9teen♡ vanilla cupcakes♡ ultimate fangirl♡ clark kents dolly♡ loving life♡ soldier boys controversially young gf♡ freak masked with a bow♡ deans wife♡ glitter on the floor♡ sams slut♡
call her hun <33
shes just a girl in the world who likes to get her freak on sometimes! she will write - smut, angst, fluff, and everything in between for various fandoms!
please read her rules!
MDNI!! any minors will be blocked!
inbox is CLOSED for requests, but always open for chatting and questions! come be freaky with her!!💕
hi darling! i just want to say real quick: i love you, you have amazing writing, youre super talented, and youre awesome. okay now i have an idea..
i dont know to explain this any better than a threesome with dean and soldier boy. YES, dean would hate soldier boy. YES, they'd completely be competing on who did better on fucking you. ben whispering mean, delicious dirty talk in your ear while balls deep, dean in your mouth calling you the most gorgeous person in the world and praising you endlessly even if youre not really doing any of the work. so much contrast yet so much chemistry, while youre just laying there, unable to move, theyre arguing over who has better form and who can get deeper....having the literal time of your life with old jackles x2 (i was thinking s9/10 stubble dean (bc that was his hottest. idgaf!!) and any season sb, hes so fine no matter what)...anyway
sorry im a freak #ignoreme
wait no bae never apologize for being a freak, come back!!!
i swearrr i wrote something like this close to when i started tumblr but i cant find it at allll i just went crazy looking for it
i can already hear them arguing while balls deep!!!
ugh i love your brain and you so much and thank you for the kind words baby
Ask and you shall receive a soldier boy idea that simmered into my mind. Imagine Ben taking away homelander’s “girlfriend” during his leave. Instead of “dying” in season 3, he goes away with reader and they live their life in the woods until homelander finds him. Low and behold reader wasn’t use to Ben, but after he “broke her in” on her wifely duties (basically having marathon sex and stuffing her with his babies) she gotten used to him and their having their first or second baby. Maybe they get found in the end by homelander after hearing from crime analytics someone looking like soldier boy was found in the nearest village, and then finds out the girl he loved basically married and is pregnant with his dads kid.
….ANYWAYYYY
oh..my..gosh..
can i kiss you? like for reals?
uuugghhhh the thought of soldier boy going on and on with his dirty talk while fucking you, talkin about sum 'making sure you rembeber how big I am when I pull out" OOHHHHH!!!!
thinking about having The Talk with husband!dean..
yes its canon in my universe that dean would kill to have kids and hes just a nervous ball of love :((
he made breakfast.
it was 9:00 AM and dean was awake, on his own, making your favorite breakfast. weird.
it was quite a rude awakening, opening your eyes to an empty bed with no warning. you were used to the endless kisses and stupidly sweet words mumbled by a half-asleep dean. not cold sheets and a missing husband.
by the time you made your way to the kitchen, mildly irritated and ready to give dean a firm talking to, he was already setting up the table with the fancy cutlery and freshly scrubbed plates. extra weird.
he looked up at you with a sheepish smile, half frozen like you had just walked in on him doing something he shouldnt be.
"hi honey," dean started, halfway towards you with a half-nervous, half-stupidly in love grin, his hands already reaching out to hold your waist, the same way he always did before he kissed you.
your hands stopped him in his tracks, pressed against his chest as you looked up at him with those raised brows that managed to annoy him and make him love you that much more all at the same time.
"dean. what are you doing?"
it wasn't a rude question, he knew what you meant. it was more of a why are you putting on a whole production just for breakfast on a random tuesday? kind of question.
"right! i uh- i made us breakfast" he said nervously, glancing at the set table before meeting your expression again - still finding that knowing fact that was searching for more. he sighed in defeat.
"i wanted to talk to you about something. nothing bad, i promise. just-"
"dean"
"its just somethin' ive been thinkin' about for a real long time and i think-"
"dean."
his eyes snap to yours like he was a dog called to attention. he was barely containing his mix of nerves and excitement, his thumbs nervously tapping against your hips.
"just sit down already."
he nods with a breath he didnt think he was holding, taking your hand instead to tug you to sit down at the table with him.
his leg was bouncing and fingers tapping together, clearly eager to get whatever it was off his chest and out in the open.
