Not Me Putting On Long Ass Nails And Not Realizing I Can't Type As Fast On My Keyboard. (currently Typing

jensen is many things to me but first and foremost, he is my baby girl 🙂‍↕️💗

Idk who needs to hear this but just because your writing isn’t good yet doesn’t mean it’s bad either

@aylacavebear thank you for reading and leaving a comment! I’ll tag you :) <3 I’m gunna do my best to get it out by this weekend!

Ten Years Gone {d.w.}

1. Strangers in a Bar

Hi everyone!! This is my first Dean Winchester fic! Please let me know what you think of it, happy reading!

Summary: Dean hasn't been out of Purgatory for long and finds himself in a small town on the coast of Maine. He runs into a mysterious woman and she makes him question his retirement? Will Dean actually step away from the job? And what is this woman hiding from him? Warnings: slight aggression. +18 MDNI (even though there’s nothing R rated in this)

It’s late on a Tuesday night, the jukebox is humming in the corner of the bar playing slow country music. The air smells of liquor that’s dried on most surfaces of this place, a smell that’ll cling to your clothes until you wash them. It was the kind of late where only the restless or wrecked hung around, and tonight, Dean Winchester felt like both.

He sat at a table nursing a whiskey, tracing the edge of the glass with his middle finger. The bar was mostly empty, but Dean always made it a point to observe even when it’s not needed; the bartender wiping down the counter, two guys at a table loudly arguing about whether the Bruins are going to the playoffs or not, and a woman a few seats away from Dean, scribbling away in a notebook. He can’t tell if she comes here often or if she’s in the same boat he’s in, restless. Making sure to keep a watchful eye on her, especially since she’s the only woman in the building.

Dean shifted in his seat, trying not to think about the fact that he’s on the road by himself, again. It wasn’t the first time his brother needed a break from this life, and it wouldn’t be the last. They’ve been hunting nonstop for eight years, and after everything Sam has been through with the demons and Lucifer, the Leviathan’s and not knowing if Dean was dead or not for a year—he was bound to crack. The two of them fought over the fact that Sam didn’t hunt for a year, that Kevin was abducted and nothing was done about it. Sam was adamant about stepping away for a while, so he’s with his girl, while Dean is on the lookout for The Prophet. 

For some reason this time feels different. Dean’s gotten older, he’s not young and stupid anymore, and he sure as hell has been through the wringer more than he’d like to be. He has a hard time lying to himself that he’s fine on his own. He needs Sam. The feeling of crippling anxiety that won’t cease is new, and it’s a feeling that’s not easily quieted by liquor. His hand shakes while he downs the remainder of his whiskey. The job is his life but is his life worth the job? It’s a hard decision to make, almost impossible.

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice that the woman had gotten up and started walking towards the bar. She distanced herself as far away from the other two men as she could then ordered, “A margarita with a salt rim and a double whiskey, please.” It didn’t take long for them to notice that she’d gone up there. Dean didn’t like the looks of them, they had a mischievous gleam in their eyes when looking at her. One of the Bruins fans stood up and advanced towards the bar.

“Hey there, pretty lady,” the man slurred, propping himself up against the counter. “What do ya say I buy your drinks for ya, sweetheart?”

Dean sighed, his grip tightening around his glass. He knows how these movies end, and they don’t end well. 

The woman didn’t so much as flinch, without turning to look at him, she said, “I can take care of it myself, thanks.”

Her voice was cold and sharp, the kind of tone that could cut through steel, but the drunkard didn’t take the hint. He leaned in closer. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, see his eyes narrow in determination, and sense his bad intentions. 

“Aw, come on honey. Let me treat ya, then maybe we can head back to my place, if you know what I’m sayin’?”

“I said no. Walk. Away.” Her gaze finally snapping to him, one so chilling that it could turn a man to stone if she tried hard enough. 

Dean was not expecting her to be as harsh and as direct with the guy, he admired that. He knew that a guy like this wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he pushed out of his chair loudly and started to make his way towards them.

As she was turning to leave the counter, the guy grabs her by her bicep and pulls her into him, “You’re a good for nothing bitch, is what you are–”

Dean walks faster, boots thudding against the worn out floorboards. “Hey!” he barked. His voice low and dangerous as he got right in the drunk’s face. “When a lady says no, you listen. Now, let her go before this gets ugly.”

