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blake kathryn
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Not today Justin
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@godsfaith
[ faith ] ! ⚚ ghoulgirl. she/her. 2007. bisexual. british
{ nsfw + dead dove content, eighteen plus }
made up of flesh and lust. virgo. stoner pothead daughter. i love you. i love you. i love you. leon kennedys bitch. soldier boy apologist. dean winchesters angel. a crafted persona. ‹𝟹
⌯⌲ masterlist. spotify. jackles fics.
asks always open.
@ do not upload my fics to make ai bots.
i died a long time ago and i continue to live inside this rotting corpse
DIVA GET DOWN!!
why does my tumblr look different ewewew eww
not even the memories are immortal
when im bad, im better.
TW. dean x reader! angst and comforting. sad dean. weed usage. smoking. john mention (ew). nicknames. kissing and flirting. short and sweet. title from your so cool - nicole dollanganger.
dean winchester is good.
he just doesn’t see it.
fingers wrapped around baby’s wheel, windows open fanning in the smell of the dead grass and empty lonesome fields. There’s no other place you’d want to be.
Sam’s ran off to college, the last you heard from him he’s has a girlfriend and doing well for himself, you’re happy but you know dean isn’t. You can see it eating at his soul, the way he left things.
A woman walks on the side of the road, you wonder where she’s going and if she’ll be okay. Deans eyes flicker to her through the mirror as you pass and he looks like he wants to stop and ask her. But he doesn’t. He needs to stay busy, keep going or else he’ll turn baby around and drive back through the five hundred miles you both came from.
Its been days since dean told you he was leaving, since you insisted to come along and keep him in check. He wont say where he’s going, the only clue being a crumpled map shoved behind the backseat covered in scribbled crosses and circles.
You know he’s looking for john, just don’t know why. Everything dean ever said about him has been bad bad bad. He’s lonely without sam- you know that even if he wont admit it, but searching for the ghost that is his father doesn’t seem like a good idea.
Dean doesn’t turn on the radio, thats how you know he’s serious. Stuck in his mind with no way to escape until he’s found what he’s looking for. You begin to miss the sound of white snake, driving through towns with the music blasting and singing until your throat burns, dean hitting baby’s wheel like a professional drummer next to you.
Those were the days.
“You ever gonna tell me where we’re headed?” you ask, hoisting your boots onto babys dashboard earning a look from dean.
“West.”
“Gee, thanks de. real helpful..” You huff, rolling your eyes. West? Theres nothing out there and hasn’t been for miles.
You shift in your seat, glancing back at the crumpled map half spilling from behind you. The ink’s smeared in places, like he’s gone over the same spots again and again. Crosses. Circles. Lines connecting things that are probably nothing at all.
obsession on dean is messy, recently you’ve learned to recognise it.
The sun begins to bleed out slow, creeping behind the clouds waiting for the moon to take over, dean doesn’t slow. He just keeps driving through the sunset, jaw tensed shut so tightly you start to fear it might break.
The headlights carve a narrow path through the orange, illuminating nothing but asphalt and the occasional flicker of road signs that don’t matter.
“we should pull over.. its getting late.” You say, noticing the dark circles under his green coke bottle eyes. He’s not even looking at the map anymore, just driving. He’s given up and that thought sits heavy against your shoulders.
“Im fine. We can find a motel tomorrow.” Dean grunts, shifting around like he’s trying to stay awake behind the wheel.
“Dean.”
“What-“
Your hand instinctively lifts, cracked nail polish fingers wrapping around his sharp jaw averting his eyes from the empty roads to focus on you.
“Cmon, we can pick this up tomorrow.” you mumble and he sighs, shoulders dropping almost in relief.
Wheels coming to a screech dean pulls the car over, avoiding the ditches and potholes in the dry roads and pulling into the dusted over path of a field. The world out here feels empty. no headlights, no houses, no hunting. just you and dean.
You actually feel like you can breathe.
Dean doesn’t move at first. His hands stay on the wheel, knuckles pale, eyes fixed ahead scanning for any signs of danger, just like he does in everyplace he goes.
Smirking to yourself with a great idea, you reach into the back-pocket of your scruffed jeans, the sacred little patch where you keep your blunts.
You tap one loose, crumpled from sitting so long but still good enough. leaning over, you shove the treasure into deans view with a laugh.
“You’re definitely not driving after this.”
the corner of his mouth twitches as he unbuckles, tucking his handgun into his jeans as he opens the door.