"spill it." you guide with that firm but grounding voice dean always appreciated. especially when he was like this.
"i want a baby."
dean looks at you after like he was surprised he actually said it- eyes wide and mouth slightly open.
you blink at him. once. twice. before smiling and giving him a look that calmed him.
"i know, de." what?
dean blinked at you incredulously, mouth agape in shock. how?
"dean, baby, you fall asleep with either your face or hands on my stomach," you start. "the last month every time we have sex we skip the condoms, the last goggle search on your phone was best position to get pregnant in-"
dean felt his face grow hotter, unbelieving that he was seriously that obvious.
"and you.. let me keep going?" he asked, mild embarrassment taking over his nervousness now.
"it was cute."
"and..?"
"yes."
you couldve sworn you saw tears already flood deans eyes before he was attacking you, arms around your waist and lifting you from the chair excitedly.
his head was buried in your neck, practically spinning you around, his shoulders occasionally shaking as he was laughing? crying? both? you couldnt tell, but you knew it was out of pure happiness.
"oh my god, baby- i love you so much-" he mumbles against your neck, finally placing you on the ground but never letting go.
blah blah blah cute fluffy sex before its nastaayyyy breeding blah blah blah ending
thinking about sugardaddy!dean who takes you out to an expensive dinner and fucks you realll good as an apology for not buying you the heels you wanted
Summary: Dean wants you. You're all he's ever wanted. But it's messy falling for a hunter. Even messier falling for your best friend - which is why he's pretending he hasn't. He's going to be happy with drunken mistakes instead.
NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW
a/n: this was gonna be a series and then I wrote 2½ chapters and gave up. So for now this is just a one-shot :)
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It was just a drunken kiss- a stupid mistake neither of you were supposed to remember.
Dean's been telling himself that for months- just a kiss, a mistake.
But it wasn't just a kiss. It's never just a kiss.
It's every time you get drunk, it's making out in the backseat of the Impala, it's drunken words in shared motel beds.
Those precious nights, when the whiskey tastes too good and the air's just a little too cold. And you stumble back together, hands and teeth and lips and tongues.
But it never goes further than that. Not ever. One of you always stops it, usually you- pulling back and slumping against the mattress like it's not supposed to tear Dean apart the way he wants to keep going so bad. But he'll laugh, he'll grin and joke and pretend he's drunker than he is. And in the morning neither of you will mention it- why would you mention a thing like that? It's just a kiss.
He's staring at you across the small booth, lost in the way your eyes look in the dim light of the bar. He thinks you look beautiful, but he won't tell you that. It's not the sort of thing he says to you.
"-and then he actually went and knocked the whole top off!" You laugh, telling the end of a story Dean wasn't listening to.
Sam laughs next to him, clearly he was listening, "No way! How did the cop not see him?"
"Guess he had that magic touch!"
Both of you break into another fit of laughs. Dean feels guilty for not paying attention- he likes your stories. He picks at the label on his empty beer bottle, willing himself to pay attention to the words instead of the way your lips are moving.
You stand, grabbing the bottle out of his hand as you flash him a smile, "My round."
Dean doesn't watch you walk away. He's trying not to be obvious.
All the same, Sam knocks his knee under the table- a silent question.
Dean looks at him, "What?"
"You good?"
"Yeah- yeah course I am."
"You keep zoning out."
"I'm fine, just a weird hunt-" Twelve hours ago you were bleeding out in Dean's arms while Sam tried to fight off two ghouls, your blood soaking through his jeans as he kept you awake, "-nothing another beer won't fix."
"You and her-" Sam starts, not sure how he's going to finish.
Dean doesn't let him try, "I'm worried she's gonna rip those stitches if she keeps moving around."
"They're small, they'll stay." Sam assures him, then adds "That it?"
"That's it." Dean isn't willing to give in to the inevitable conversation.
"Just- you're getting real close recently-"
He practically rolls his eyes, "She's my best friend."
Sam feigns mock anger.
"You're my brother- I didn't get to pick you."
"But you picked her?" Sam raises an eyebrow.
"She's a friend. That's it. Drop it." Dean's tone doesn't allow room for question.
"You sure? Coz you're not looking at her like a friend." Sam questions anyway.
"I'm looking at her like a hunter. A hunter who's gonna tear her stitches." He lets out a sharp breath through his nose.
