#dean and touch

[wincestwhispers]

Wincest Wednesday!

So we know that Dean is a romantic, likes to kiss and hold hands, wants to be charming, likes it sweet.

SO, how would he go about wooing or treating Sam, not necessarily in the initial stages of their relationship, but after, for special occasions or to try to bring some extra romance to the bedroom or their daily lives.

OR

What are little romantic things he would like Sam to do for him, even if he doesn't ever work up to asking?

Thank you ^_^

Happy wincest wednesday Audie!! This is such a lovely question thank you<3

Generally I think Dean is big on acts of service so whenever he wants to woo Sam he’d make all his favorite foods, even the ones he hates. When it comes to more romantic things, I see Dean flirting his way through hunts and research. Sam would be at the table working through his third book while Dean leans on him or across his lap to “read” with him. Sometimes he’ll catch something in the lore he can make a flirty joke out of. Once Dean gets more confident in their relationship he’d look for hunts where they can pretend to be a couple or would generally require them to be more affectionate.

Sam’s a nerd as we know so anytime he makes a comment about something unfamiliar that seems interesting or fun (food, a sex thing, a weapon etc.) Dean catalogues it and finds a way to get, make or do what Sam wants but it’s always a while later when Sam doesn’t expect it. it always leads to very good sex<3 More down the line when Dean’s comfortable, he would find hunts or events that need him to dress him up which usually means more feminine. Sam wants to devour him every time he does this. Dean also starts using some of Sam’s shower/hair products and wears his clothes more so he smells like Sam at least a little all the time.

Things Dean would want include kisses, like, all the time. Dean’s dream is getting kisses everytime he makes Sam smile or happy or when Dean does something well. He wants reward kisses! He never says that though. Sam doesn’t quite do that but he would surprise kiss Dean often, just whenever he looks at Dean and can’t contain it. Little cheek kiss before he goes to shower, deep gentle kiss when Dean’s cooking in his apron, and so on.

Dean craves Sam’s touch constantly. If he could have it his way, they would always be holding hands, or brushing against each other, or (Dean’s favorite) Sam’s hand on the small of Dean’s back. He wants it casually and all the time. Occasionally Sam will rest his hand on Dean’s thigh when Dean’s driving and Dean loves it. Dean definitely would struggle to admit this but one of his favorite spots is on Sam’s lap. It just feels so warm and safe and right. Also food is a big one for Dean and Sam knows this. Gifting him his favorite foods will warm his entire chest every time<3 I could keep going on and on about all the ways Dean and Sam would want in their relationship/romance but sadly my break is over so enjoy this for now!

[whelp-gay4angels]

Supernatural is truly the show of all time. it starts with a bro’s wet dream of shooting guns and banging skinny chicks and ends with queer found family, gay love can pierce the veil and save the day, and god is dead. who’s doing it like them

[kinky-cas]

at some point in the late seasons dean and cas should have started wearing wedding rings. it’s never mentioned or acknowledged in any way whatsoever. the only answer they give when asked about it at cons is some variation of “it’s just jewelry, you guys are reading into it too much”. one single time during the divorce arc we get a shot of dean staring at his left hand and twisting the ring around on his finger.

[g8taloadofdisguy]

touch starved

[bejeweledinterludes]

givin’ it all.

OR touch starved ! dean, part 2. you ask, i answer <3

my masterlist

read part 1 here!

「 pairing 」 : touch starved ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 5.9k

「 content / warnings 」 : late seasons sad n soft!dean, vulnerability to da max (again), emotions, emotions, EMOTIONS, past trauma, confessions?

you have one ( 1 ) new message from the author ! ↓

surprise! here is a lovely part 2 for the people that asked and in honor of my bday month starting! BUTTTT most importantly, this is a thank you for 600+ followers !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i hope all of you know that i appreciate every single one of you that enjoys and interacts with my writing! it means the world, truly. once again, thank you all so much for the continued and ongoing support + love! i hope you all enjoy this one! and special thanks to @emeraldcrs + @maddie0101 (even though i ended up not doing what i said i was going to LMFAO <3)

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dean winchester’s touch problem was getting out of hand.

again.

ever since that night in your bedroom, he’s wished he could be there again, laying next to you every night— he’d even actually got the courage to get out of his bed one night when he couldn’t sleep to go to your room, but he never knocked on your door.

