by dean’s approach. the music pulsates in the background, blending with the din of voices and laughter around you. your expression tightens momentarily, a mix of surprise and irritation flickering across your features.

"flaunting? please," you retort, voice laced with a sharp edge. "i'm just here to enjoy the party, dean. like everyone else."

his grin widens, though there's a flicker of something in his eyes—something unreadable, buried beneath layers of cocky indifference. "enjoying yourself, huh? seems like it."

you resist the urge to roll your eyes. "believe it or not, i don't spend every waking moment thinking about you, dean. shocking, i know."

he hums, tilting his head like he's considering your words. "yeah? 'cause you walked in here like you had something to prove. all dressed up, laughing a little too loud, looking right past me like i don’t exist." his eyes flick over you, slow and deliberate. "almost like you wanted me to notice."

your grip tightens around your cup. "don’t flatter yourself."

dean smirks, leaning in just enough for his words to brush against your skin. "too late."

you scoff, shaking your head. "you really think everything is about you, don’t you?"

"well, in your case? it used to be," he throws back, smug and infuriating.

anger coils in your chest, hot and sharp. "yeah, until you screwed my best friend."

his smirk twitches, but he recovers fast, shrugging like it’s nothing. "what can i say? she was available. you weren’t."

your breath hitches, a sharp inhale cutting through the noise of the party. "you’re actually disgusting, you know that?"

dean’s grin doesn’t waver. if anything, it grows. "and yet, here you are. talking to me instead of walking away."

you linger, just for a second. long enough for dean to think you might actually say something else, might keep standing there and feeding into this back-and-forth, letting him push and pull at you like he always has. but instead, you just huff a laugh—sharp, unimpressed—and turn on your heel, walking away without another word.

that shouldn't bother him. it really shouldn't.

but it does.

dean watches you disappear into the crowd, his jaw tightening as irritation flares in his chest. he doesn't like being dismissed, least of all by you. so before he even thinks better of it, he moves, weaving through the throng of bodies, catching glimpses of you as you head toward the hallway.

"seriously?" he calls, dodging a couple making out against the wall. "you're just gonna walk away now?"

you don't stop, but you throw a look over your shoulder. "figured that’s what you wanted, dean. you got what you came for—riling me up. congratulations."

"see, i think you’re giving yourself too much credit," he retorts, tone laced with mock amusement. "not everything is about you, sweetheart."

you scoff but keep walking, shoving past some guy who’s too drunk to even notice. the hallway is slightly less chaotic, though the occasional group stumbles by, laughing too loudly, sloshing their drinks as they go. the noise is still there, muffled by the walls, but it feels different—more closed in, more personal.

dean catches up, grabbing your wrist just as another couple stumbles past, too wasted to care about the argument unfolding. you yank your arm back, glaring up at him.

"don’t touch me," you snap.

his jaw ticks. "then stop running away every time i try to talk to you."

you fold your arms, standing your ground. "oh, my bad, did you think i owed you a conversation? after what you did?"

dean rolls his eyes, stepping closer, challenging. "god, you love this, don’t you? pretending like you're above it all. like you don’t still think about me."

you let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "you're delusional."

another pair of drunk partygoers stumble past, eyeing the two of you with vague curiosity. dean barely spares them a glance before he makes a split-second decision.

before you can react, his hand wraps around your wrist again—not harsh, just firm—and suddenly, he’s tugging you through a half-open door.

"dean—"

the door clicks shut behind you, muffling the chaos of the party. the space is small, just a bathroom—dimly lit, slightly messy, the counter cluttered with empty red solo cups. the distant bass of the music still hums through the walls, but in here, it’s just the two of you.

"you have got to be kidding me," you seethe, crossing your arms. "dragging me in here like you have anything worth saying?"

dean lets out a sharp laugh, running a hand through his hair before looking at you like you're the one being unreasonable. "oh, come on. since when do you run away from a fight?"

you scoff. "since when do you think you deserve one?"

his smirk falters for half a second before it’s back, cocky and infuriating. "you act like i did something that wasn’t inevitable."

your jaw tightens. "are you actually trying to justify screwing my best friend?"

dean exhales, shaking his head. "i’m saying you act like i’m the only one who screwed up."

you blink, caught between disbelief and fury. "excuse me?"

"you think i didn’t notice?" he challenges, stepping closer. "the way you started pulling away? acting like i was just another thing on your to-do list instead of your boyfriend?"

your breath hitches, but anger surges past the shock. "that’s rich, coming from you. if you were so damn miserable, you could’ve broken up with me instead of crawling into bed with lana!"

"yeah? and you could’ve given a damn before it got to that point!" his voice rises slightly, his frustration cracking through the surface.

you shake your head, laughing bitterly. "so this is my fault now? unreal."

dean exhales sharply, gripping the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. "i didn’t say that."

"you didn’t have to," you bite back. "and you know what? i would’ve rather you just said you didn’t love me anymore. that, at least, i could’ve respected."

dean flinches, something unreadable flickering across his face before he masks it with another infuriating smirk. "yeah? that what you need to hear? that i didn’t love you?"

you swallow hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. "did you?"

he doesn’t answer right away. his lips press into a thin line, his shoulders tense.

the silence is unbearable. you should just leave. shove past him, throw the door open, and let this be the last time you ever let him get under your skin.

but then, dean exhales sharply and shakes his head, muttering, "fuck," under his breath like he hates himself for what he’s about to do.

the next second, he’s on you.

his hands grip your face, his lips crash against yours, and for a moment—just a fleeting, reckless moment—you kiss him back. because anger and heartbreak and longing blur together, and you don’t know how to stop yourself.

your hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer. he groans against your lips, deepening the kiss, like he’s been starving for this, for you.

and maybe, just maybe, you have too.

the kiss is hot and desperate, months of pent-up anger and desire pouring out. the back of your thighs hit the countertop as dean presses against you, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your hip. you bite his lower lip, eliciting a low growl from him.

"god, i hate you," you breathe against his mouth.

"yeah?" dean murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. "show me how much."

your nails dig into his shoulders as he sucks at your pulse point. you arch into him, a soft moan escaping despite your best efforts. dean's hand slides under your shirt, his touch scorching against your skin.

"this doesn't change anything," you gasp, even as you tilt your head to give him better access.

he chuckles darkly against your collarbone. "keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

you grab his face, pulling him back up for another heated kiss. it's messy and rough, all clashing teeth and battling tongues. your fingers hook into his belt loops, drawing him impossibly closer.

dean's hands roam your body hungrily, like he's trying to memorize every curve. your hands return to his hair, tugging at it as you revel in the groan it draws from him. the bass from the party thrums through the walls, matching the pounding of your heart.

"fuck, i've missed you," dean mutters, his voice husky with want.

you hate how much those words affect you, how they make heat pool low in your belly. instead of responding, you capture his lips again, pouring all your frustration and longing into the kiss.

his hands slide down to your thighs, gripping them tightly before hoisting you up and placing you on the counter. you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, gasping as he grinds against you.

"dean," you moan, your head falling back against the wall.

he takes the opportunity to attack your neck again, leaving a trail of marks that you know you'll regret in the morning. but right now, you can't bring yourself to care.

your fingers fumble with his belt, desperate to feel more of him. dean's own hands push your skirt up, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

the rational part of your brain is screaming at you to stop, reminding you of all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. but the way dean is looking at you, with that mix of hunger and something deeper that you're afraid to name, makes it impossible to listen to reason.

"last chance to back out," he murmurs against your lips, his eyes searching yours.

you know you should. you know this will only complicate things, that you'll hate yourself in the morning. but the feeling of dean pressed against you, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him, is intoxicating.

so instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer, capturing his lips in another searing kiss. "shut up and fuck me," you breathe against his lips.

dean groans, his hands steady as he slides your panties down your legs, stuffing the fabric in the pocket of his jeans. heat floods your cheeks, but it's quickly eclipsed by the growing need uncoiling in your belly.

his fingers find your slick folds, rubbing circles over your swollen clit. you moan, arching into his touch, and he groans low in his throat, the vibration sending shivers down your spine.

"god, i missed this," he mutters before dipping his head to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. his fingertips graze over your entrance, and you whimper, biting your lip to stifle a moan.

"dean," you mewl as he pushes a finger inside of you slowly, curling it in a way that makes you see stars.

"missed this too," he growls, picking up the pace of his ministrations. he leans in to suck at the sensitive spot on your neck where your neck meets your shoulder, knowing very well it's one of your weak spots. you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders as sensation after sensation washes over you.

he adds a second finger, thrusting them both in and out in time with the pounding bass from the party outside. his other hand gropes at your breast through the thing fabric of your shirt and lace bra, tweaking and pinching your hardened nipple until you're writhing against him in pleasure.