"All I'm saying is- if this is gonna get... messy-"
"It's not gonna get-"
"If it's gonna get messy, you need to give me a heads up. She's my friend too."
You cut them off as you walk back over, carelessly setting down three more beers on the table. You look at Sam, "Go get her, tiger!"
"What?" Sam laughs.
"The girl by the bar, talked you up to her- only thing is she thinks your name is Roosevelt."
"Roosevelt?"
"Same as her dog- it's like a fate thing."
Sam raises an eyebrow.
You laugh, "Just go with it! She's cute!"
Sam doesn't need convincing, he grabs his beer and slides out of the booth, giving Dean one more glance before he moves away.
You take your seat back opposite Dean, still grinning, "Now we've just gotta find a girl for you!"
Dean doesn't say what he wants to say. Instead, "I'm too fuckin' exhausted for that."
You laugh, "The Great Dean Winchester is too tired to get laid? Never thought I'd see the day!"
"Give me one decent night sleep and I'll be back to normal, I promise." he jokes.
"You're always coming up with excuses- what was it last time? Nowhere to buy a condom?"
"Hey- that's not an excuse, I take that shit seriously-"
"I don't remember the last time you even thought about taking a girl back. How long's it been, huh?"
Dean doesn't want you doing the math on how long he's gone without sex- the math on how desperate he's pretending not to be- "Speak for yourself- god knows how long it's been since you've been laid!"
Two months. Dean remembers the hickey that stayed on your neck for a week. The feeling he had seeing you walking around with a reminder of someone else on your skin. How sick he felt until it faded.
You blush slightly at his words, but take another sip of beer, "Find me a guy who's actually worth going home with and I'll find you my plans for the night."
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When Sam strikes out three drinks later, Dean's thankful. He doesn't mean to be, but he's been watching you fidget with the glass bottle with a desperate hope you have the same feeling he has. That feeling that mistakes are ready to be made.
By the time you stagger back to the motel, Sam's drunker than the two of you put together. The walk should only take five minutes, but with him slumped over your shoulders it takes fifteen. He's already half asleep when Dean gets the door open for him, helping him past the threshold so he can collapse against the bed.
Then he looks back at you. You're still stood in the doorway, just watching him. He doesn't know if its an invitation- if you know what he wants- or if you're just being cautious. He never knows with you, he can't work you out. You're just a friend, a friend he never stops thinking about, a friend he pictures spending the rest of his life with, a friend he needs more than he's ever needed anything.
He raises an eyebrow, "I'll walk you back?"
You nod, a small smile spread across your face.
Dean trails you to your room. Sam wouldn't say anything even if he was sober, this isn't an unusual sight. Dean always complains about the way Sam snores, about how sleeping with you is just easier.
He watches the back of your head, the way your hair falls as you step into your room, throwing your things down onto the tiny wooden table. He steps up behind you slowly, you don't move, just relax your shoulders slightly as you feel his presence behind you.
"I missed you." Dean speaks quietly, like he's afraid he's gonna say something stupid.
"I've been here all night." You laugh, still not turning around.
"I missed you."
You finally turn, looking back up at him, your eyes still sparkling like they did at the bar.
He brushes his hand across your cheek, moving a hair out of your face as he stares down at you, "You have a good night?"
You smile, "Course I did, it's always fun watching Sam get drunk."
He feels his heart pounding in his chest as he looks at you, that tingling in his fingertips that tells him he's drunker than he feels. That's what he'll pin this on- the alcohol- like he always does. He's been good at lying to himself recently, good at pretending he doesn't feel anything more. Today was a fluke, a weird moment where he couldn't stop staring- but he'll be back to himself by tomorrow. Back to being able to ignore that ache in his gut only you can resolve.
He won't admit he wants more than this, not to you, not to himself. That he wants more than stupid drunken kisses and hesitant mistakes. But if that's what you want, that's what he'll give you. That's what he'll give you every damn time.
His hand moves down as he runs his knuckle across your jaw, thumb finding your bottom lip, sweeping across it as he allows himself one moment of truth, "You look beautiful. I always think you look beautiful."