“Cmon, i’m not hotboxing baby.”
“LEAVE YOUR MESSAGE AT THE TONE.”
“Sammy- its dean. Call me when you can. it’s about dad. i’m with.. well you know who. she misses you. i-… just.. call me.”
The metal of the bonnet is still warm when you climb up, palms pressing flat as you haul yourself into place, boots dangling before they can reach the dirt listening in on his message.
Dean joins you a second later, thudding against the bumper before he hoists up. He smells like road, gasoline and leather, something intoxicating that helps you sleep during the lonely nights.
He throws his lighter your way, tracing the indents of the metal underneath your fingertips, carved in text you cant decipher and a symbol you don’t recognise on the back.
You spark the joint, the flame flickering between your hands for a second before it catches. You take the first drag, lungs filling deep then pass it over without a word.
Neither of you are smokers but right now it feels like a lifeline, hoping the effects can finally clear your mind- deans too.
Dean takes it next, rolling it between his fingers then takes a drag, exhaling slow, smoke curling past his lips and disappearing into the open air leaving the scent on his leather jacket.
You watch it happen- the way his face loosens just a little. The tension in his jaw easing like the rush pulled him out of wherever he’s been stuck these past few days.
“He’ll be okay, you know.” you say quietly.
“Sam?” he asks, though he already knows.
“Yeah.”
Another drag, Another slow exhale and its back to you. The taste of dean still lingers on the filter and instead of smoking the rest you want to tuck it into your pocket, keep it safe.
“I keep thinking..” he continues voice rougher now like the words pain him to speak. “if I’d just- I dunno….handled things different he wouldn’t’ve left like that. He left because of me.”
“That’s not true, de.” you mumble, shoulder brushing against his watching as he rubs his jaw, an old habit of his.
“You didn’t see it.” he says. “All those years… me tellin’ him what to do, where to go, how to act. Hell, I sounded just like him.” A bitter huff. John. “Guess that’s the joke, right? Spend your whole life hatin’ the guy, then wake up one day and boom.. you’re him.”
You reach over, leaning your cheek onto his shoulder. The sun’s gone now, darkness filling the sky.
“You’re not him,” you say firmly.
one more hit and your slotting the filter past deans lips feeling as he inhales. cheek so close to his heart you can almost feel the goodness thrumming through him.
“I tried to be good.” he mumbles almost inaudible but you catch it. A part of you wants to scream, to grab him by the face and yell about how much he means to you. to sam. to everyone he knows. That dean winchester is good.
He flicks the rest of the joint away as you sit up straight looking directly at him. soft lips curled into a frown, his hair tossled with a small healing scar underneath his jaw from the last hunt. He’s never looked so
Your hand lifts, Fingers brushing that small scar under his jaw tracing it like something fragile because he is.
He exhales through his nose, gaze dropping to your hand like one touch will make all his bad wash over to you and drag you under.
“You are good, dean winchester. I can see it and i know sam does too.”
You shift closer on the hood with knees turning toward him, closing that last bit of space he always leaves between himself and everything else.
“I mean it.”
His jaw tightens under your touch. For a second you think he’s going to pull back. Put the walls up again. Crack a joke and deflect, run like he always does when something gets too real.
But he doesn’t, instead his eyes meet yours with a sadness you’ve noticed hundreds of times. Then his hand comes up slow and hesitant brushing your wrist first before curling his hand around your skin, toned cheek leaning further into your palm.
“Say it again.” he murmurs looking so weak and so afraid. You’d reach into his body and fix him if you could, take all the pain and give it to yourself just so dean could finally know happiness.
“You’re good, Dean.”
His hand tightens just slightly before sliding from your wrist to your cheek, rough thumb brushing your soft skin like he’s making sure you’re real.
“Yeah?” he whispers, searching your face like he’s still waiting for the catch. for the punchline that never comes.
“Yeah.” you breathe back.
It’s small at first, the way he leans in. Careful and hesitant Like he’s giving you every chance to stop him, to turn and run like everything else he’s ever known. But you wont. you wont leave him. you refuse to.
Your hand shifts from his jaw to the back of his neck fingers threading into the short hair there as you both hold each other, his eyes flickering down to your lips like it makes no difference who holds back from who.
Then he leans forward, Lips meeting yours softly, softer than you think he’s ever been before. His taste is everything you expected and better. the mix of whiskey, smokes and hunger spilling into you. Your tongue peeks out, fighting with his to take a taste of him with you before you finally part.