"oh god," you whimper as an orgasm threatens to crash over you like a tidal wave. "de-dean!"

he must sense how close you are because he removes his fingers and stands upright again, licking his digits clean before shoving his boxers down just far enough to free himself. "wrap your legs around me," he rumbles against your ear before nipping at it with his teeth.

you do as he says, locking him between your thighs as tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it all. dean lines himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock teasing your folds. you whimper, digging your heels into his lower back to urge him on.

he captures your lips in a searing kiss as he pushes inside you, swallowing your moan. the stretch is familiar yet foreign, your body remembering him even after all this time. he stills for a moment, allowing you to adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

"fuck," he groans, his breath hot against your skin. "you feel so good."

you roll your hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. "move," you command, your nails digging into his shoulders.

he doesn't need to be told twice. dean starts to thrust, setting a punishing pace that has you seeing stars. your head falls back against the mirror with a dull thud, exposing your neck to his hungry mouth. he latches onto your pulse point, sucking and biting, adding to the marks you'll have to hide later.

the bathroom counter creaks beneath you with each thrust, the sound mixing with your muffled moans and dean's grunts. you're vaguely aware that anyone could walk in at any moment, but the thought only adds to the thrill.

you cling to him, your nails raking down his back as he sets a punishing pace. the anger, the hurt, the longing - it all pours out in the way your bodies crash together. it's rough and desperate, nothing like the gentle lovemaking you used to share. but right now, it's exactly what you need.

"god, i've missed you," dean mumbles against your skin, his voice rough with emotion. "missed this. missed us."

his words send a shiver down your spine, and you tug at his hair, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. your tongues battle for dominance as he continues to pound into you relentlessly, hitting that spot deep inside that makes you see god himself.

you can feel yourself getting close, that familiar tension building in your core. dean seems to sense it too, because one of his hands snakes between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit.

"come f’me, sweetheart," he commands, his voice rough with exertion. "come all over this dick f’daddy."

his words, combined with the dual stimulation, send you over the edge. you cry out as your orgasm washes over you, your walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash through your body.

dean follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he empties himself inside you with a guttural groan. for a moment, you both stay there, panting and trembling in the aftermath.

reality starts to creep back in as the high fades. dean pulls out slowly, both of you wincing at the loss of contact. he tucks himself back into his jeans while you slide off the counter on shaky legs, smoothing down your skirt.

the silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. you avoid his gaze as you try to fix your hair in the smudged mirror, your mind racing with the implications of what just happened.

dean exhales, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to ground himself. you don’t look at him, keeping your focus on your reflection as you smooth your hair into place, willing your heart to stop racing. the silence between you stretches—too thick, too loud—until he finally speaks.

“so, what now?” his voice is quieter than before, rough around the edges.

you freeze for half a second, gripping the sink. then you let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “there is no ‘what now,’ dean. this—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you. “this was a mistake.”

he stiffens, his jaw ticking. “yeah? sure didn’t seem like a mistake a few minutes ago.”

you whip around; eyes sharp. “oh, don’t do that. i told you this wouldn’t change anything.”

dean shrugs, his smirk forced, like it’s the only armor he has left. “whatever you say, sweetheart.”

you glare at him, stomach twisting at the stupid nickname. but before you can respond, a loud knock rattles the bathroom door.

“occupied,” dean calls, irritation bleeding into his tone.

the door handle jiggles aggressively. “yeah, i don’t care,” comes kennedy’s sharp voice. “i know she’s in there, dean. open the damn door.”

your stomach drops.

dean sighs, running a hand through his hair before unlocking the door. the second it swings open, kennedy steps in, eyes scanning the situation in a millisecond. her gaze flicks between you—flushed, disheveled—and dean, still annoyingly smug. her lips curl in disgust.

“you have got to be kidding me.”

“kennedy—” you start, but she holds up a hand, eyes dark with disappointment.

“save it.” she turns to dean with a glare sharp enough to cut. “you’re a goddamn disease, you know that?”

dean smirks, unfazed. “good to see you too, ken.”

she rolls her eyes and grabs your wrist, tugging you past him. “come on.”

you don’t fight it. you don’t even spare dean another glance as kennedy pulls you into the hallway, the cooler air hitting your flushed skin like a slap.

and of course, because the universe loves to screw with you, the first person you see is lana.

she’s standing near the end of the hall, laughing at something one of her friends said—until she sees you. her eyes flick over your appearance, and something in her expression shifts.

you don’t stop walking. don’t even acknowledge her.

kennedy keeps a firm grip on your wrist as she leads you through the party, her pace brisk and furious. “we’re leaving,” she mutters. “before i actually murder him.”

you don’t argue.

because as much as you hate to admit it, she’s right. you need to get out of here. away from dean. away from the lingering heat on your skin and the mess you just made.

because no matter how good it felt in the moment, this—whatever it was—was never going to happen again.

breezy's notes: huge shoutout to my pookie bear dolly for letting me share a lil bit of stanford! dean and give him my own twist. hockey! dean is literally like 3 months old, but i finally decided to put him to rest aka post this. there is a bot that goes along with this, but i actually hate him and have to rearrange his insides (s/o justyce for that one) so he can act right before i release him to the masses. this was so much more than i expected to write but look at what happens when i actually lock tf in and do what i have to. RIP hockey! dean you were my first baby and ily

tags ⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭: @floralscented @deansbeer @aileenunfiltered @jasvtsc @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @bluemerakis @tortureddarkstar @figthoughts @ultravi0lence14 @misatxox @foolinthera1n @deansenvy @hoffmansgirl @eepwtf @lawboysammyy @jjmbbg @tinas111 @soldiersgirl @whisperingdaze @abox-of-rocks @starzify

[whisperingdaze]

FIGURE 8

─── hockey player! stanford! dean winchester

warning! none just a whole lotta cute shit

word count! 2.7k

the crisp chill of the rink bites at your cheeks as you peer through your camera lens, tracking kennedy’s fluid movements across the ice. she’s in her element, cutting through the rink with effortless grace, her blade slicing the frozen surface as she executes a spin, her arms extending like she was born for this. you adjust the focus, capturing her mid-motion, the arena lights catching in her dark hair like a halo.

from the stands, lana sighs—loudly. “are you guys done yet? my ass is freezing.”

you smirk but keep your attention on kennedy. “you wanted to come.”

“i didn’t think it would take this long,” she grumbles, pulling her jacket tighter around herself.

before you can fire back, the heavy double doors to the rink slam open with an echoing thud. a group of guys floods in, their voices cutting through the cold air—loud, boisterous, effortlessly taking up space. the stanford hockey team.

kennedy exhales sharply, her mood visibly shifting. you lower your camera just in time to see taylor, one of the team’s forwards, step onto the ice with a cocky grin.

“you’re still here, shaffer?” he calls out, skating toward kennedy with that obnoxious, self-assured glide that all hockey players seem to have.

she lifts her chin, unimpressed. “i have ten more minutes.”

taylor scoffs, spinning lazily on his skates. “c’mon, princess, do you really need ‘ten more minutes’ for your little twirls?”

you see kennedy’s jaw tighten. “it’s called a triple lutz, jackass.”

some of taylor’s teammates snicker from the bench. he opens his mouth to retort—but then another voice cuts through the space.

“let her have her ten minutes.”

the voice is smooth, commanding without effort. and when you turn toward it, that’s when you see him.

dean winchester. the team’s center and captain.

he’s just stepped onto the ice, a hockey stick slung over his shoulder, his green eyes sharp under the overhead lights. he’s taller up close than you expected, his presence magnetic in a way that makes your stomach dip. he’s not loud like the rest of them—he doesn’t need to be. when he speaks, people listen.

kennedy gives taylor a smug look before resuming her practice. the guys disperse, some of them muttering about how “winchester’s always ruining the fun,” but you barely hear them. because dean’s gaze flicks to you.

and suddenly, the entire rink seems colder. or hotter. you can’t tell anymore.

it’s instant. that pulse of something sharp and electric snapping in the air between you. his head tilts slightly, like he’s sizing you up, interest flickering behind his eyes. and damn it, you can’t even pretend not to notice how good he looks in that fitted black compression shirt and team jacket, his dark hair slightly mussed from his helmet.

your fingers tighten around your camera. you force yourself to look away, pretending to check your camera settings even though your heart is hammering against your ribs.

ten minutes pass too quickly.

kennedy skates over to you, smirking at your obvious distraction. “alright, come on, let’s get you off the ice before the neanderthals start their drills.”

you nod, stepping carefully toward her. you already know you’re a disaster on skates, but kennedy has a steady hold on your arm, guiding you toward the exit.

you’re almost there. almost.

and then your skate catches on the ice, and—

“shit—”

your balance wobbles violently, the world tilting as you feel yourself start to go down.

but before you can hit the ice, strong hands catch you by the waist.