You reach down the hem off your shirt, pulling it up off your body without another word. Dean wets his lips as he takes a small step back, letting his eyes gloss over you. He's seen you like this hundreds of times- only a few hours ago he saw the same thing when he stitched up your abdomen, but he doesn't look there now. He's too distracted by your chest, the way your bra hugs your tits, rising and falling as you take in a short breath.
He leans down slowly, until his lips are almost touching yours, his eyes still trained on you. He could stop here, he could make this easy for himself, he could let the night pass without the taste of you waking him in the morning.
But then you push yourself up, closing the gap, until your lips press softly together. Dean's heart stutters when he feels the way you relax into the kiss, like maybe you've been waiting to do this just as long as he has.
His hand finds your waist without him meaning to, fingers wrapping around your body to pull you closer. His other hand reaches up, moving to the crook of your neck, running his thumb along your jaw. He feels your own hand find his nape, your fingers threading through his hair. You smile against him, unmistakable.
He pushes you back slowly, carefully, until the back of your legs hit the bed. This is moving quicker than it should, messier than it should, but Dean needs this. There's a chance that this will be the night you'll let it go further, that you'll let him give you everything he can. He's not willing to waste a second.
You collapse against the bed, Dean doing his best to lower you slowly against the mattress, though you both fall with a clumsiness he'll pretend doesn't make his heart tight. He likes being clumsy with you, it feels safe, like you won't judge him for any mistakes he makes.
He pulls at his own T-shirt, dragging it over his head and throwing it to one side in a move designed to get his chest closer to yours. He can feel the heat from your skin instantly as he presses himself against you, his hands finding their places back on your body. He holds the kiss, his tongue darting out to drag along your lips, his fingers curling against your skin.
He moves, planting light kisses along your jaw, the hand on your waist trailing up your body until he's running his thumb along the bottom of your bra. He nips at your earlobe, making your lean into him, your back arching as your breasts push against his chest.
He speaks without deliberateness, "I've been thinking about you all day- everything I wanna do to you-"
He never normally talks, something about keeping it silent makes it feel like you could be anyone- but you're not anyone. Dean wants you to know it's him, and the way you react to his words- the way you lean into him, a small gasp escaping your lips- clearly you do too.
He fumbles out something else, just to feel you move again, "I wanna touch every part of you-"
You reward him by kissing across his temple, your own hands running down his back, pulling him into you, heated.
"I want to see what you look like without this bra- wanna see these gorgeous tits-" He starts to regret it as soon as he says it, like it's something too primitive, but you keep kissing him, your nails dig into his skin, and he realizes maybe that's what you want too. Maybe he can't have everything- the affection and tenderness- but maybe, at least, he can have this.
He pushes it further, testing how far you'll let him go as he spills his secrets in a whisper, "I want to make you come on my fingers, want to know what it sounds like when you're moaning my name-"
This has never been part of the deal, anything more than soft kisses and groping hands. But Dean means it, he's thought about it constantly- every night since the first time you made out in messy drunken heap on an old motel bed. He's thought about all of it, how he'd touch you, how you'd react. He's touched himself with the images flashing through his mind, felt guilty after when he remembers who you are.
But you're responding. You're here, right now, and you're actually responding. Not with words, but with your body, the way you start grinding up against him, the way you pull him in close, the way a small gasp escapes your lips.
"I wanna fuck you with my tongue."
God he means it. That's all he wants, all he's wanted for months.
He feels you pull back slightly, slumping back against the mattress as you angle your body to push him away from yours. He swallows hard, heart pounding, that drunken feeling filling his body again. He doesn't want this to stop. It can't.
It doesn't. He realizes you're reaching for the top of your pants, kicking them off your legs before Dean even knows what's happening. He doesn't question it, just follows suit, fumbling at his belt so he can throw his own jeans off next to yours.
Your knees collide, the biting pain making Dean feel real- tangible- every sensation suddenly amplified. The way the pads of his fingers feel against your skin, your breath against his body. He knows he's drunk, that's why he feels like this, but he doesn't regret a thing.
Especially not when you let out a small laugh, pulling your knee back as your face twists into a mixture of pain and amusement, "Goddamn-"
You've spoken, breaking the seal that Dean didn't even realize was there. It makes him realize how desperate he is to hear more, how much he needs your voice.
He moves back against your body, tangling his bare legs into yours, pushing a knee up between your thighs. You react instantly, letting out a small gasp, pulling him closer, your lips landing on his shoulder in messy confusion.
