© viktosins : victo she/her new writer…
— latest :: Take care of yourslef.

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

if i look back, i am lost

oozey mess
noise dept.
Xuebing Du

tannertan36
h
Keni
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

blake kathryn
No title available
tumblr dot com
Not today Justin
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Jules of Nature

ellievsbear

izzy's playlists!
trying on a metaphor
hello vonnie
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Brazil
@viktosins
© viktosins : victo she/her new writer…
— latest :: Take care of yourslef.
listening to unreleased lana del rey daydreaming about soldier boy
Soldier boy on his knees looking pathetic as shit I'm so wet
ROADHEAD ━━╋━ mdni .ᐟ drunk!reader, head while driving, oral (m), gagging, spit kink, teasing / mocking...
halloween 2006,
dean winchester was driving you to and from your little halloween party and god were you a sight for sore eyes in the tiniest excuse of an angel costume. not even a minute down the road and already pawing at his jeans and tugging at his belt.
you're the tiniest bit tipsy with your hair all ruffled and roused, of course you'd lost your make shift halo in the chaos of loud music and drinks. dean can't help but let his lips quirk up in a mean smirk, and of course he had to mock your current state, with one hand on the wheel cruising through endless dark back roads of quiet suburbia, watching you finally unzip his pants down the bulge of his already hard cock.
"baby, what the fuck happened at that party— you end up in the mosh pit ?", he quips low and musing, his smirk only growing when you reply with a little pouty scoff, blinking up at him all pretty as you leaned across the car, your head practically in his lap with little hands rubbing over his clothed length.
"don't be mean—"
"what—? it was a question," he lets out a deep huff of a laugh, almost cooing.
"lost your cute halo 'n everythin' angel."
then he sees you hesitate, you give a little frown about yo sit up and dean was not having it.
"okay, okay— i'm sorry baby I was being mean."
god the way you pout all sad, lips jutted out with your little frown and that tipsy, half there look behind your eyes had heat pooling low in the pit of his stomach. don't even get him started on how your tits spilled out so pretty from the top of the little dress that had the tiniest sway of your hips showing of the round plush of your ass.
dean could feel his cock twitch beneath his jeans, as you give a lazy drunk smile, so pretty, always wanting to please.
you tug out his cock, the thick length flush in your hands and you're practically drooling as you lean down again, giving him a good view of down your top. half his focus is on the empty road, one hand gripping hard on the wheel as he let out a deep shaky sigh as you eye up the pretty twitchy cock, faint veins leading up to his flushed pink tip already dribbling with pale precum.
"you sure about this babe ?"
like he would ever refuse head.
"eyes on the road dean—"
you lick your lips before sinking down, slurping messily at the thick tip, you don't even hesitate before taking the tip of him into your mouth. the initial taste of faint, saltiness lays heavy on your tongue. he draws a sharp breath, his hand grips tight on the wheel and the other snakes up into your hair, not pushing or pulling just present, fingers curling through the strands.
you close your lips around him, drooling over him with your tongue, all sloppy and slow, just how he likes it, working slowly at first, getting used to his size. after a long second, you take more of him in your mouth, feeling the thick of his length at the back of your throat, prodding as you sink your head lower, squeezing your eyes shut as they prick with tears at the effort.
you hear him hiss out, adjusting his hips beneath you and let out a half nervous laugh.
"fuckin' killing me baby—"
you reply with a muffled slurp. you were sloppier tonight, probably because of the drinks you had earlier, whatever it was dean liked it.
ignoring the slight burn, you push past the initial resistance, taking more of his thick inches, enough that your nose pressed against the rough of the denim of his jeans. the sensation is intense, borderline uncomfortable making you gag slightly on reflex before you swallow hard and push through it.
you want all of him. you slide down his full length, the smooth head bumping against the back of your throat. your eyes gloss over prettily from the pressure, but you hold him there, letting the sheer size of him fill your mouth heavy and twitchy, his cock demanding attention.
a low groan escapes deans throat, muffled but undeniable. his fingers tighten, gripping into your hair, pushing down just slightly, enough to anchor himself.
"jesus," he weakly groans, his head tipping back against the rest of the seat, eyes half lidded as he keeps half his focus on the road and not how you're choking on his cock like you re trying to swallow him whole.
you begin to move, slow and deliberate sliding up and down his shaft as you drooled and dribbled down his length. it doesn't last long, not when he tastes so good, not when he feels so heavy in you're mouth, not when you're distracting him just right.
you pull up, enough to glance up at him and dean knows whats coming, that cheeky glint in your eye that tells him everything he needs to know. that's all it takes for him to swerve to a halt on the side of the road.