The man sneered then released her, muttering curses under his breath as he stumbled back to his friend. Dean turns to the bartender, his expression sharp. “And you–what kind of place are you running where this shit flies? Do better.”

He turns around to meet the woman, “You okay?”

She nods, her hardened features softening just a fraction at his kindness. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem, Miss..?”

“Novena.” She smiles up at Dean and reaches her hand out to shake his. 

“I’m Dean.” He gave her a warm smile back and took her hand in his. Her handshake was firm, he’s even more impressed.

“I was actually getting you a drink, believe it or not.” Her voice was rid of any trace of bitterness that had been there before, “I saw you sitting by yourself and you looked upset. Thought I’d bring you another round.”

“Thank you, I definitely need it.” Dean takes the glass from her, his fingers brushing against hers. Novena tenses up and her gaze immediately meets his, but within a second her state of shock is gone. Dean notices but doesn’t think too much of it. He doesn’t mean to be cocky, but a lot of girls in the past have frozen up around him before. Usually from being a flirt but he’s made no effort tonight—maybe he still has the juice after all.

Novena gives him another smile, then makes her way back towards her seat. This was the first act of kindness anyone has shown him since he got back from purgatory, and it was refreshing. A total stranger noticed that he wasn’t doing alright. He had been standing in the same spot, staring into space long enough for the bartender to give him the look of, “dude, you good?” He wasn’t good, but maybe he could distract himself from his anxiety for a little while, she was mysterious and that intrigued Dean. 

Making his way over to her slowly, he notices that she had been making a sketch of someone. “Mind if I sit with you?” She closes her book when she hears his voice, as if not to be caught with her doodle. “I know it’s late and I, I don’t wanna seem like that scumbag over there—“

“Sit. I can tell a tortured soul when I see one,” she gestures with her hand for him to take the chair opposite from her. Novena emphasizes, “Please.”

Also not what he was expecting, but her voice was calm. Demanding but gentle. He does as he’s told.

“Yes ma’am.” They stare at each other, scanning each other's features in a way that is more intimate than it should be. Dean finally speaks up, “So, if you’re a tortured soul like me, what’re you doing out so late on a Tuesday?”

Novena sighs and takes a sip of her drink, “There’s a lot going on but to keep it sweet and simple, my dad recently passed, my boyfriend, well…ex now, destroyed my car when I ended things,” with sad eyes, she looks down at her fingers, fiddling with one of the rings she has on. She clears her throat before asking, “What about you, Mr-New-In-Town? What brings you into The Salty Dog?”

Dean lets out a small chuckle at her enthusiasm when saying the name of the bar, but says seriously, “I’m sorry to hear about your dad, I am. It’s not easy losing a parent,” He takes a swig of his whiskey, thinking of Bobby especially. “I uh, lost my father figure not too long ago as well.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Novena’s brows furrow and she places her hand over Dean’s so naturally, gently rubbing her thumb over the top of his knuckles. 

He’s taken aback by this, he almost jumps at her touch. His eyes dart to hers and he’s met with empathy and compassion; there’s a lump in his throat that’s unbelievably painful with the grief that’s been hidden away. Not one soul has been able to break through Dean’s wall as easily as the woman before him. His eyes are jumping from their hands to the table, scoping out the rest of the bar to see if anyone is paying attention, which no one was, then back up to Novena. Tears were threatening to escape the corners of his eyes and once he saw that her mascara had run down her face, was when Dean let go. She removed her hand from his, leaned over the small table, cupped his face and wiped away the dampness on his skin. 

It almost felt like Novena was taking away his pain with her touch, and it looked like it too. The eye contact hadn’t broke since he looked up at her. Dean was a mess and he couldn’t decipher if what he was seeing was a figment of his imagination or not—but it seemed like his struggle was held within her eyes? There was this humming noise that was coming from somewhere, the jukebox or the overhead lights maybe, that was soothing. Ultimately easing Dean to breathe slower and to quiet his racing thoughts. 

“I, I don’t know what that was.” Dean whispers, “I’m sorry, that’s embarrassing. This never happens to me…” he gestures at himself.

Novena pulled away from him concerningly, “Showing human emotion never happens to you?” 

“Wow—that’s not what I was expecting you to say. But, yeah. I usually don’t allow myself to show people how I’m feeling. To be frank, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Long day I suppose.”

