𝓮𝓪𝓼𝔂 𝓽𝓲𝓰𝓮𝓻

𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵, 𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝔂'𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 ✦ 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚 𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙨

[easytiger-xo]

*holds up a fake ID that says “Bikini Inspector”*

*you read it*

Special Agent: Star (dean's wife) Age: 35

Sex: yes ❤︎ Sign: leo

Boobs: huge!! DONOR: yes (of boners)

i know this is a very serious investigation, 

but if you have time for any of my blah-blah blah-blah,

blah-blah blah-blah!

here it is…❤︎

✦ about me

✦ dean winchester masterlist

✦ ​soldier boy masterlist

✦ spn vinyl mockups

✦ blog resources

✦ ig

profile song:

credit & links:

⟡ dean pic from pinterest, edited by me.

⟡ all other pics & dividers by @easytiger-xo.

[easytiger-xo]

[easytiger-xo]

⋆.𐙚˚happy bday to the people's princess˖ ݁𖥔.⋅˚𐙚˚⋆.

[easytiger-xo]

Happy Birthday

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader ❤︎

✦18+ (MDNI)✦

summary: It's January 24th... his birthday. One too many drinks and you're both in for a surprise.

cw: drinking, implied intoxicated hookup.

wordcount: 300~

✦ a/n: Just a short little drab for our Dean's birthday. I ate some cherry pie to celebrate. Now I'm wrapped in a million layers cause this snow is no joke... anyone else dealing with the wild weather be careful and stay warm!

“Another round!” you call out to the bartender.

It’s Dean’s birthday—though he’d rather pretend it’s just any other day. But you and Sam weren’t about to let that slide. So, you dragged him out to a dive bar within walking distance of the motel. Nothing fancy. Just cheap drinks, a jukebox, and a crowd that didn’t care who you were.

“Since you don’t want anyone making a big deal about your birthday, maybe we should just drink to forget it,” you say with a teasing grin, tossing back another shot.

Dean lets out a chuckle, and follows suit. You both slam your glasses onto the bar, the clink echoing among the other empty ones already crowding the counter.

“Alright, I’m tapping out,” Sam announces, grabbing his jacket. “Are you two staying?”

You glance at Dean, shrugging. “Your call. It’s your birthday.”

Dean smirks, signaling the bartender for another round.

Mistake.

You wake up with a pounding headache and the unmistakable regret of too many drinks. Blinking against the morning light, you groan softly, trying to piece together last night. The bar. Shots. More shots. Dean—

Dean.

Your eyes snap open as you feel the weight of an arm draped over your waist. Oh no. You shift slightly and freeze. Not only is Dean in bed with you, but your clothes… are… elsewhere.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, your mind racing. This was not supposed to happen. You and Dean are hunting partners, best friends for years, and you’d sworn never to cross this line.

Your heart pounds as you try to figure out an escape route. But just as you shift to sneak out, Dean stirs. He pulls you closer before his eyes flutter open, confusion melting into realization. There’s a beat of silence that feels like an eternity before you force a small, panicked smile.

“Happy… birthday?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, and they hang in the air, ridiculous and awkward.

Dean stares at you, then lets out a low, raspy laugh.

credit & links:

⟡ more dean winchester.

⟡ pics & gif from pinterest, edited by me.

⟡ dividers by @easytiger-xo.

[easytiger-xo]

hi lovely :) just wanted to let you know that somebody on tiktok has just plagiarized your 'dean x thrifty reader' headcanons! their account is 'reahok'! i'm not saying this to stir up any drama i just thought you'd probably want to be aware <3

Oh! I just found it and commented. Thanks for letting me know.. that's so shitty! I wonder how many of their tiktoks belong to other people!

❤︎

[easytiger-xo]

dear Hot Topic,

please bring these back.

i need to let the people who get into my pants know how much of a freak i really am.

x♡x♡

[easytiger-xo]

⋆.𐙚 ̊One Year!♡ྀི

I can't believe it's been a year since I started this account! I haven't been as active as I'd like to be but I'm so thankful for all of you who interact and enjoy my content!