"you're fucking psycho—", he laughs deep squeezing the back of your neck, then carries on half serious.
"could've got us in trouble baby— what if i—"
"but you didn't —", is all you reply before licking over your lips and sinking back down.
"fuck—"
he hisses pressing youre head down and you feel your eyes roll back and heat pool between your legs, making you squeeze your thighs together. your head bobs up and down now, pace borderling frantic. it's a deep, wet pressure, the friction slick and intimate and disgustingly messy.
dean focused on puling over his chevy impala. you focused on the sensation, the taste, the desperate want, how your nails dug into the fabric covering his thighs and how tense they were. the faint sound of the radio and the night were utterly and completely irrelevant compared to the sound of deans ragged breathing and the wet noises and moans your mouth made around his cock.
another slurp and a squeeze and a lazy kiss to his stomach had him tensed and on edge, so, so, so close you could feel it.
dean groans out your name, fisting at the soft of your hair as his hips lift of the seat just slightly as if to urge you on or hold himself back from fucking your throat. all of a sudden he cums hard and deep, you feel him hot down your throat and you swallow without thinking, without even gagging. you pull your head back, tongue dragging the under side of his now limp cock before slurping slightly at its head.
he watches you in awe, like youre an actual angel, panting as he pulls himself back together.
"fuckin' love you—"
© rottndeer 2026. please do not repost, copy, translate or use any of my work for ai. i post only on tumblr.
take care of yourself
summary ::Dean is hurt during a hunt. He doesn't ask for help but you know he needs it. So you offer your help.
words :: 735
pairing :: Dean Winchester x fem!reader
warnings/content :: 16+, tension, kissing, mention of gunshot wound, mention of infection, soft!Dean, still don't know how to do this
victo's notes :: Hello! This is my second fic, hope you enjoyed it. Also I'm kinda scared to write smut soooo maybe soon but idk lol. Feedback is always appreciated, please stay polite <3
“I told you I don't need help.”
Dean grumbled while taking a swig of whiskey. You rolled your eyes at him and continued cautiously tending to his wound. He had been shot while hunting. Of course, you hadn't been there to help him, and neither had he come seeking your help, like a Winchester does.
He came back to the motel a day and a half late. He looked rough, like a truck had run over him twice. He was limping to the bathroom while removing his shirt. That's when you saw it: a dark purplish bruise stained with dried blood and a piss-poor excuse for stitches. He had been shot, and of course he hadn't taken care of it like he should have.
“Dean Winchester. Sit down, right now.”
His head whipped around. He looked you up and down with a confused and tired expression. Then he noticed how you were staring daggers at his gunshot wound.
“Already took care of it.” His eyes met yours. He didn't want your help, or pity. None of it.
“I said sit down, Winchester,” you repeated.
He turned his back to you again, but he didn't move. He was thinking about his decision: whether to go into the bathroom and take a long hot shower in peace with his thoughts, ending up rethinking all of his life decisions, or sit down and let you treat his wound properly and then never talk about that fuzzy feeling you both got whenever you were close.
A long sigh escaped him. When he turned back toward you, you were still there, still waiting for him with an open invitation. He hated seeing you disappointed or hurt, especially by him. So he made his way to you, sat down in a chair, and looked the other way.
Your lips twitched and your stomach did a weird thing. So you opened your med kit and sat on the table next to him, his injured shoulder facing you so you could tend to it.
You passed a cotton swab soaked with rubbing alcohol over the wound gently, trying your best not to hurt him. Even if Dean had suffered more painful things than this, you tried your hardest not to worsen his pain.
After a while of cleaning up all that dried blood, you started undoing his bad stitching and redoing it.
“Fuck!”
His fist slammed the table while the other hand gripped the bottle of whiskey tightly.
“Oh, shut up. If you can handle getting shot and almost getting an infection, you surely can handle this,” you snapped back at his whining.
“Well, you ain't exactly making this easy, sweetheart.”
Your stomach did that thing again. You grabbed his face and made him look at you, his green eyes wide as they stared into yours.
“Deep breaths. It's almost over.”
Your voice was like honey to him. He almost melted into your touch but caught himself before you could catch that glimpse in his eyes.
He stared at you from the moment you let go of his face to when you finished the final stitch. You patted his shoulder and got up when you were finished. He stood up too but remained behind you, towering over your figure. He wanted to grab your waist so badly, to feel your hand caress his cheek again.
When you turned around, a startled gasp escaped your lips after noticing how close he was to you. Your head was level with his chest. You couldn't muster up anything, and neither could he. Except your hands moved by themselves and came up to rest on his chest.