“careful there, sweetheart,” a familiar voice drawls, smooth as whiskey. “can’t have you busting up that pretty face.”

your breath stutters.

dean.

his hands are firm, warm even through the chill. he steadies you with an easy confidence, like he’s done it a hundred times before. when you look up, his green eyes are closer than they were before, and the corner of his mouth tugs into something just shy of a smirk.

for a second, neither of you move.

then kennedy clears her throat. loudly.

dean grins, giving your waist one last squeeze before stepping back. “you good?”

you nod, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “yeah. thanks.”

he winks. “anytime.”

and just like that, he’s gone, skating backward toward his teammates without another word, leaving you standing there, still reeling.

kennedy leans in, voice dripping with amusement. “you should’ve fallen. i bet he would’ve carried you off the ice.”

you shove her lightly, rolling your eyes, but there’s no denying the heat still lingering in your chest. you sneak one last glance toward the ice, where dean is already caught up in conversation with his teammates, effortlessly cool like the moment didn’t faze him at all.

but just before you turn away, he glances back over his shoulder—right at you.

your breath catches.

his smirk deepens, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. then he winks, casual as ever, before skating off without another word.

kennedy loops her arm through yours, dragging you toward the exit. “you’re so screwed.”

and for once, you don’t have a comeback. because, yeah, you were in fact screwed.

the midday sun filters through the trees, casting shifting shadows across the bustling stanford quad. students weave between each other, conversations and laughter blending into the background hum of campus life. you’re walking with kennedy and lana, the three of you deep in conversation—well, you and kennedy are, while lana types away on her phone, clearly half-listening.

“you seriously can’t expect me to understand that physics problem and be emotionally available at the same time,” kennedy complains, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. “i’m not built for that kind of multitasking.”

“you’re not built for any kind of multitasking,” you tease, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

before kennedy can fire back, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“well, well, look who it is.”

you barely have time to register the voice before taylor appears, draping his arms over both kennedy’s and lana’s shoulders with effortless ease. he’s all confidence and easy charm, a grin plastered across his face like he owns the place.

“miss me, ladies?”

lana laughs, tilting her head up to him. “you wish.”

“not denying it, though,” he quips, squeezing her shoulder before turning his attention to kennedy. “and you, ice queen—still terrorizing people in and out the rink?”

kennedy scoffs, crossing her arms. “shut up, king, you wouldn’t last five minutes on my training schedule.”

taylor smirks. “sweetheart, i’d last plenty of minutes.”

you snort at the innuendo just as kennedy makes a face of pure disgust. “ew, fucking gross.”

“i try.” taylor winks before turning his attention back to lana, who’s already half-distracted by an incoming text. “so, tell me—when are we making this thing between us official?”

lana arches a perfectly manicured brow. “what thing?”

taylor clutches his chest dramatically. “ouch. you wound me.”

kennedy rolls her eyes. “tragic. somebody play ‘in the end’ by linkin park in his honor.”

“you’re the worst,” taylor says, but he’s grinning as he pulls out his phone and pretends to text. “hey, lemme just update my myspace real quick. kennedy marie shaffer ruined my day again.”

kennedy scoffs. “i should be number one on your top 8 for how much you talk about me.”

taylor grins. “babe, i’d consider it, but lana’s already got that spot.” he winks at lana, who just rolls her eyes but doesn’t entirely hide her smirk.

while they continue their back-and-forth, you catch movement behind taylor—dean, strolling up with his hands in the pockets of his worn-in leather jacket. he doesn’t insert himself into the conversation right away. instead, he watches you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“you’re just gonna let him keep talking?” you tease, nodding toward taylor.

dean shrugs. “figured i’d let him dig his own grave.”

taylor scoffs. “that’s rich, coming from you.”

dean doesn’t take the bait, instead turning back to you, his gaze lingering just a little too long. “how’s the photography going?”

you blink, surprised he remembers. “uh, good. i have a gallery assignment coming up.”

“yeah?” he tilts his head slightly. “you ever shoot portraits?”

you nod. “sometimes.”

dean hums in thought, his smirk deepening. “think you could make me look good?”

you raise a brow. “that depends—how much photoshop am i allowed to use?”

his laughter is low and warm, and he steps in just a little closer, like the space between you was an afterthought. “cold. real cold.”

you shrug. “honesty’s important in photography.”

dean watches you for a beat, his expression unreadable yet amused, like he’s deciding something in real time. then, he leans in slightly, dropping his voice just enough that it feels like a secret.

“how about this,” he murmurs. “you give me your number, and we can figure out a time for you to prove just how much photoshop i’d actually need.”

it’s so smooth, so casual, that you almost don’t realize he’s asking you out until he lifts a brow, waiting for your response. there’s no cockiness, no expectation—just quiet confidence, like he already knows what your answer will be.

you hesitate for half a second, more out of surprise than anything else, before offering him a small smirk of your own. “that’s a pretty creative way to ask someone out.”

dean chuckles with a shrug. “what can i say? i’m a creative guy.”

rolling your eyes, you pull out your phone handing it to him. his fingers brush yours—barely a touch, but enough to send a small jolt through you anyway.

by the time lana and taylor are fully immersed in their flirtatious back-and-forth, and kennedy is firing off some sarcastic retort, dean steps back, glancing down at your phone in his hand before handing it back to you.

“call me,” he says, his smirk deepening.

and then, just like that, he’s gone—walking off with taylor, who’s still laughing at something kennedy said, leaving you standing there with the lingering echo of his words and the tiniest flutter in your stomach.

the world outside is a blur behind the blindfold, and you let out an amused scoff as dean leads you forward, his hands firm on your shoulders.

"okay, i swear, if you’re taking me to some horror movie-esque warehouse, i’m gonna be so pissed," you joke, gripping his forearm.

dean chuckles, his breath warm against your ear. "relax, sweetheart. no serial killers—just a surprise."

"you are the surprise, winchester."

"flattering," he quips, steering you carefully up what feels like a small set of stairs. "alright, almost there. just a few more steps…"

you hear the soft whoosh of an opening door, followed by a rush of cooler air. then there’s a subtle shift in sound, an openness, an echoing quality to the space around you. your brows knit together.

"dean, where are we?"

instead of answering, he reaches up and unties the blindfold, letting the fabric fall away.

the sight before you makes you blink. the stanford ice rink stretches out ahead, completely empty save for the dim glow of the overhead lights reflecting off the ice. there’s no crowd, no noise, just the two of you and the soft hum of the rink’s machinery.

you turn to dean, raising a brow. he looks unreasonably pleased with himself.

"you rented out the rink?"

"i have a set of keys." he clarifies, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

you fold your arms, suspicion creeping in. "and why exactly did you bring me here?"

dean’s smirk grows, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "well, i happen to remember a certain someone nearly busting their ass the first time we met, so i figured, why not save you the embarrassment next time and actually teach you how to skate?"

you groan, throwing your head back. "you really didn’t have to—"

"too late," he interrupts, bending down to grab a pair of skates from the bench. "c’mon, let’s get you laced up."

with a resigned sigh, you plop down onto the bench, letting him swap out your sneakers for the skates. he kneels in front of you, his fingers brushing against your ankles as he ties the laces securely. the whole thing is… weirdly intimate, and for a second, you forget why you were even protesting.

once you’re properly geared up, dean stands, offering you his hands. "ready?"

you take them, but as soon as you rise, your legs wobble, and dean steadies you with a laugh. "okay, maybe this was a bad idea."

"no backing out now, baby," he teases, leading you onto the ice.

the moment your skates hit the slick surface, your balance betrays you. you gasp, your grip on his hand tightening as you stumble forward. dean catches you easily, his hand strong and sure around yours.

"easy there," he murmurs, amused.

you scowl at him. "you swore you’d teach me."

"and i am," he says, shifting his grip so that he holds both your hands in front of him. "alright, first rule—keep your knees slightly bent. stiff legs equal a one-way ticket to eating ice."

you do as he says, bending your knees slightly.

"good," he praises. "now, small pushes with your feet—don’t try to walk, glide."

it’s clumsy at first—more of an awkward shuffle than a glide—but dean is patient. every time you start to slip, his grip tightens, steadying you before you can fall.

eventually, something clicks. you manage to move a few feet on your own, and when you glance up at him, he grins.

"look at you. natural talent."

you snort. "flattery will get you nowhere, winchester."

"guess i’ll just have to impress you some other way, then."

the warmth in his gaze sends a small shiver through you that has nothing to do with the cold.

a few minutes later, you’ve gained enough confidence to skate while holding his hands—until, suddenly, the balance shifts not in your favor.

one second, everything’s fine. the next, dean’s weight tilts, his footing slipping just enough to throw you both off.

"oh, shit—"

before you can process it, you’re falling—both of you—crashing onto the ice in a tangled heap. you land on top of him, his hands instinctively gripping your waist, your palms braced against his chest.

for a moment, neither of you moves. then, laughter bubbles up between you, breathless and unrestrained.

dean groans dramatically. "okay, maybe i should’ve rethought this plan."

you’re still laughing, your forehead dropping against his chest. "so this was your grand idea? teach me how to skate and then wipe out spectacularly?"