Thank you for being here! ♡

[easytiger-xo]

Number 16, a prequel

✦Handler Pt. 2✦

pairing: soldier boy x fem!reader ❤︎

✦18+ (MDNI)✦

read: Pt. 1

summary: Let's go back to the beginning. A Vought New Year's Eve charity gala dripping in hypocrisy. A countdown to midnight that turns into something else entirely. What happens in the coat check isn’t romance or rescue. It’s survival, damage, and the crossing of a line neither of you will ever uncross.

cw: smut, p in v, power imbalance, very dubcon, ptsd/mental health themes, language, substance use (weed/alcohol), toxic dynamics, Soldier Boy as his own warning. (lmk if i missed any.)

wordcount: 1.5 K

✦ a/n: Yikes. I tried to warn you that this is not a healthy dynamic! But look, the power imbalance had to start somewhere so it could shift along the way. I felt it made sense for her to start off powerless... so when we meet her in Handler we see how far (and fucked up) she's come. Idk if that makes sense. I hope you all like this as much as pt. 1. ❤︎ P.S. If you read the first draft I posted, no you didn't. I rushed it to post on New Year's Eve, then hated the flow. srry!!

New Year's Eve 2025 ✦

It’s the same ballroom. The same crystal chandeliers throwing cold light across polished marble. The same suffocating crowd of donors who showed up for tax breaks and photo ops.

Vought’s Liberty & Light New Year’s Eve Charity Gala for the Freedom First Mental Resilience Foundation.

A fucking joke.

“Strong Minds. Strong Nation,” the banners proclaim. Raising money for mental health resources for first responders and veterans.

Yeah. Right.

When you glance at Soldier Boy on your arm, the irony lands heavy. You’d bet your life not a single cent from these events ever reaches its intended destination. More likely it’s rerouted into military contracts, weapons programs, anything but therapy and aftercare.

You stop him just before the ballroom doors, fingers lifting to straighten his bowtie. “You know the drill.” You make him meet your gaze. “Smile. Look pretty. Don’t get me fired.” Your hands slide down his chest, flattening his lapels. “My clutch is stocked with blunts, and if things go south… coat check.”

That earns a smirk. Barely there. But you catch it. You know he’s remembering.

The night it all started.

New Year's Eve 2024 ✦

“Sixteen, get your ass over here and fix this.” His voice is sharp with irritation. You hesitate, not because he called you Sixteen, you’re getting used to his refusal to learn your name, but because a month in, you’re still trying to understand what your job actually is. You’re fairly certain it doesn’t include fixing bowties.

“Now.” No room for debate. You cross the foyer, your gown whispering over white marble. You hate the way it feels on you, but it was non-negotiable. Silk. Low-cut. Antique gold, perfectly matched to Soldier Boy’s shield. Yes, you’re his handler. But tonight, according to Vought, you’re also decoration.

You look up at him, a little unsure you understand what he wants. He crooks his brow as if to say, What the fuck are you waiting for? before lifting his chin. You take the satin between your fingers and work it into what it was supposed to be. The finishing touch on his tux.

“Used to love these things,” he says, unprompted. “Back when they were classy.” Then, without missing a beat, “You wouldn’t believe what Jane Wyman let me do to her in the coat check.” A low whistle follows.

So much for classy.

He takes a long drag from his blunt, watching you for a reaction. You don’t give him one because that’s something else you’re getting used to. His mouth. The vile shit he says just to see who flinches. You’re starting to recognize it for what it is. Noise. Deflection. A way to keep people far enough away that they can’t see the cracks.

You don’t flinch, so you might be the only one who notices he’s fraying at the edges. 

Everyone notices… No one cares.

The night unfolds smoothly. Too smoothly. He’s in a decent mood. Drinking. Telling aggressively inappropriate jokes to people who laugh because they have no choice.They are, after all, in the presence of America’s First Superhero.

He barely acknowledges you, though you stay close. You redirect unapproved admirers. Keep his glass full. Keep the peace. You start to think you’ll log this as your first successful public appearance. You wonder why the handlers before you never lasted.

This isn’t so bad.

The lights blaze. The crowd starts to chant in unison.

Ten… You smile, eyes lifted to the contraption poised to rain balloons and confetti.

Nine… A sharp pop. A balloon bursts.

Eight… Glass shatters at your feet.

Seven… He’s vibrating. Hands shaking. Bourbon pooling on the floor.

Six… No one else notices.

Five… Fuck.

Four… You scan for an exit. Too packed. No chance.

Three… The coat check. Close. Empty.

Two… You grab him, muscle and momentum somehow bending to your will, steering him through the crowd.

One… You shut the door. “Look at me.”

Your voice is steady. Surprisingly so. Your hands grip his shoulders as the crowd roars outside. Music swells. That familiar New Year’s tune. His eyes are squeezed shut. He’s gone somewhere else. You weren’t trained for this. No handbook. No protocol.

“What do you need?” You grab his chin harder than you mean to. His eyes snap open, glassy and red. He reaches for you. Fingers tangle in silk, fist tight. You try to step back. Can’t. He pulls you in, burying his face against your neck. Your arms hover uselessly at your sides, mind scrambling to keep up.