He speaks quietly, grinding his knee against you, "I want to make you come so many times you don't even remember your name, I want you sobbing into the sheets-"
You moan against him, "Dean-"
Jesus he thinks he's gone to heaven in that moment, just hearing you say his name sends his brain fuzzy. He grips your waist tighter, fingers curling against your skin with a hunger he can't explain.
You bite down on his shoulder- Dean can't tell if you're trying to push him over the edge or if you're just trying to keep yourself quiet. Either way, the soft sting makes his cock jump, his jaw tightening as he lets out a sharp grunt.
He knows he should keep it down, that tonight shouldn't happen like this, but he doesn't care. Sam won't hear through the thin wall. He's too drunk. Sam won't know and you won't say and this can be your little secret. Your secret that he never wants to end.
He lowers his face until his lips are resting on the shell of your ear, his breath caught, "I wanna fuck you raw- want you to feel me come inside you-"
This is it. He can feel it. Your hands are grabbing at him, lips against his collarbone, hips grinding up. This is everything he's been so desperate for- fuck this is actually happening.
He moves down fast, lips against you- your jaw, your neck, your tits. He drags his tongue down, the feeling running down his whole spine as he realizes how good you feel, your chest right there, your eyes on him. He looks up as he moves lower, keeping his gaze trained on your face, the way you bite your lip absentmindedly.
He settles between your thighs, then look back down at your underwear. He holds his breath as he takes you in, this sight he's been so desperate to see. He reaches up towards your waistband, running the tips of his fingers along it.
You lift your hips off the mattress, a soft desperation spilling from your lips.
He can't believe the way you're looking at him, like he's something so special, so beautiful. No- no he really can't believe it. That's not how you look at him- that's not how friends look at each other. He's pushed this too far, too quickly- what if this is something you'll regret? A mistake that festers and eats.
He glances up towards the gauze on your abdomen, the one he put there only hours before. There's a tiny patch of blood starting to seep through, bright red and striking against the white of the bandage. The exact thing Dean's been worried about all night, sitting in front of him like a slap in the face.
He can't stop himself, he looks back up at you, propping himself up slightly, "Your stitches-"
"I'm fine-" you laugh, lifting your hips towards him again.
You're not. He knows you're not. He pictures you bleeding out in his arms, how warm your body was against his legs, how your blood soaked under his nails.
He was distracted. That's why you got hurt today- because he was distracted, he wasn't thinking, he was an idiot. He's always distracted by you.
And this is only going to make it worse- knowing what you look like with your underwear off. How's he supposed to focus when he knows a thing like that? When he knows what you feel like? What you taste like?
He pulls back, staring up at you, "Sweetheart-"
You swallow, it's like you know what he's going to say. You fall silent, letting him finish.
He doesn't want to. He wants you to stop him. But you don't, "-we're too drunk for this."
You nod, a small smile, "Aren't we just drunk enough?"
Don't make this harder, he wants to say, please don't make this harder. "We can't."
You nod again, and Dean wonders if the look on your face is regret over his words or regret this ever happened. He keeps one finger tracing your waistband for just a moment more, and then pulls back completely, staring down at your body like he's trying to sear it into his mind.
For a moment you just gaze at him, and then you shift on the bed, moving to one side to make space for him to lay next to you.
He looks at the blank space, willing himself to move into it. He wants to feel you next to him, wants to feel the warmth from your body as he falls asleep. These days it's the only thing that can make him settle, the feeling of you right there. And you're looking at him like that's what you want too.
But he knows he can't. Not after everything he said. Not after everything he's done. He needs to forget tonight, forget all of his feelings for you. He needs to get as far away from you as possible. At least right now, while his mind's still swimming and his cock's still throbbing and his fingers are still tingling.
He stands, quickly, trying not to look at the way your face seems to fall into confusion and longing. He swallows, looking away from you, "I need to go-"
"You don't have to."
He looks back, then regrets it, he can't see you right now, not if he wants to lie to himself, "I- I should check on Sammy-"
"You can stay."
"I'll tell him I was snoring- you kicked me out coz I was being too loud-"
"Dean- I-"
"You-" he sighs, "-You need to sort your stitches out before they get worse-"