"hey, i was doing fine until you—" he stops, his voice trailing off as he looks at you.

you don’t realize why until you meet his gaze.

the laughter fades, replaced by something heavier, something slower. you’re still on top of him, his hands firm on your waist, your faces close—too close. his breath is warm against your lips, his green eyes dark and intent.

your heart stumbles in your chest.

you should move. say something. but instead, you just… stay.

dean’s fingers twitch slightly against your waist before he moves one hand up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. his touch is gentle, lingering.

"y’know," he murmurs, voice lower now, "i think this might be the first time i don’t mind falling on my ass."

you huff a quiet laugh. "not exactly your smoothest line."

his smirk softens, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "still worked though, didn’t it?"

you don’t get the chance to answer.

because in the next second, dean leans in and kisses you.

it’s warm, unhurried, like the moment had been waiting to happen all along. his lips are soft but firm, the scrape of his stubble a contrast against the chill of the rink. you sigh into it, your fingers curling slightly against his chest.

the ice is cold beneath you, but with dean’s body under yours, his lips on yours—somehow, you don’t feel cold at all.

breezy's notes: okay so maybe i am a liar... granted i don't think any of you will mind the fact that i lied in this instance. i was just very sad and needed something cute to write so yall got hockey! dean before he became a lil shit. ALSO THANK YOU DOLLY FOR TRUSTING ME WITH DADDY TAYLOR KING! I HOPE I DID HIM JUSTICE!! him and kennedy are end game in this universe bc i love them sm.

oh! also! kennedy is very much brunette/strawberry blonde sarah michelle gellar and lana is cameron diaz in the mask.

tags ⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭: @floralscented @deansbeer @aileenunfiltered @jasvtsc @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @bluemerakis @tortureddarkstar @figthoughts @ultravi0lence14 @misatxox @foolinthera1n @deansenvy @hoffmansgirl @eepwtf @lawboysammyy @jjmbbg @tinas111 @soldiersgirl @whisperingdaze @abox-of-rocks @starzify @acklesgal

[whisperingdaze]

perfect 😚

Hey, what if Dean gets hurt on a hunt and we help him? with sexual results

lamy's notes: yes yes yes!!!!!

the hunt had gone south fast, like the goddamn ground had opened up and decided to swallow dean whole. you sat in the impala, engine humming low under your hands, waiting with a gnawing pit of worry as sam burst out of the treeline carrying dean like a broken doll. even through the streaks of blood and dirt painting dean's face, his cocky smirk was a shadow of itself, and that was how you knew it was bad.

"he’s worse than he’s letting on," sam growled, voice tight as he hefted dean toward the car. dean grunted, trying for a joke—something about not ruining the upholstery—but it came out garbled, half-choked. the minute sam dumped him into the passenger seat, you were reaching over, hands brushing his bruised face, feeling the sticky warmth of blood that wasn’t supposed to be there.

"babe, the hell happened?" your voice cracked despite your best efforts. dean’s green eyes flickered open, lips quirking weakly.

"just… took a hit from something nasty," he rasped, voice rough like gravel as he winced under your touch. the sound of the back door slamming shut snapped your attention to sam, already rounding the hood with purpose.

the engine’s low growl filled the tense silence, your hands gripping the wheel tight enough to turn your knuckles white. the air hung heavy, laced with the metallic tang of blood and the sweat rolling off dean in waves. he groaned softly beside you, a sound that was more exhaustion than pain, though the way his fingers clung to his ribs told you he was hanging on by a thread.

"we’re almost there," you murmured, your voice steady but low, like you were afraid anything louder might break him. the flicker of a smirk teased the corner of his lips, faint but there—a fleeting ghost of the dean you knew.

"yeah," he grunted, shifting in the seat like he couldn’t quite get comfortable. "should’ve seen the other guy."

his words were a weak attempt at humor, but his voice cracked halfway through, leaving you biting your lip to keep your worry in check. you reached out, brushing your fingers over the back of his hand where it gripped his ribs. his skin was warm, almost feverish, but he didn’t pull away—didn’t say anything, just let your touch linger like it was grounding him.

"when we get back to the bunker, you’re letting me clean you up," you murmured, voice firm, but soft enough not to add to his pain. "you’re a goddamn mess, dean."

his chuckle was low, breathless. "never thought you’d… wanna see me naked that bad."

"asshole," you shot back, though the heat behind it was barely there. it was hard to muster anger when the man you loved looked like he’d been chewed up and spat out by a pack of hellhounds.

by the time you got him back to the bunker, sam had peeled off with a muttered promise of "pie" and left you alone with dean. getting him inside was a feat—he was stubborn, leaning on you heavily but refusing to admit just how much he needed you. once you got him to the bathroom, you were guiding him onto the edge of the tub, your fingers already working at his blood-stiffened flannel.

"sit. let me do this," you commanded, voice steady despite the way your chest ached at the sight of him, all battered and bruised.

dean groaned, leaning back against the cool tile as you peeled his shirt away, revealing the mottled bruises blooming across his ribs, the gash on his shoulder, the dried blood streaking his chest. he hissed as you dabbed at the wounds, your touch as gentle as you could manage.

"fuck, sweetheart," he muttered, teeth gritted. "you tryin' to kill me?"

"shut up," you shot back, though your lips curved in a faint smile. "you’re lucky i’m here to put you back together."

you filled the tub with warm water, the sound of it rushing into the porcelain drowning out the quiet grunts of pain dean let slip as you helped him strip the rest of the way. his jeans were a struggle, blood making the denim stick to his skin, and by the time you got them off, both of you were flushed and breathing hard. his boxers were next, and then he was bare, slumped against the wall like a puppet with its strings cut.

"you’re a sight, winchester," you murmured, shaking your head as you guided him into the tub. the water turned pink almost instantly, swirling around him like some kind of macabre baptism.

his head tipped back against the edge of the tub, eyes fluttering closed as he exhaled shakily. "you’re gonna spoil me."

"don’t get used to it," you teased, though the warmth in your voice betrayed you. "you’re not exactly making this easy."

he cracked one eye open, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "i’m wounded. you’re supposed to baby me."

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin that broke through. you lathered up a washcloth, running it carefully over his chest, his arms, his neck. every touch was deliberate, slow, meant to soothe as much as clean. he hissed when you passed over a tender spot, but otherwise, he stayed quiet, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

when you reached his thighs, his breath hitched, the muscles tensing under your touch. your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the heat there was unmistakable, cutting through the haze of exhaustion and pain.

"you sure you’re up for this?" you asked softly, voice steady even as your pulse quickened.

he chuckled low, rough around the edges. "sweetheart, i’d have to be dead not to be up for you."

you leaned in, your lips brushing his ear as you murmured, "then let’s get you out of here."

it took effort to help him stand, his body heavy against yours, but you managed to get him under the spray of the shower, easing him down onto the built-in bench. the water cascaded over him, washing away the last traces of blood and dirt, leaving his skin clean but bruised, raw.

"fuck, that’s good," he muttered, tilting his head back, the water streaming down his face. you stood over him, hands braced on your hips, watching the way his chest rose and fell, the way the tension seemed to melt from his shoulders.

"you good?" you asked, stepping closer, your fingers trailing along his jawline. "not too much?"

he caught your wrist, tugging you closer until you were standing between his legs. "not even close."

his hands slid up your thighs, rough and insistent, and when his lips met yours, it was anything but soft. it was need, pure and sharp, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he couldn’t get enough. you sank into him, your hands tangling in his wet hair, the water plastering your clothes to your skin.

"dean," you breathed against his lips, your voice barely audible over the rush of the shower. "you’re hurt."

"don’t care," he growled, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap. "just need you."

you hesitated for a heartbeat, your fingers brushing the bruises on his ribs, the cut on his shoulder. but the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing keeping him tethered, it shattered whatever resolve you had left.

"you’re impossible," you muttered, your lips curving into a faint smile as you reached for the hem of your shirt. you stripped it off, tossing it to the floor, followed by the rest of your clothes, until you were bare, the steam curling around you like a second skin.

his hands were on you immediately, sliding over your hips, your waist, up to cup your breasts. he groaned low in his throat, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, his touch rough but reverent.

"you’re perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with something that sounded almost like awe.

you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "just sit back and let me take care of you."

you sank down onto him slowly, your body adjusting to the stretch, the fullness of him. he cursed under his breath, his hands gripping your hips, his head falling back against the tile. you set the pace, rolling your hips, keeping it slow, deliberate, mindful of his injuries. but every time he groaned, every time his fingers dug into your skin, it spurred you on, made you want to push him just a little further.

"fuck," he hissed, his voice strained, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. "you… you feel so good."