He breathes you in, trying to find his way back to the present, using your scent as a tether. His beard scrapes your skin. You start to speak, but the words die in your throat when his lips press against your skin. Messy. Desperate.

You brace your hands against his chest, try to push. It’s like shoving at a wall. “Soldier Boy? What are—” “Just let me.” Not asking. Not telling. Begging.

Your mind races. Pulse roaring in your ears. What would happen if you say no? Can you say no? 

You don't say no, letting him pull you deeper into whatever this is.

His lips trail sloppily down the valley of your breast, following the cut of your dress. The kisses are frantic, like he’s trying to embed himself in your skin. His arms snake around your waist. Predator and prey. 

You could scream. Would anyone hear you? The fact that you haven’t… says something about you. Something you’ll be picking apart later.

He takes your continued silence as consent.

Everything blurs. He spins you, rough hands forcing you forward. Your palms hit the door. He yanks and pulls at the fabric of your dress until he has it bunched over your hips. He’s already hard, already shoving your panties aside, already inside you. You gasp. He groans. Your cheek presses to cold mahogany as your eyes squeeze shut.

He’s thick. Too thick. The stretch burns. He drags your hips back, needy, uncoordinated. Still desperate. You feel it in the way he paws at you. He's not fucking you. He’s trying to find salvation.

A hand clamps your hip, yanking you back with each thrust. The other slides up your stomach, over your tits, fingers settling around your throat. Light pressure. You know he could break you if he wanted to.

You moan.

He hauls you upright, back against his chest, bending you open. His breath, soaked in bourbon, fans across your cheek as he pants in your ear. The new angle is too much, and fuck… 

You’re going to come.

He can tell. Can feel it in the way your cunt starts to suck him in, walls fluttering around him. The louder you get, the quieter the noise in his head becomes. “Do it. I need it.” Lips pressed to the side of your face. His hand moves from your throat to your chin, holding your head in place. You nod in his grip, detached and desperate all at once.

You gasp, moan, come—hard. He works you through it until your legs are shaking, struggling to keep you upright in your heels. The rough sound he makes when he pulls out would make any enemy drop to their knees in surrender. Hot ropes of come paint your ass, drip down your thighs, before he finally loosens his grip.

A breath, like it's his first. A tuck of his cock back into his pants. A coat yanked from a hanger to wipe you clean. Dropped to the floor like trash.

A breath, like it’s your last. An attempt to fix your dress. A hand trying to smooth the wrinkles that won’t disappear.

When you look at him, he’s rolling his shoulders, straightening his tux. Calm. Centered. He says nothing. Opens the door and walks back into the party.

He never calls you Sixteen again.

New Year's Eve 2025 ✦

Ten… You let him drag you into the coat check.

Nine… Your back hits the door. His grip keeps you upright, your thighs locked around him.

Eight… Face to face. He needs to see your eyes.

Seven… “Don’t stop,” you pant, arms tight around his neck.

Six… “Yeah… yeah… right there!”

Five… “The whole party’s gonna hear you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

Four… “Fuck you.”

Three… His laugh is breathless against your ear.

Two… You’re already squeezing his cock so tight. He doesn’t pull out.

One… You come together, sharing breath, noses brushing. You exit the coat check, side by side. He grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and hands you one. “Happy New Year.” You clink glasses. He smirks. You roll your eyes. Drink.

After a beat, you say, “You ever wonder if whoever owned that coat got the stain out?”

His laugh booms. He studies you over his glass. That look you recognize but refuse to name. “Thought for sure you’d run after that night,” he says. “Tail between your legs.”

You shake your head. “I don’t break that easily.”

The truth?

He did break you, you just came back for more.

credit & links:

⟡ more soldier boy.

⟡ gif, pics from pinterest, edited by me.

⟡ dividers by @easytiger-xo.

[easytiger-xo]

Father Christmas

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader ❤︎

✦18+ (MDNI)✦

summary: Dean Winchester, once a holiday cynic, finds real Christmas magic in the family he’s built with you and your daughter. A tender Christmas Eve moment deepens your bond and hints at a future growing even bigger, before a joyful morning proves he’s finally found the life he always deserved.

cw: smut, unprotected p in v, breedingish, fluff, husband Dean, dad Dean, Christmas setting.

wordcount: 1.3 K

✦ a/n: I rushed this, sorry! But I needed a little Dean fluff for the holidays, so this is kind of just a present to me.

The holidays were never his thing. Growing up a hunter, the season only ever reminded Dean of what he didn’t have. Especially Christmas.

Then you came into his life.