She didn’t know how to respond to him. He’s different from other men she’s met, that’s a given. Dean almost immediately crumbled under her touch. It felt like he was begging to let someone in, wanting to be understood. If they hadn’t mentioned that they’ve both lost someone dear to them, then Dean probably wouldn’t have been easy to get a reading from. Novena liked that he related so much to her, that Dean felt so deeply that his emotions had transferred through their touch.

He was trying to brush off what had just happened. Novena could see it in his eyes, that he was questioning the intense moment they shared. Dean covered his face with both of his hands and sighed. This was the perfect moment to change subjects.

“I better get going, it’s getting late–I have to be up early for work. But I’ll see you around?”

—

A/N: Any and all feedback is appreciated! Feel free to send me asks or dm’s :)) I'm just making things up as I go, so be patient with me lol. This will be multiple parts as well as blurbs. I have a busy schedule but I’m going to try my best to write these chapters cuz I’m really obsessed with the idea I have!

tags! @ambiguous-avery

after a night out ࿓ best friend’s dad!jensen

intro to bsf!dad!jensen .ᐟ

summary: jensen catches you tipsy in his kitchen after a night out with your friends.

warnings: none tbh, yearning, teasing, soft touches, reader is tipsy, mention of kissing others (bsf!dad!jensen x reader)

✰ ༢ུ࿓

it had been a long night of drinking, dancing, kissing pretty boys against the sticky walls of the nightclub, and feeling absolutely nothing as their wandering hands groped and squeezed at your body.

a typical night out… to say the least.

your regular spot—the beanbag on the floor of your best friend’s room, accompanied by the various pillows and blankets—felt off. you were tossing and turning, overheating and dehydrated from all the alcohol, and overstimulated from your pyjamas twisting around your body and your unruly hair getting in your face.

you stood up with a quiet yet drunken huff of annoyance, rising to your feet in the darkness of the room, your best friend’s quiet snores filling the otherwise silent space. you closed your eyes for a moment, your head spinning a little as you found your bearings.

you managed to stumble out into the dim light of the hallway, your footfalls heavy on the wooden floor, highlighted by the silver moonlight peeking in from the windows. your feet led you down the familiar path to the kitchen. it was dark and silent, apart from the clock ticking on the wall.

you felt at ease just existing in the heavy silence of the night. your eyes squeezed shut in protest as you flicked on the overhead light, and a quiet groan escaped your throat, cutting through the quietude. you drunkenly rubbed your tired eyes, smearing the leftover mascara you’d failed to completely remove barely an hour ago.

after a moment, you stepped further onto the cold tiles of the kitchen floor and swung open the cabinet filled with the drinking glasses, grabbing one.

“oh.”

you jumped at the sudden voice behind you, your body flinching. you turned around. jensen stood in the doorway with a lazy smile spread across his face, his hair tousled, dressed in grey sweatpants and a black shirt that clung to the muscled expanse of his shoulders and arms. goddamn, that sight was going to be burned into your brain until the end of time.

“it’s you,” he commented quietly, taking in your appearance at the late hour, letting his gaze fall down your body before meeting your eyes. “you look a mess, sweetheart.”

you couldn’t help your lips from tugging into a reluctant, yet amused smile, or the way your cheeks heated up at his playful jab—exacerbated by the alcohol still flowing through your system. the combination made your cheeks aglow, and you lowered your head in embarrassment, trying to save face under his fixated gaze.

“feel even better,” you muttered jokingly in return, your voice hoarse from pounding back straight liquor over the course of your night out. you turned back towards the sink to fill up your glass, still avoiding his eyes, though you could feel them piercing into your back.

a small sound of amusement came from low in jensen’s throat. he stepped towards you, watching as you shut off the water. “told you girls not to drink so much… but you never listen to me,” he chuckled softly, the sound gentle but laced with that teasing undertone you’d grown so used to.

you sipped your water as you turned to face him once again and took a moment to stare at him, trying to find a quick response in the depths of your tipsy brain. however, you realised you’d been silent probably a fraction too long as the room filled with an awkward and undeniable tension, the only sound tick tick tick from the clock and the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

jensen shifted on his feet and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, basking in the discomfort radiating off of you. his green eyes bored into you, studying you with an almost calculated stare, waiting to see how you’d respond to his playful attempt at displaying his “authority” over you.