"so do you," you whispered, leaning in to press your lips to his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, the heat of him under your tongue.

his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation. the water beat down on you, drowning out the sounds of your gasps and moans, the rhythm of your bodies moving together.

you felt the tension coiling in your belly, the heat building until it was almost too much. "dean," you breathed, your voice shaking. "i’m…"

"me too," he rasped, his hands tightening on your hips, guiding you faster, harder. "fuck, sweetheart, i’m…"

when it hit, it was like the world dissolved around you, your body shuddering, your breath hitching as pleasure crashed over you in waves. dean followed seconds later, his grip on you almost bruising, his head thrown back, his mouth open in a silent cry.

you stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, the water washing away the evidence of what you’d just done. when you finally moved, it was to reach for the soap, your hands gentle as you cleaned him, your touch lingering on the places where he was hurt. "you’re somethin' else," he muttered, his voice hoarse but filled with warmth.

you smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "so are you."

when you were done, you helped him out of the shower, drying him off carefully, your hands lingering on every line and curve of his body. his skin was warm under the towel, the muscles beneath taut but trembling from exertion. every brush of fabric seemed to make him shiver, his breath hitching as you worked your way lower. even through his exhaustion, the evidence of his desire was impossible to miss—hard, thick, and heavy, pressed against your hand when you lingered at his hips.

"you don’t have to," he started, voice rough, words faltering when your fingers curled around him deliberately. his protests melted into a low, guttural moan as you dropped to your knees, the towel slipping from your grasp as your lips replaced your hands. his fingers gripped the edge of the bathroom counter, knuckles white, the tension rippling through him like a live wire.

"fuck…" he hissed, head falling back as you took him deeper, your hands braced against his thighs to steady yourself. the sounds he made were unrestrained, raw and beautiful, his hips jerking despite the care you’d urged on him earlier. his groans filled the room, reverberating in your chest, each one driving you further, faster.

when he finally came undone, it was with a choked gasp, his hands fisting in your hair as he spilled into your mouth. you swallowed every drop, not breaking eye contact as you pulled back, his chest heaving, his body trembling like he was moments from collapse.

"you… you’re gonna kill me," he muttered breathlessly, his voice tinged with a laugh that was more disbelief than humor.

you smiled, rising to your feet and brushing your lips softly against his. "you’re tougher than that, winchester."

you dressed him carefully afterward, your hands slow and soothing as you guided him into clean boxers and a soft shirt. he was pliant under your touch, half-asleep by the time you climbed into bed beside him. as his body instinctively curled around yours, his arm draped protectively across your waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing tickled your neck.

"you’re a damn angel," he murmured sleepily, voice rich with warmth and something deeper, more vulnerable.

you pressed a kiss to his forehead, your fingers threading through his hair, your other hand resting on his over your waist. "and you’re a damn fool," you whispered back, your words affectionate, soft.

his soft chuckle was the last sound you heard before sleep claimed you both, the tension of the day dissolving into the comfort of his presence, solid and unyielding, even in rest.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze

[whisperingdaze]

THIS IS SO CUTE SOBBING

late night whispers

parings: dean winchester x reader

warnings: no smut

it was late, the motel room was steeped in quiet, thick and unbroken except for the occasional buzz of the flickering neon sign outside. sam’s snores filled the space in soft, steady waves, his face buried in his pillow, one long arm hanging off the bed like a forgotten puppet.

the bed you shared with dean creaked every time one of you so much as breathed, small protests from springs that were just as tired as you both. his chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, the kind that only came when he was really, truly relaxed—a rare sight. his arm was slung over his face, hand resting on his forehead as if he could block out everything—maybe memories, worries, the weight of the damn world—by sheer will.

moonlight slipped through the gaps in the threadbare curtains, pale streaks painting over his body. it caught on the faint scars that mapped his skin, old wounds faded but never forgotten. the lines of the tattoo near his collarbone stood out in stark relief, dark ink against his golden skin, a marker of who he was and the battles he'd fought. he looked—raw, unguarded in a way he never let himself be in daylight.

you turned slightly toward him, propping yourself on an elbow. "you know," you began in a whisper, voice soft but steady, the kind of tone that doesn't need volume to carry weight, "you really make me happy, dean."

you watched his jaw tighten slightly, a muscle ticking as if your words had snuck through his defenses and hit a nerve. if the room wasn't so dim, you'd swear his ears were turning red. his lips parted, but no reply came.

"you were so scared of me hunting with you two," you continued, letting the words roll out slow and careful, like handling a fragile truth. "but it's been—it's been a great time."

dean turned his head toward you, his green eyes catching just enough moonlight to glint. "great time?" he murmured, voice low and gravelly, like gravel under a worn tire. "getting shot at? clawed at? bleeding all over my baby?"

you laughed softly, the sound barely above a breath, but it was enough to make his lips twitch in what might've been the ghost of a grin. "yeah," you replied, "all that and more. with you, it feels worth it."

there was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched and thickened until dean shifted. his hand moved, rough fingers brushing your arm, sliding down to your wrist. his touch was warm, deliberate, grounding. "you’re insane, you know that?" he said, the words edged with his usual sarcasm but softened by something rawer underneath.

"maybe," you replied, leaning in just a little. "but you love it."

his hand tightened on your wrist, pulling you closer until your face was just inches from his. "don't go making me admit stuff like that," he muttered, voice thick, his breath warm against your cheek. "not here, not now."

but he didn’t push you away. his thumb grazed your pulse point, lingering, a silent confession in its own right.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze

[whisperingdaze]

∿ soldier boy x fem!reader (mdni)

cw : smut | blowjob | reader being delusional

word count : 200+ (not proofread)

gave up at the end

soldier boy whose fingers twist into your hair, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail before yanking you down onto his cock. your nose pressed against his pelvis as your throat tightens, the burn of your gag reflexes setting in. tears prick at your eyes, welling up as you force yourself to keep moving— bobbing your head slowly, your tongue flattening against the thick vein running along the underside of his shaft. drool spills from the corners of your mouth, seeping into the blue jersey of his that you’re wearing. your vision blurs, smoke stinging your eyes as you blink rapidly, struggling to clear it. the dimly lit room fogged up by the lingering plumes of every slow drag he takes. the low of hum of the tv blending with his critical murmurs about society’s failings.

“global warming? back in my day we worried about commies, nukes” his tone demanding an answer—but you know better than to speak. that’s what you got here in the first place. instead, you manage a muffled hum around him, with your jaw aching and knees hurting against the cold floor.

his grip on your hair tightens pushing you down with controlled force. each thrusts pushes deeper, his tip hitting the back of your throat making you gag. his hips snap forward one last time, shuddering as he spills into your mouth. releasing your hair, his fingers pinching your nose, cutting off your air entirely. nails dig into his thighs, but the burning in your lungs barely register, your vision spots at the edge, black creeping in. you feel light — almost floating.

“swallow” he orders, his gaze fixed on your throat, waiting for you to comply. maybe if you stayed like this longer, he will stop to fuss over you? you are at the brink of passing out but nothing yet, he doesn’t seem concerned. just reaches for the half empty bottle nearby, tilting it to his lips. at last you finally swallow, only then does he pull out and release your nose. air fills your lungs making you cough uncontrollably as you head leans against the inside of his thigh.

perhaps he didn’t do anything, because he knew you take it that far? that must be it.

…

[whisperingdaze]

♡ under wraps ⎯⎯ jackles.

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

📖 LIBRARY !

SYNOPSIS. you and jensen keep your fiery, forbidden relationship secret—until lingering tension threatens your composure.

WARNING(S). smut | f!reader | costar!jensen | costar!reader | rough sex | secrecy | forbidden relationship | explicit language | descriptions of lingering physical sensations | dressing room sex | mentions of jensen's cum (?) | sexual tension | teasing | slight power imbalance | light objectification | no use of y/n.

kari talks ◞ everyone thank daddy dolly for giving me the idea of fucking costar!jensen behind the scenes <33 he's so yummy in this photo and what i had envisioned in my head the entire time writing it :) am i slut for daddy jackles ??? fuck yeah i am. n a proud slut too.

it's a dangerous fucking game you're playing with jensen.

you'd known it from the start. the second you walked onto the set of countdown—a brand-new, high-stakes action series—you felt the pull. it wasn't just his looks, though those were undeniable. it was the way he carried himself, the way his eyes lingered just a beat too long when you first shook hands, the way his deep, gravelly voice curled around your name like it belonged to him.

you weren't supposed to fall for him. hell, you weren't supposed to even look at him like that. but he made it impossible, especially when the two of you were cast as love interests on the show.

the chemistry was instant, explosive. every scene you filmed together felt like a live wire, and it didn't take long before you crossed that unspoken line.

it started with a kiss that wasn't scripted.

you were supposed to pull away after a brief, chaste kiss during a rehearsal, but neither of you did. his lips pressed harder, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer until the director called cut.