When he pulls back its not far, forehead resting against yours as he lets out a sigh.
“Don’t make me soft.” he mutters though there’s no bite to it.
“Too late.” you shoot back gently. “Think I already got you.”
Inde Navarrette ph. by Nick Rasmussen for Schön! Magazine
ben catches you humping your soldier boy pillow….. !
mdni. 18+
the apartment was quiet, ben had just gotten back from a late training session with the team, his muscles still humming with residual adrenaline. he’d expected to find you reading or scrolling through your phone, maybe already asleep. what he found instead made him freeze in the doorway.
the dim lamplight painted your body in warm shadows. you were sprawled across the bed face-down, your hips grinding into the pillow beneath you—his pillow. the one with his face printed on it, a promotional stunt vought had pushed out last year that he'd thought was ridiculous but you'd kept anyway.
your fingers were gripping the edges of the pillowcase, knuckles white as you rolled your hips in slow deliberate circles. a soft breathy moan escaped your lips, muffled against the fabric.
he didn't move. didn’t speak. just leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and watched.
your shorts were bunched around your thighs, the damp fabric of your pink underwear clearly visible as you pressed yourself against the pillow again and again. your legs were spread just enough to give him a perfect view of the way your ass clenched with each thrust.
"mmmf…. ben.. “ you whispered into the pillow, your voice strained. "god, yes..."
his cock twitched behind his jeans. he reached down palming himself through the denim, not bothering to be quiet about it.
the sound of his zipper made you freeze.
every muscle in your body locked up as you turned your head eyes wide, face flushed. your lips were parted with a string of saliva connecting your mouth to the pillowcase.
"dont stop caus’ me, honey.”
his voice was rough, a command that left no room for argument. he pulled his cock out already half-hard and wrapped his hand around the shaft. the sight of him towering in the doorway stroking himself while staring at you like prey—sent a jolt of electricity through your core.
"b-ben… i-“
"i said don't stop." he stepped into the room, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. "you were into it a second ago. dont get shy on me now."
he sat down in the armchair by the window, the leather creaking under his weight. his hand moved along his length slow and deliberate as his eyes locked onto yours.
"go on.” he growled. "show me what you were doin’.”
your body moved before your brain could catch up driven by a mix of embarrassment and arousal. you lowered yourself back onto the pillow, the material still warm and damp from before. the pressure against your clit sent a shudder through your thighs.
"yeaaah... just like that." his voice was a low rumble barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. "grind that pretty cunt against my face."
every movement pressed your clit against the printed fabric, the friction making your hole clench around nothing.
his hand moved in time with you, the wet sounds of his palm sliding along his shaft filled the room mixing with your soft moans and the faint creak of the bedsprings.
a low approving growl rumbled from his chest. "that's it.. baby. keep goin’ dont you dare cum until I tell you to."
the command made your thighs tremble. you pressed your face into the pillow, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne that still lingered on the fabric and continued your rhythm imaging bens cock snug in your guts. the pressure was building coiling tight in your belly but you held back, waiting for his permission.
ben stood up, his boots clicking against the floor as he crossed the room. the bed dipped under his weight as he knelt behind you close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"look at you..” he clicked his tongue. "humpin’ a pillow like a bitch in heat. and it's my face you're rubbing that wet pussy against."
his hand came down on your ass cheek, a sharp stinging slap that made you cry out. the pain bloomed into pleasure and you thrust harder against the pillow.
you could see his hard cock in your peripheral vision—the slick glistening length of him, the way his muscles bunched with each stroke. the sight was enough to push you closer to the edge.
"mmf- can i cum daddy? please! feels so good on my pussy…”
"fuckin’ drench that pillow.” he laughed.
the command shattered you. your orgasm ripped through your body, a tidal wave of heat and pleasure that made your vision go white. you whimpered his name- a broken desperate sound as your hips bucked wildly against the pillow, riding out the waves of ecstasy. slick sputtered from your heat, dripping down your thighs and leaving a stain on the cotton.
behind you ben groaned. his hand moved faster until you felt it—hot thick ropes of cum splattering across your lower back and the curve of your ass. he cursed a string of filthy words as he painted your skin with his release.
he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing your ear with that million dollar smirk.