“didn’t drink too much,” you finally replied, leaning against the counter opposite him, trying to appear nonchalant, like your heart wasn’t racing from just his presence alone. you took another sip of your water, watching his smile quirk into a small smirk.

“oh, yeah?” he asked, his brows raising as he watched you. he tilted his head, the gesture challenging, yet filled with jest. 

his gaze shrunk you down, stripping you of all the defences you’d tried so hard to build up over the years since you first developed your stupid crush. you felt like he could see right through you, and you didn’t know why you weren’t completely mortified by that.

you shifted your weight on your feet and cleared your throat. “yeah,” you offered back with a shrug, trying to keep up your bravado of indifference.

“then what’s with the…“ jensen trailed off, raising a hand and gesturing to his face.

“what?” you scoffed out in a smile, now crossing your arms—a little in defence, and maybe a little in defiance.

“your eyes, little lady. y’got makeup all smudged under them, looks like you got punched in the eye. there’s no one i need to go out and knock on their ass for hitting my girl is there?” he smirked, this time not so subtly, letting his words linger in the air as that fucking expression shot straight down to your core. his girl. damn right.

your hands rubbed under your eyes after you’d placed your glass down, your heart thumping against your ribcage as you tried to wipe away the black smears. “no,” you huffed with a smile, “no fighting needed, jensen.”

“good,” he murmured, stepping towards you, “i’d be sad if someone was slinging fists your way, honey. y’too sweet to be gettin’ into fights.”

you blinked up at him, dropping your hands as he approached; your body language was open to him, welcoming his proximity as he neared closer.

“wouldn’t want to see you hurt. i’d hate that,” he continued, his voice still a soft murmur. he raised his hand, letting it linger just a centimetre from your skin, hesitating for a moment, before finally making contact. his thumb gently rubbed at the stubborn mascara under one of your eyes, his palm resting on your cheek. the feeling of his skin against yours was searing, setting the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. your breath caught in your throat for a moment; his touch felt good, like it belonged there.

your eyelids fluttered shut, silently submitting to his touch, and you felt his gaze deepen. it was intense and all-consuming, kind of like standing under a spotlight, but it was gentle at the same time, like it was one you’d been under a thousand times.

“mmm,” jensen hummed, “my messy girl.” his quietly spoken words made your heartbeat stutter. his. it’s like he knew exactly how to take you apart without even trying. the butterflies grew more rampant in your stomach, his words forcing goosebumps to grow on your skin. “at least this shows you had fun tonight though, right?”

your eyes flickered open, blinking up to meet his. your eyes locked, and his smile grew, making a warmth bloom in your chest. jensen’s thumb stilled under your eye, but he left his hand cupped against your cheek, the heat between your skin sending tingles down your spine, straight to your core. you had to fight off the urge to turn and place a kiss on his palm, or better yet, take his thumb into your mouth.

“yeah, had a lot of fun tonight…” you muttered with a soft smile, letting your eyes dance between his green irises, so deep and soulful you could just drown in them if he’d let you.

“yeah?” he asked, letting his hand slip down to grasp the side of your jaw. he rubbed his thumb along your cheek, his eyes sparkling with mirth, drinking you in, as you tried to not physically react to his touch. 

“yeah.”

“did you kiss any boys?”

you paused, your whole body tensing, completely thrown off by his question. you tried to not let the surprise show on your face, but jensen could see right through you.

“s’alright if you did, baby. you’re a pretty girl. lots of boys’d be lining up for a kiss, i’d imagine,” he purred out his words, and you felt like you could just melt right then and there.

your throat bobbed as you swallowed down the words you wanted to say. no boy would ever beat you, jensen. i want you first in line. every time.

instead, your smile grew sheepish, and your eyes darted away for a moment, fighting off the blush from staining your cheeks. an awkward chuckle bubbled up your throat, an attempt to diffuse the tension he’d built between you.

“umm,” you began, “yeah, i— i kissed a boy… or two.” your eyes met his once again, falling back into the trap of his unwavering stare. you searched his face, your heart beating as you waited for a response. you felt guilty. why did you feel guilty?

you caught the way the corner of his lip twitched, threatening to curl ever so subtly at your words, and the guilt intensified tenfold in your chest. why did you admit that to him? why didn’t you just lie?