His face slowly inched closer to yours. You hadn't realized yours had too. You just stared at each other, neither of you game to initiate the next step.
Until you closed your eyes and felt his lips gently press against yours.
He pulled back and examined your face. Your eyes were still closed, lips parted while a shaky breath escaped them.
He pressed his lips against yours again, and this time you kissed back. The intensity built slowly. Your hands crept up behind his neck and gently tangled in his hair. His big hands gripped your waist tighter and pulled you closer.
This was all he wanted, all he had dreamed of: to be close to you, to feel your warmth against him. He never wanted to let you go.
DARK ANGEL 2.02 bag ‘em .
I need to be his controversially young girlfriend
omg. his arms.
Alec McDowell | Dark Angel
Jensen Ackles as Ben DARK ANGEL | 1.17 Pollo Loco
No sun in the valley
summary :: Dean, Sam and you are staying at Bobby’s, you don’t know how long John or someone else will come for you three. So in the meantime, all you can do is watch the empty fields before you and enjoy the short lived peace you all have.
warnings/tags :: young!Dean, young!Sam, young!reader, idk how to tag lowk, comfort, bad father John, reader is not a sibling, maybe if you squint angst?
wc :: 658
victo’s note :: hello! this might be my first official like writing piece so I hope you enjoy it :) If you want to give me feedback it’s absolutely fine, just keep it polite pls!
The bright morning light hit the sun-bleached curtains in the guest room at Bobby’s. Your messy hair still stuck to your face as you woke up in slow pieces. You opened your eyes and examined the cluttered room, making out the small makeshift bed Sam had slept in. Not far from it sat a couch covered in unfolded, messy blankets. You assumed Dean had come to sleep there late last night because you had no memory of it.
As you walked down to the kitchen, the air was dry but comforting somehow. Sometimes, you thought about how much this place would creep other kids out, but to you, Bobby’s house was the safest place you had ever known. Sigils on every wall, protective charms in every corner of the home, rosaries strung up in every possible place. Everything a kid shouldn’t have to worry about.
You forced yourself out of your thoughts before you spiraled any further. Your steps were light, the floorboards creaking softly under your bare feet. You spotted little Sammy sitting on the old, torn-up couch watching some random goofy cartoon. He whipped his head around to see who was behind him, and as soon as he saw you, a big toothy smile appeared on his face. You laughed quietly. Sam had just lost a tooth recently and loved showing it off.
After eating a leftover slice of cold pizza and taking two beers from the fridge, you made your way to the front porch. Of course, if Bobby had been home, he would’ve ripped those bottles out of your hands and given you a glass of orange juice while grumbling some nonsense about who raised you. Honestly, you didn’t blame him. You would’ve wished for anything better than this if you had a choice.
The front door whined as you pushed it open with your foot. A warm, dry breeze hit your face as you inhaled through your nose and exhaled with a long sigh. A wind chime sang softly as you looked out over the empty scrapyard and spotted Baby, with no one around except Dean, hidden beneath her hood.
As the door slammed shut, he lifted his head, intrigued by the sudden noise. He examined you quickly and gave you a small nod before returning to his work.
You walked over to him and lifted the second bottle toward his face.
“Since when did you start drinking this early?” he asked, one brow raised.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” you shrugged.
He flashed you a quick smile before opening his beer, then grabbing yours and opening it too.
You took the bottle back from him and turned toward the porch. Sitting down in a white wooden rocking chair, you tucked one leg beneath yourself for comfort.
The sky was filled with thick clouds that blocked the sun, but thankfully Sioux Falls had some pretty nice weather during the summer. Your thumb slowly passed over the damp beer label, peeling at the edge. Your eyes drifted toward the horizon—nothing but scrap metal for miles.
In the distance, the coughing of Baby’s engine could be heard, accompanied by sharp curses leaving Dean’s mouth.
You chuckled to yourself at how quickly his fuse burned. Maybe he had heard you because he lifted his head to look at you with an annoyed expression.
“If you’re just gonna laugh at me, at least make yourself useful.”
He made his way toward you and sat down on the bench beside you, taking a swig of his beer.
“How long until we have to go?” you asked quietly.
“I don’t know. Bobby didn’t say,” Dean replied, side-eyeing you.
You nodded slowly. The breeze was getting colder, and you tucked both feet beneath yourself. As for Dean, he didn’t seem to mind. As long as it meant he didn’t have to follow orders from his dad, he was at peace.
The two of you stayed there until Bobby got back, sharing short stories and taking occasional swigs from your beers. The wind rustled through the scrapyard, and somewhere inside the house, a cartoon continued to play for Sam.
For once, there were no monsters to chase, no hunts to survive, and no orders to follow.
This was way better than hunting.