You didn’t just turn his world upside down. You gave him an entirely new one. When he finally hung up his hunting boots for good and chose a quiet life with you, he thought he’d already hit the jackpot. But when you brought your daughter into the world, Dean realized life still had surprises left for him. Somewhere along the way, he went from “Bah, humbug” to "Father freaking Christmas", and you can’t help but love him even more for it.

This year, especially, he’s over the moon.

Your little munchkin, now a rambunctious three-year-old, is officially into Christmas. The tree, the lights, the cookies, and the presents. It’s all pure magic in her eyes. And Dean? He’s all in.

It’s late on Christmas Eve, the two of you finishing up the last bits of prep for tomorrow. You’ve been watching him from across the room for a while before you finally say something. “Babe,” you tease, “don’t you think you went a little overboard this year?”

He’s meticulously placing yet another bow on yet another perfectly wrapped gift. A skill you were genuinely surprised to discover he’d mastered. Dean flashes you that boyish grin, the one that melts you every time. “Overboard? Nope.” He straightens, hands on his hips, surveying the impressive pile of festive loot. “It’s not too much for my little one.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re gonna spoil her rotten, ya know.”

“Damn right.” He winks, lifting a box and giving it a shake for emphasis.

You sigh, not in annoyance, but in understanding. You know exactly why he’s like this. After everything he’s been through, he’s determined to give your child the kind of Christmas he never had. The kind he wished he and Sam could’ve shared. Your heart swells, because Dean Winchester doesn’t just love with his heart. He loves with every fiber of his being, and the holidays are no exception.

You find yourself crawling across the floor toward him before you can stop yourself, pushing past scraps of paper and discarded ribbons. Seeing him like this does things to you. You settle into his lap, arms looping around his neck.

“How did I get so lucky?” you murmur, kissing along his jaw. His hands immediately find your hips. “What do you think you’re doin’, Mrs. Claus?” he asks, voice low in your ear. It’s been a while since the two of you have had any real time alone. Longer than either of you would like. Between the shopping, planning, cooking, and nonstop festivities, one favorite activity has definitely been neglected.

“You’re really good at wrapping presents,” you say sweetly. “Think you could show me how good you are at unwrapping them?” He huffs a laugh against your cheek as your lips trail over his stubble, your hips starting to move slowly in his lap. “Baby, I got a mess down here,” he says, gesturing vaguely, “and you know that kid’s gonna have us up at the asscrack of dawn…” Even as he gives you perfectly reasonable objections, his hands slide down to squeeze your ass.

You pout, grinding against him. “You deserve a break. You’ve been wrapping packages for hours.” Your hand slips between you, brushing over his growing hardness. “Why don’t you let me take care of yours for a bit?” He shakes his head, smiling. “How many Christmas puns you got tucked up that sleeve?” You laugh softly. “Let’s go upstairs and I won’t make you find out.”

He smacks your ass lightly, surrendering. You hop off his lap, but before you can take more than a step toward the bedroom, he’s up, tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of gifts. You fight to keep your giggles quiet as he carries you upstairs, but you lose the battle when he drops you unceremoniously onto your plush blankets.

He comes down over you, lips crashing into yours. “Shhh,” he scolds gently as he pulls your shirt over your head. You bite your bottom lip, smiling up at him. “Sorry. I just missed you.” He pauses midway down your body, realization softening his expression as his eyes meet yours. “Baby… I’m sorry. I guess I kinda got carried away with Christmas this year.” His thumb brushes your skin. “Totally neglected my girl, didn’t I?”

You smile, warm and sincere. “You don’t have to be sorry, Dean. I love how excited you’ve been. Watching you make Christmas magic for our peanut… that’s probably the best gift ever.” His kisses resume, slower now, more deliberate as he works the string of your comfy pants loose. “Just wanna be a good dad,” he murmurs, tugging the fabric down your legs along with your panties.

“You are,” you say firmly. “A great dad.” It breaks your heart that he ever doubts it. He sits back on his heels, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. “You know I love you, right?” he says as he shucks his sweats. “I know,” you smirk. “Now come here, Santa. Let’s get our names on the naughty list.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as he settles between your legs. Your hands dig into his broad shoulders, head falling back into the pillow. He groans into your neck when your heat grips him tight. “Fuck, baby…” His hand is rough on your thigh as he lifts it over his hip, sinking deeper. He’s everywhere. Mouth, hands, weight, heat. Filling every space. The pace builds, steady and relentless, and you’re panting now, nails dragging, pulling him closer.

Then, breathless and wrecked, he murmurs it against your skin.  “Let’s have another one.”