“yeah?” he asked, letting his face fall back into a neutrally intrigued expression, guarded almost. “did you like it?”

your brows pinched together. 

“like what?” you asked, part of you hoping he’d just drop it. you didn’t think you could keep your face from flushing any longer; you didn’t want him to see you so flustered over a silly question.

“getting kissed?” he clarified, the words falling from his mouth like it was a totally normal thing to be asking you.

“i— it was—” you mumbled, trying to find the words. “yeah, it was… alright. i was drunk,” you finally concluded, hoping to cease any misinterpretations of your prior actions that night. they were just kisses; you were drunk.

“just alright?” jensen asked, tilting his head once again, still caressing your cheek. “you don’t need to lie to me, sweetheart. you can kiss all the boys you want and enjoy it if you like.”

“i know,” you said a little too quickly out of panic. you mentally smacked yourself when you saw his eyes narrow the slightest bit. fuck. that’s not what you meant to say. i don’t want to kiss anyone but you, jensen. only you.

“mm, doesn’t mean you should.”

the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock trickled out into the background, a new silence swallowing you whole. you stood staring up at him, your tipsy brain trying to scramble through the mess his words left in your head. doesn’t mean you should.

“i— it was just—” you sputtered out, suddenly feeling like a deer in headlights.

jensen shook his head and gently patted your cheek. “just be careful, sweetheart. want you looking after yourself f’me. don’t want a boy breaking that sweet little heart of yours. it’s too innocent, too good for this world. you deserve the best, you know that?”

your brain felt like it was seconds away from exploding and seeping out of your ears. you struggled to make sense of his words, trying to search between them as the silent seconds flew by.

but then suddenly

out of nowhere

he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. your eyes instantly fell closed, the breath from your lungs stilling for a moment as the world around you slowed down. this… this was new.

“you get to bed, baby. i’ll cook you girls a big breakfast tomorrow. the ackles’ hangover special,” he mumbled against your hair, his hand still holding your face.

you hummed; you didn’t trust yourself with words.

“sleep tight, sweet girl.” jensen finally pulled back and shot you a smile, the type of smile that makes your knees go weak. every. single. time.

all you could do was nod, your eyes grasping onto the micro-expressions on his face. god, he was so hard to read, so guarded when he wanted to be, so confusing.

jensen nodded in return. he took a moment to let the sight of you sink in, really sink in, before he turned on his heel and headed towards the door with a smile on his face.

your heart sunk to your stomach as the distance between you increased, missing the warmth of his hand against your cheek, his lips against your hair, his body cocooning yours against the counter, the smell of his cologne that you breathed in like it was fresh air.

a sigh escaped your lungs as he finally disappeared into the hallway. your legs felt like jelly, and that bloody aching sensation had grown between your thighs.

it was going to be a long night.

fig yaps: this felt… awfully restrained compared to my last post,, BUT i wanted to establish their dynamics before they go crazy sucking and fucking !!! anywhoooo thank u for the love on the og post !!! i feel like my inbox has been flooded, and all the kind (also kinda batshit) comments have made my week and made me so eager to write !!! love y’all freaks PLS keep sending me ideas i wanna start writing actual smut for this delicious man i just gotta plan it out omg

also thank u for 1.6k too !!!!!! 🤯

feedback and reblogs are welcome and encouraged as always! thank yaaaa <3

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↑ comment to be added / removed (zero judgment) !

Over halfway done with it but what if y'all are like wtf?? I'm exhausted from work and it took me an hour and a half to write 5-600 words (yikes)

Gunna be dropping another reader! one shot in the next couple days. I’m really liking how it’s turning out so far

"No... but there is a lot of things that Soldier Boy has said that weren't scripted." — Jensen Ackles | JIB 15

they should invent a sunday that doesn’t have this sinking feeling

i wrote a twin cinema poem about two gay soldiers in wwi

context: the two sides, read separately, are the two soldiers thinking about their futures with each other. when read together, it's a reflection of their final thoughts when they die together struck by bullets <3

Rewatching supernatural and am on season 8. There’s no way Dean and Benny didn’t fuck in purgatory

Do you ever write a paragraph so good in your fanfiction that you are astounded at the genius contained inside your mortal vessel?

Alternatively, do you ever look back at the same writing days later and wonder what the fuck you were thinking?