"jesus christ," jensen muttered under his breath that day, his voice low enough only for you to hear. he didn't let go of you right away, his green eyes dipping to your lips.

that was the moment everything shifted.

now, weeks later, you're tangled up in a secret relationship that's equal parts thrilling and dangerous. nobody on set knows, or at least you don't think they do. you and jensen are careful—no lingering touches in public, no stolen glances when others are watching.

but behind closed doors?

he's got you screaming his name, your nails raking down his back as he fucks you so thoroughly you can't see straight.

like now.

you're in his dressing room, pressed up against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into you. his hand is gripping your ass, the other tangled in your hair as his lips claim yours in a bruising kiss.

"you're so fucking perfect," he growls against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged. "can't fucking get enough of you."

your nails dig into his shoulders as you moan his name, your body shuddering as he drives into you relentlessly. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the small room, mingling with your breathless cries and his low, filthy grunts.

you're so close, teetering on the edge, when there's a knock at the door.

"jensen?" a voice calls out. "they need you on set in five."

he freezes, his forehead dropping to yours as he lets out a frustrated groan.

"fuck," he mutters, his voice laced with irritation.

you're still clinging to him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as you try to ground yourself.

"you've got to go," you whisper, your voice hoarse.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his green eyes dark with lust.

"you're lucky we don't have more time," he says, his lips quirking into a smirk. "because i'm not done with you."

he sets you down gently, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment before he steps back. you quickly fix your clothes, your cheeks flushed as you try to compose yourself.

"you good?" he asks, his voice softening as he watches you.

you nod, though your legs feel like jelly, and your pulse is still racing.

"yeah," you manage to say, your voice steadier than you feel.

he leans in, brushing a quick kiss against your lips before heading toward the door.

"see ya out there, sweetheart," he says with a wink before slipping out of the room.

the interview is with one of your other castmates, a lighthearted segment for a popular entertainment show to promote the series. you're sitting next to jensen, the two of you positioned on a plush couch with your co-star on the other side.

you're trying to focus, you really are, but your body is still buzzing from what just happened in his dressing room. every time you catch a whiff of his cologne or hear the low rumble of his voice, you feel heat pool in your stomach all over again.

it doesn't help that he's sitting so damn close, his thigh brushing against yours every time he shifts.

but the worst part?

you can still feel him.

you'd barely had time to clean yourself up before rushing out of his dressing room, and now, sitting here in front of the cameras, you can feel the ghost of him between your legs. the dull ache he left behind, the way your panties are damp, not just with your own arousal but with a little of him. it's driving you insane, every slight shift in your seat sending a fresh wave of heat curling through your body.

you cross your legs, trying to ignore it, but the movement only makes you more aware of everything—how sensitive you still are, how wet you still are, and how much you need him all over again.

the interviewer is a bubbly woman in her early thirties, her smile bright as she asks questions about the show.

"so, jensen," she says, turning her attention to him. "your character and [___]'s character have this incredible chemistry. what was it like working together to build that connection?”

you can feel his eyes on you, and you force yourself to smile, keeping your gaze fixed on the interviewer.

"oh, it was easy," jensen says, his voice smooth and confident. "she's an incredible actress. makes my job a hell of a lot easier."

you can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you hope it doesn't show.

"what about you, [___]?" the interviewer asks, turning to you. "what was it like working with jensen?"

"it was great," you say, your voice steady despite the way your heart is pounding. "he's so talented and professional. he really made me feel comfortable on set."

jensen smirks at that, and you can feel his eyes lingering on you.

"so there was no awkwardness?" the interviewer presses, her tone playful. "no funny moments during the more, uh, intimate scenes?"

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

"not really," you say, though your voice sounds a little higher than usual. "we just tried to stay focused."

jensen chuckles beside you, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

"we're professionals," he says with a wink at the interviewer, who blushes slightly under his gaze.

you shift in your seat again, trying to ignore the way your body is reacting to him. but jensen notices. of course he does.

his hand is resting on his thigh, his fingers drumming lightly against the fabric of his jeans. it's a small, subtle movement, but it's enough to make your breath hitch.

he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips when he sees the way you're squirming.

"something wrong, darlin'?" he murmurs under his breath, low enough that only you can hear.

you shoot him a glare, but it lacks any real heat.

"asshole," you mutter back, your voice barely audible.

he chuckles softly, turning his attention back to the interviewer as if nothing happened.

the rest of the interview passes in a blur, your focus shot to hell thanks to the man sitting beside you.

the second the interview wraps, you grab jensen by the arm and drag him back to his dressing room, ignoring the curious looks from the crew as you pass.

"someone's in a hurry," he teases, his voice dripping with amusement as you shove him inside and close the door behind you.

"shut up," you snap, your voice breathless as you push him against the wall.

his hands are on you in an instant, pulling you flush against him as his lips crash into yours. the kiss is rough, desperate, and you can feel the smirk on his lips as you tug at his shirt.

"needy lil' thing, aren't you?" he murmurs against your lips, his hands sliding down to grip your ass.

"you started it," you shoot back, your voice muffled as you kiss him again, your teeth grazing his bottom lip.

he groans, his grip tightening as he spins you around, pressing you against the wall.

"you're right," he says, his voice low and rough as his lips trail down your neck. "'n now i'm gonna finish it."

his hands are everywhere, sliding under your shirt, tugging at your jeans, leaving you breathless and trembling as he takes exactly what he wants.

and you let him.

because with jensen ackles, you'll gladly play the dangerous game.

every. single. time.

ϑ𝛠 SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @aileenunfiltered @deanswidow @lacydollette @beausling @figthoughts @frosttbitessam @bluestrd @florchids @ultravi0lence14 @starzify @honeyryewhiskey @bluemerakis @deansbite @rafespreciosa @voidsuites @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @inspiredangel @deanssun . . . ☆

[whisperingdaze]

this is perfect 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ gimme more i beg 🫶🏻

SWEETSˎˊ˗

ᯓ dean winchester x angel .ᐟ reader | minors do not interact!!

* dean makes you clean baby, but it doesn't go as planned.

! unprotected p in v (please wrap it up) . nicknames. creampie. sex in the impala. dean has a thing for wings.

it wasn't unusual to find an angel in the bunker, castiel popping up out of nowhere sometimes. or the occasional hostage situation. but you were a new edition, having been found while dean was on a lone hunt. sticking towards him like glue, you wouldn't leave his side, so he had no choice but to take you back home with him. candy was what he called you. due to your obsession after coming down to earth and how sweet you were to him. your eyes lit up at the treat, immediately doing whatever you could to obtain it.

however, what dean didn't like was the wrappers left all around baby. the sticky residue hard to clean out, so today you would be the one to fix your mess.

you lay on deans bed, hair a mess and only his t-shirt on. body sore from last night's activities. you'd only just opened your eyes, when you saw him standing there. already covered in grease, black staining his hands and clothes.

“mm-baby, goodmornin’” you spoke as you stretched, letting noises fall from your lips at the feeling.

“c'mon candy, there's no time for all that–” he motioned to the bathroom, ignoring the sounds you made, “you got work to do, and by work i mean, cleaning baby.”

you stare at him confused, a pout forming on your plump lips. all dean wanted to do was pull you into a kiss and stay beneath the sheets with you, wasting the day away. but he knew he couldn't. he had to show you how to be responsible.

“but, baby, why do i have to clean your car?” you crossed your arms, annoyance laced in your tone.

it was early in the morning and you hadn't even had coffee, who was he to ask you something as dumb as cleaning his car.

“don't care, you made the mess, you clean it.” dean wouldn't take no for an answer, pulling you up and dragging you into the garage.

you still only had his shirt on, which he didn't notice. solely focused on getting his babys interior shining.

here you were, face down ass up in the backseat of dean's impala. his hands grip tightly on your hips. his hold bruising, but you liked it that way. his cock bullied your cervix, hitting it every time he would snap his hips into yours.

“such a messy girl aren't ya, candy–mm,” he groaned, his words going straight to your core. the seats were coated in sweat mixed with your arousal, a faint smell of fruitiness trickled into the mixture.

wings fluttering underneath your–his shirt. your fingertips grasp onto the leather material, trying to find some stabilization. moans spewing from your lips like sinful melodies, a melody dean couldn't resist.

he pushed the fabric decorating your body up with a greased covered hand. your wings fluttered out, ruffled and sensitive. the sight only fueled him further, he always had a thing for them. your hard nipples pressing into the slick, cool leather, added to your pleasure.

even more so when dean forced your back into a more profound arch, his thick cock hitting deeper–which you didn't think was possible. he filled you up completely, both in mind and cunt. he brought his thumb down to your clit, adding just the right amount of pressure to send you to cloud nine.