The words hit harder than his thrusts. His hand slides down your chest, over your stomach, lingering there. “Baby…” you gasp, breath shaking, “I think you’re just caught up in the moment…”

He answers by pushing deeper, harder, angling his hips until he finds that spot that makes you cry out. He knows it. Knows you. You whine, hands locking onto his ass as you meet him stroke for stroke. “I’m not,” he insists, voice raw, almost desperate. “I want another one. Wanna do it all again with you.” There’s something vulnerable in it now. Something open.

His thumb finds your clit, slow at first, teasing, like he’s dragging the moment out on purpose. He’s watching you unravel, feeling you tighten, waiting.

“Yeah…” you breathe, body burning, trembling. “Let's do it again…”

That’s it.

His hand fists in your hair as he groans against your ear, those broken sounds you love spilling out of him. He slows just enough to make it unbearable, dragging you right to the edge before pushing you over it. Your body locks around him, vision going white, breath tearing from your chest.

He follows you a second later, filling you completely, mouth crashing to yours. His thrusts turn deep and deliberate, more purposeful, until he finally goes still, spent and shaking.

After, you lie tangled together, breath slowly evening out. His finger traces idle circles along your stomach, soft now, reverent, like he’s already imagining the future he just begged for.

You glance at the clock. 12:00 AM.

You curl into his chest. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

You wake to the smell of coffee and the sound of giggling. “Go get her,” you hear Dean say, moments before you’re being pounced on. “Oof,” you groan, laughing as you catch your little one. Her eyes are bright, hair sticking out in every direction. “Good morning, princess.”

“Santa came!” she announces excitedly.

The morning is perfect. The three of you sitting on the floor, wrapping paper and bows everywhere. Coffee warm in your hands as you watch your husband. You laugh as he holds your daughter in his lap, showing her how to make the cars race along the magnetic track he got her. Just like the one he told you about from his own childhood.

His eyes lift to yours for a moment. You mouth a quiet, “I love you.”

He mouths back, “I know”, with a wink.

credit & links:

⟡ more dean winchester.

⟡ pics & gif from pinterest, edited by me.

⟡ dividers by @easytiger-xo.

[easytiger-xo]

I love your dividers so much 🥺 Is there a chance you could make a dark red and/or a dark green version of the Dean centric dividers?

hi! i'm so sorry this took me so long to respond to! ❤︎ can you ever forgive me?? 𝜗ৎdean-centric dividers𝜗ৎ

[easytiger-xo]

dean-centric dividers

❤︎ red and green just for you, @chevroletdean❤︎

✦ open to color request

⟡ free to use! tag to credit ❤︎

✦ more dividers here.

[easytiger-xo]

Supernatural Magazine

✦ Issue 1 ✦ Dec. 2007 ⟡ Jan. 2008 Pages 16-21

credit & links:

⟡ more Supernatural Magazines.

⟡ scans from Internet Archive - The Magazine Rack

⟡ dividers by @easytiger-xo.

[easytiger-xo]

⭑.ᐟ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ꜰɪɴᴀʟᴇ ⭑.ᐟ 5 ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀɢᴏ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ ⭑.ᐟ ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 19, 2020

⭑.ᐟ ᴍᴇ ⭑.ᐟ ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 08, 2024౨ৎ

[easytiger-xo]

Supernatural Magazine

✦ Issue 1 ✦ Dec. 2007 ⟡ Jan. 2008 Pages 10-14 ⟡ (missing page 15)

credit & links:

⟡ more Supernatural Magazines.

⟡ scans from Internet Archive - The Magazine Rack

⟡ dividers by @easytiger-xo.

[easytiger-xo]

❤︎ Jared Padalecki ❤︎

People's Sexiest Man Alive Issue November 6th, 2025

✦ read the interview

[easytiger-xo]

hii i'm not sure if you're doing requests or not but your nightwing dividers were just MUAH so i was wondering if you could make dividers like that for red hood, robin (damian), red robin, and batman? it's totally okay if not tho :))

hi! i'm glad you love them!

i'm not gonna lie, i'm not super well versed in the DC world but i did some pinterest digging and made a set for Red Hood.. (why he kinda...)

anyways.. i hope i got his vibe right.

i might do a batman set at some point too, i'm a little busy this month though.

i don't know anything about the other two, so i'm not sure i could do them justice.

thanks for the request and i hope you like them! ❤︎

𝜗ৎred hood dividers𝜗ৎ

[easytiger-xo]

red hood-centric dividers

❤︎ for you, anon. ❤︎

✦ open to color request

⟡ free to use! tag to credit ❤︎

✦more dividers here.