"next time..” he murmured, his voice rough and satisfied, "you use the real thing."
getting started on im not like you are but i wish i could be pt 2!! if you want to be added to the taglist comment below! expect to see it sometime this week <3
iloveyoujpegdotcomdotgovdotmov
ben catches you humping your soldier boy pillow….. !
mdni. 18+
the apartment was quiet, ben had just gotten back from a late training session with the team, his muscles still humming with residual adrenaline. he’d expected to find you reading or scrolling through your phone, maybe already asleep. what he found instead made him freeze in the doorway.
the dim lamplight painted your body in warm shadows. you were sprawled across the bed face-down, your hips grinding into the pillow beneath you—his pillow. the one with his face printed on it, a promotional stunt vought had pushed out last year that he'd thought was ridiculous but you'd kept anyway.
your fingers were gripping the edges of the pillowcase, knuckles white as you rolled your hips in slow deliberate circles. a soft breathy moan escaped your lips, muffled against the fabric.
he didn't move. didn’t speak. just leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and watched.
your shorts were bunched around your thighs, the damp fabric of your pink underwear clearly visible as you pressed yourself against the pillow again and again. your legs were spread just enough to give him a perfect view of the way your ass clenched with each thrust.
"mmmf…. ben.. “ you whispered into the pillow, your voice strained. "god, yes..."
his cock twitched behind his jeans. he reached down palming himself through the denim, not bothering to be quiet about it.
the sound of his zipper made you freeze.
every muscle in your body locked up as you turned your head eyes wide, face flushed. your lips were parted with a string of saliva connecting your mouth to the pillowcase.
"dont stop caus’ me, honey.”
his voice was rough, a command that left no room for argument. he pulled his cock out already half-hard and wrapped his hand around the shaft. the sight of him towering in the doorway stroking himself while staring at you like prey—sent a jolt of electricity through your core.
"b-ben… i-“
"i said don't stop." he stepped into the room, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. "you were into it a second ago. dont get shy on me now."
he sat down in the armchair by the window, the leather creaking under his weight. his hand moved along his length slow and deliberate as his eyes locked onto yours.
"go on.” he growled. "show me what you were doin’.”
your body moved before your brain could catch up driven by a mix of embarrassment and arousal. you lowered yourself back onto the pillow, the material still warm and damp from before. the pressure against your clit sent a shudder through your thighs.
"yeaaah... just like that." his voice was a low rumble barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. "grind that pretty cunt against my face."
every movement pressed your clit against the printed fabric, the friction making your hole clench around nothing.
his hand moved in time with you, the wet sounds of his palm sliding along his shaft filled the room mixing with your soft moans and the faint creak of the bedsprings.
a low approving growl rumbled from his chest. "that's it.. baby. keep goin’ dont you dare cum until I tell you to."
the command made your thighs tremble. you pressed your face into the pillow, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne that still lingered on the fabric and continued your rhythm imaging bens cock snug in your guts. the pressure was building coiling tight in your belly but you held back, waiting for his permission.
ben stood up, his boots clicking against the floor as he crossed the room. the bed dipped under his weight as he knelt behind you close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"look at you..” he clicked his tongue. "humpin’ a pillow like a bitch in heat. and it's my face you're rubbing that wet pussy against."
his hand came down on your ass cheek, a sharp stinging slap that made you cry out. the pain bloomed into pleasure and you thrust harder against the pillow.
you could see his hard cock in your peripheral vision—the slick glistening length of him, the way his muscles bunched with each stroke. the sight was enough to push you closer to the edge.
"mmf- can i cum daddy? please! feels so good on my pussy…”
"fuckin’ drench that pillow.” he laughed.
the command shattered you. your orgasm ripped through your body, a tidal wave of heat and pleasure that made your vision go white. you whimpered his name- a broken desperate sound as your hips bucked wildly against the pillow, riding out the waves of ecstasy. slick sputtered from your heat, dripping down your thighs and leaving a stain on the cotton.
behind you ben groaned. his hand moved faster until you felt it—hot thick ropes of cum splattering across your lower back and the curve of your ass. he cursed a string of filthy words as he painted your skin with his release.
he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing your ear with that million dollar smirk.
"next time..” he murmured, his voice rough and satisfied, "you use the real thing."
pope cody SPOTTED in the backrooms
life beating my ass = gotta change my whole aesthetic
@expiredidealist mwah
saw obsession for the third time tonight. greatest score of the decade, i cried this go around. my golden rule of horror is that if you want it to be scary, it has to be sad, and cast and crew nailed it. i love movies.