“my dirty girl, gettin’ my car even more messed up–” dean's thrusts became more brutal, each stroke of his cock in your tight heat hitting that sweet spot inside that makes your knees weak and mind fuzzy. 

“so fuckin’ dumb on my dick. atta girl. milk my cock dry.” he practically growled into your ear, incoherent babbles push past your lips into the air.

your orgasm came crashing down on you 10x more than any other. his followed soon after, your warm silky walls clenching down onto his sent dean over the edge. he spilled his seed into you in thick hot ropes, coating your inners. your cheek presses against the seat, panting–spent and used.

dean wrapped his arms around-caging you in his warm, sweaty embrace, kissing your temple with gentle care.

“you're so good f'me, candy..” he whispered to you, his hand rubbing soothingly along your wings. coaxing you to fall asleep.

while you slept dean let his thoughts wander, specifically on the fact that his car was even dirtier now and he couldn't blame you.

sunny talks! first smut!! comments are greatly appreciated, i rlly hope this is enjoyable. i am not the best at conjuring up and writing sex scenes 😿

[whisperingdaze]

sorry ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

pairing dean x fem!reader

warnings smut | fingering | p in v. | angst

MASTERLIST

Being with Dean was challenging at times, because no matter how much he trusts you or how good things really are, he's always expecting the rug to be pulled out from under him. Even if sometimes he is the metaphorical rug.

You've had many arguments before, but none of them have hurt like this. You often found yourself in bed alone, usually because the boys were out hunting or catching up on lore, and you were honestly okay with that because they were saving the world, literally. But sometimes, you missed laying next to your boyfriend.

When you came to peel him away from whatever article he was reading on the computer, he snapped at you, saying a few things that were very unnecessary. It had sent you back to bed angrier and more hurt than you had ever been before.

It only took a few minutes of harsh silence before he came stomping down the hallway and into your shared room. You didn't dare move a muscle, remaining on your side with your arms crossed and glare settled on the wall in front of you.

He took a moment to kick off his shoes and slip out of his flannel before shuffling into bed behind you, a heavy hand resting on your hip that was covered by the duvet

"Sweetheart…" He began. "Go away, Dean." You said coldly, unravelling your arms to shove his hand off of you.

"Look— I'm sorry." He rasped quietly. "Could've fooled me." He sighed. "I— didn't mean what I said, I'm just… tired. This case has been whoopin' mine and Sammy's ass." He explained. "I just wanna catch this thing before it kills anyone else. I ended up taking my anger out on you and you didn't deserve it," Dean took your relaxed body as a sign to be able to spoon you. "Fuck, honey. I'm sorry."

"You really hurt my feelings, you know?" You whispered meekly. "I know baby, I know." He murmured into your neck.

You basked in his closeness, in the strength of his arm wrapped around your softened midsection. You shivered when you felt him place gentle kisses onto the exposed skin of your neck, his strong arm holding you pressed your back harder onto his chest.

"Let me take care of you." He said softly but sultrily, his palm slipping up to cup your braless breast. You whimpered at the feeling, but nonetheless grinded back on his growing bulge as he stimulated your nipples.

"Please." You breathlessly begged.

He was quick to turn you on your back, lips slamming down on yours. He devoured your mouth, his tongue demanding entrance as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your pajama shorts. He groaned lowly at the fact that you had no panties on.

"Was this what you were gonna give me to make me feel better?" He asked with an amused smirk painted on his lips. Your skin flushed but you nodded shyly. "If it would have helped you, yeah." You confessed sheepishly. "Can't believe I was such an asshole to my sweet girl."

His fingers teased your damp folds, sliding a finger between them to collect your slick before prodding at your entrance. Your breath caught in your throat, a small whine leaving you as he joined your lips together once more.

It was like he was trying to destroy you from the inside-out. His strong fingers worked your entrance open, the man slipping in a second finger. Your legs twitched around his arm, loud mewls passing between the both of you whenever he'd hit your g-spot.

You pulled away from your spit soaked kiss to cry out. "Dean, baby, 'm gonna cum!"

He slipped in a third and final finger. He twisted his wrist torturously, his thumb reaching up to rub furiously at your clit. Your hand gripped desperately at his wrist, holding it to your body as you desperately rode his hand.

"There you go, sweetheart. There ya go." He talked you through your orgasm. "Dean… Dean…" You chanted his name like a prayer.

"Fuck." You heaved after taking a few moments to catch your breath. "You okay?" He asked gruffly. You nodded your head, your own fingers tangling themselves up in his spiky hair.

"I need you in me." You said as you cradled the back of his head. "Don't know if I deserve it." He said with a teasing pout.

"Ugh, just c'mere." You said with a grin, tugging your boyfriend over your body. "If you don't fuck me, then I'll be sad again. How does that sound?"

You asked playfully. "Not good." He murmured with a matching grin.

He was quick to take off his jeans, practically falling over himself to get naked as you finally stripped yourself of your own as well. Both of you were as naked as the day you were born by the time he had his cock lined up to your entrance.

His tip teased your clit, which caused you to whine in displeasure. "Dean…" He chuckled lightly. "Sorry, honey."

With his hands on either side of your head, he entered you, your head falling back in pleasure at the feeling.

"Jesus." He groaned. "Feels so good, baby." He praised. Tiny whimpers left you as he bottomed out, sheathed all the way to the hilt as your velvety walls fluttered around him selfishly.

"Shit! Please move." You begged.

Dean would be damned if you had to beg for fucking anything tonight. Pulling out slowly, he slammed his hips into yours. A loud smack resounded throughout the room, a choked moan slipping out of you.

"Ah!" His tip brushed against your g-spot pleasurably. Your nails dug into his back as he pounded into you, holding onto the taller man for dear life as he continually stretched you out.

Your velvety walls sucked him in greedily, like they were practically trying to keep him inside of you. You could feel that familiar coil in your stomach tighten continuously, a feeling that Dean had made sure you were familiar with for the past years that you've been with him.

Your pussy burned with overstimulation as you neared your end, and it made it harder for Dean to move in and out of you.

"You gonna cum, baby?" He asked through gritted teeth. "Y— yes!" You stuttered. "Cum for me then, sweetheart." Your hand slipped down to rub at your clit hurriedly, your back arching at the overwhelming feeling.

"Fuck!" You swore as you came, your chest pressed against Dean's. One of his arms held himself up as the other stretched over your back to keep your upper body anchored to him as you rode out your high.

"Holy shit." You gasped, your chest heaved with each quick breath you attempted to take.

"Best apology ever." You said with a hazy laugh.

tags: @bluemerakis @ultravi0lence14 @deansbeer @figthoughts @titsout4jackles @lanadelreyscokewhor3 @deanangel @haunteres @whisperingdaze @inspiredangel @pointocean @floralscented

cassie chats: i love how this is 10% angst and 90% smut GOODBYE 😭

[whisperingdaze]

❝ I WAS ALL OVER HER ❞

⛧𓂃 dean winchester x fem!reader

989 words ノ fluff

summary ⨾ a look into how dean winchester sees you .

dean winchester who has had to fight his whole life— whether its monsters, ghosts, demons, angels and even humans. he’s always been drawn to people who can hold their own and that’s why he’s drawn to you. he admires your strength and the way you handle the crazy, unpredictable supernatural world he lives in. even if you’re fighting alongside him in a hunt or just managing the chaos of his life, he loves how you stay grounded even if everything around you is terrible.

he loves how you stand up to him when he’s being stubborn or when his protective instincts kick in too hard. it’s not about you always being tough, but the way you push back when you need to, showing him you’re not afraid to challenge his methods and ways and to make him see from your perspective, a different perspective.

dean winchester who puts up walls around himself, guarding him from being hurt again. his vulnerabilities stay hidden behind snark remarks, sarcastic comments, and the tough-guy bravado. but you, your the one who can see right past all that even from the first moment you met him. you see all the layers that makes up dean; soldier of heaven, messenger of god, the true vessel of michael. you see the broken pieces of him, the things he doesn’t know how to express, the flaws that make him. that’s what he loves about you. you accept him and you never try to change or fix him. you get him.

he feels a sense of relief when he’s with you, he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not. you let him be himself, the real and true him, without any judgment and just love, and that’s something he doesn’t usually get from a lot of people. he lets himself be vulnerable with you, knowing you always listen to him even if he’s silent and pushing you away. you’re the one who makes him feel like he doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders all the time.

dean winchester who isn’t used to people sticking around. he’s seen friends and family come and go, from his mother to his father, and even seeing his brother die. sometimes, it makes him feel that he’s destined to be alone in this cruel world. but there’s something about you, something that makes him feel whole. your loyalty to him is unwavering, your willingness to stay by his side no matter the danger. he may joke about it, or even brush it off, but deep down, he’s incredibly grateful and knows he’s lucky to have you in his life.

the guilt of everything he’s done in his life weighs him down, threatening to pull him under, like one small slip and he just disappears. you’re the one person who never gave up on him, anchoring him to this world. one thing that he’ll never admit, he loves that your there, consistently, through everything.

dean winchester whose life is full of mayhem— there’s the blood, the constant hunts and of course, the constant threat of death. and he’s been in it for so long that it’s hard for him to imagine a normal life. you make him feel like there’s something worth living outside of the hunts and saving the world. when he’s with you, everything is different. he can imagine eventually settling down, having children, getting married and all the things normal couples do. whether you’re sharing a meal together in some diner, or settling into some worn out bed in a dingy motel room, you’re his escape from the madness.

dean winchester who isn’t always the best at communicating and even worse at opening up. but you, your someone who challenges him to be better, to think outside his old patters, to overcome unhealthy habits, and to consider things he might not have before. it varies from, pushing him to take a break when he’s running on fumes or it’s encouraging him to heal from his past wounds. you know how to get through to him in a way that no one else can. he respects the fact you call him out on all his crap when its necessary but you also understand when to let him come around on his own.

dean loves the fact you aren’t afraid to stand your ground, especially when it comes to him. he knows he can be a stubborn pain, but you can hold your own against him while still showing him care, even when you don’t agree with him.

dean winchester who has a tough, no-nonsense exterior. he knows the world can be messed up and pretty dark, and it’s rare for him to find someone who holds onto their sense of empathy. he loves how you care about people, how your heart hasn’t hardened by the world’s cruelty. you’ve got a natural way of bringing light into his life without trying, and that’s something he never thought he would find.

in a word full of demons and monsters, he appreciates that you haven’t lost sight of what matters the most; kindness, love and loyalty. you make him remember that there’s still good in this world, and that’s what he clings onto.

dean winchester is a guy who doesn’t always take life seriously, he uses humour as his armour sometimes. and he loves your sense of your humour too, you get his jokes and sometimes you can even one-up him with your own quick wit. he loves the way you can make him laugh, even when he has been to hell and back. this sets you apart from anyone else in his life.

the laughter you two share together, is something dean holds onto. it’s those moments when he truly feels alive. he isn’t just a hunter, or just a survivor— but a guy who is trying to enjoy his life with you. the love of his life.

[whisperingdaze]

when dean falls for the oldest trick in the book, a sirens song...

or you begin to feel things for your prey, things you do not yet understand which come crashing down unexpectedly

﹏﹏﹏

dean winchester x siren .ᐟ reader now playing...

! mentions of death. stalking. blood. kissing.

𓂁

dean found himself by the shore, baby parked by the sandy beach and a beer in his hand. he needed an escape from whatever hunt they were on. he couldn't remember what it was they were hunting. his feelings were eating him up from the inside out and sam was no help. he watched the moonlit waters crash against each other. losing himself in the bottle.

you swam beneath the blue waters–now almost black in the night. stalking your prey was usual, especially if they were as skilled as a hunter was. though, this one was not alert, instead he stood completely vulnerable. his hands clenching a bottle and with a troubled look decorating his handsome features.

you found yourself perched on top of a rock, after endless days of watching, it was time to act.

songs spewing from your lips in irresistible melodies. his eyes spiraled into a dazed look, his form immediately walking towards yours. a sinister smile formed on your face.

you had him right where you wanted him.

once dean had stood in front of you, his eyes glazed over and the beer was long gone from his grasp.

your hand gently came to his face, caressing the skin with surprising gentleness. long nails tracing patterns into the skin, you felt almost something human in his presence. it was both irritating and addicting; however, in all honesty you found him quite pathetic.

a hunter as known as him falling for your songs, which had been in stories told all over the world was unheard of. you wondered what his dear brother would think if he saw him in this position.

yet, you didn't dwell on the thought. using your strength to pull him into your cavern, which was filled with shells and bones–which could only be named as your previous victims.

tying him up with precise motions, keeping it tight and secure. riding his pockets and boots of any sharp objects, marveling at the shininess of them.

you normally kept whatever you found on the men you captured as a little present, a good job to yourself. afterall self love was key in success. 

wandering around your cave to keep busy, until he woke up of course, then you would have your fun.

dean stirred, eyes blurry as he blinked away the sleep. his heart immediately jumped, his first thought was to escape. tugging on his restraints harshly, though it did no good in helping–only in hurting himself.

your ears picked up on the noises, walking back towards him quickly. “dean! you're awake.” you chirped cheerfully, hands clasping in front of you.

he practically stared into your soul, a look that could kill. and he wanted to kill you. “who are you–better yet, what are you?” his voice was strained and raspy, filling your body with a warmth you weren't used to.

you pushed those feelings back, fingers slowly trailing down his cheek. cutting him up slightly, licking your lips at the sight and smell of the crimson liquid.

by now he should've been dead, you usually weren't one to waste time when it came to meals. but there was something about him, something that lit a fire inside of you that wouldn't let itself be put out.

“oh, dean..” your words came out almost breathless, face coming close to his, foreheads touching. the skin-to-skin contact set that fire ablaze. “you fell for the oldest trick, my songs.” you hinted at what you were, being one for trivias and all.

"a fuckin’ siren, perfect, just what i need.” dean spat out, tone laced full of venom that stung.

your eyes widened as his words pierced through you, forcing themselves straight into your heart. somehow tears welled up in your waterline, awaiting to be set free. to flow down your cheeks, evidence of your sadness.

but you were stronger than that, opting on letting him free. you couldn't take it, his words, and harsh gaze that burned holes into your form. stronger than the fire that went ablaze anytime you smelt him, or even looked at him. how could a human man – a hunter – have this effect on you. 

dean let the ropes fall from his body, greens eyes lingering on your form, seemingly stalking your every movement–just like you'd stalked him. his face softened from it's hardened look, calloused hands coming to gingerly grasp onto your waist.

“hey, it's alright. next time, don't drug and kidnap the guys you find attractive, yea?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood and lift your spirits. he couldn't believe he was doing this, for a monster no less. but he felt his soul tug towards you, his face stung from the cut, yet it never deterred him from you.

the tears flowed graciously down your cheeks, turning your head to catch a glimpse of him. as soon as you did, his lips captured yours in a calming kiss. the taste of alcohol lingered on his. while the salt from the sea was all he tasted on yours and to him, it was the best thing he's ever had the privilege of tasting.

sunny's note! HII everyone, this is my first little fic that I'm posting. I know it's probably short but I wanted to continue with another part like their life together after!! please lmk if you'd be interested in reading that! <3

[whisperingdaze]

∿ soldier boy x fem!reader (mdni)

cw : slapping | p in v | slight degradation

word count : 300+

soldier boy who cracks his hand across your cheek, the force whipping your head to the side. tears spring to your eyes as your ears ring and your skin burns red-hot. your yelp is swallowed by the pounding rush of your pulse. the sharp, stinging pain drives you to clutch your cheek, desperate for relief.

“I warned you,” he says coldly, his eyes narrowing with menace, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. smoke drifts from his lips as he taps his cigar, ash falling onto your stomach, making you flinch. “I’m not one of those punks you’d your way with” he added scowling as his thumb digs firmly into your cheek, forcing a strained whine from your throat.

your mouth opens to answer, but a harsh thrust of his hips cuts you off, nearly driving your head into the armrest. his hand clamps down on your waist, pinning you firmly to the couch. he only needs one hand to keep you in place, his other arm draped casually over the backrest as he brings the cigar away from his lips.

moans spill from your lips as his hand squeezes, fingers digging deep enough enough to leave marks on your soft skin. your palms press against his chest in a futile attempt to stop his relentless thrusts, each one threatening to split you in half. his hand slides down to your hip, lifting your lower half to meet him with every movement, forcing your back into an awkward arch. “what’s the matter? can’t my slut keep up?”” he mocks, his voice dripping with cruel amusement.

a sharp gasp rips from your throat as you gush around him, your body trembling violently. pleasure and fear crash together, leaving you helpless beneath him. “you’re going to make it up to me,” he states firmly as your hands were pinned above your head, restrained effortlessly by his larger one.

…

[whisperingdaze]

this is so cute, thank you for the tag baby muwah !!

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child / i've had cosmetic surgery / i like cats more than dogs/ i am an equestrian

npts : @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @deansbeer @dulcescorderitas @deanangel @soldiersgirl @floralscented @valjy + anyone who would like to partake !!

tag game 🤭

[not mine - lost track of OP!]

rules: color the sentence that's true about you, add one fact to the list, and tag your moots!

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child/ i've had cosmetic surgery / i like cats more than dogs/ Stucky is my OTP

NPTs (tagging a bunch from my fics taglist):

@scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @literaryavenger @Yoruse, @foulpersonahandsvoid, @autumnrose40, @alexakeyloveloki, @witch-lemon, @sapphirebarnes, @notyourtypicalrose, @era, @gretasimp