he did, however, sit down next to it in the hallway until he got tired enough that he had to fight to keep his eyes open, then went back to his own room. 

you hadn’t even treated him any differently, either. you had still smiled at him when he walked into the kitchen that morning when you were already sitting with sam, like you always did— and you hadn’t said a word about the night before, when you held him like he’d always wanted to be held.

and god, did he want more. 

dean wanted everything, actually. anything you had to offer. he’d take a squeeze on his shoulder, a ruffle of his hair— but hell, you did that pretty regularly already. and who was he to just ask for more?

dean winchester did not ask for things. he wasn’t allowed. he’s done just fine up until now without the touch of another human being, so why couldn’t the ache in his chest go away after your fingers left his skin? after that night?

it felt pathetic, wanting to need it. and to make matters worse, dean wanted all of you. it was selfish. you didn’t deserve someone like him, he knew it. but then again, you never flirted with anyone at the bars, ever. even when you all first started hunting together. and when he’d asked you about it (not so casually), you shrugged and told him the truth, because you always did— that as crazy and stupid as it sounded, you’d wanted something, someone real.

and dean?

he wanted to be the one to give that to you.

that’s when he knew he was in trouble. 

because of too many things, really— what if you died, again? what if he died, again? and what happens when you ultimately rejected him, because if dean winchester was anything, it was unloveable.

but charlie said she loved him. sam told him once in a while, too— and you’d said it the first time you ‘died’, then came back. he never brought that up. neither did you. but he just wanted to hear you say it again. 

so he could say it back this time. 

dean hated the way he felt when the people he loved actually showed him that they maybe cared about him, too— like the way a person feels when an entire room is singing ‘happy birthday’ to them and they don’t know what to do with themselves.

and yet, time and time again, dean found himself desperate for it. and he didn’t even know what ‘it’ was half the time. 

but being around you when he felt like that helped. a lot.

dean didn’t know what it was, or when it even started, but he always gravitated towards you. always had to be around you, be near you. and you never once pointed it out. you just let him into your space, your bubble, even your hobbies— and sometimes, doing literally nothing at all. 

it was one of the reasons dean loved you. yeah, yeah, he said it, whatever. leave him alone. it seemed like any time you were near, he was more relaxed. not fully, of course— but his shoulders felt less tight and his jaw wasn’t sore from clenching it so hard.

he breathed easier. without realizing it, you helped dean take his mind off things (but of course you damn well knew that. why else would you have invited him to go to the post office with you?). 

and he craved it. 

if dean got captured by a jinn right now, you’d be there. you’re all he’s wanted. you, maybe a house— screw anything else, honestly. if you were there, so was he. but he’d definitely prefer you sitting on the hood of baby— yeah, his two girls. that was a little strange analogy though, because he’s thought about fucking you right on top of baby. or inside, on the seats. maybe even under—?

this djinn-fantasy thing was starting to sound a lot like just a sex dream. 

wouldn’t be the first time dean had one about you, though. 

besides. you were all he dreamed about, anyway. 

but this night, he was wishing he had a dream like that. no. tonight, he was having yet another goddamn nightmare. 

the barely-lit light on dean’s desk (he says he ‘accidentally’ leaves it on once in a while, but he really uses it as a makeshift night light. don’t tell anyone i told you that) cast soft dim glow on the concrete walls of his bedroom. the room was quiet, except for the occasional hum of machinery coming from somewhere in the bunker.

yet dean's mind? anything but peaceful. images, smells, sounds, and memories were piercing his mind— hell, purgatory, failed hunts, you name it. and the faces of people he’d lost, people he’d tortured were clear as day— the pain, the hurt, it was all there, as usual; but ten times worse tonight, it seemed. screams, snarls, gunshots, and his father’s voice echoed off of the traumas he was reliving. 

he doesn’t know when his eyes had snapped open. but now dean was sitting up pin-straight in his bed, his breathing more like choppy gasps as he held and pointed his gun at— nothing. and his throat hurt, why did his throat hurt—?

oh. 

it wasn’t just screams of other people.

it was his own this time. dean had screamed out loud. 

a few rooms away, you were also jolted awake by dean's scream. it was so loud that it had even carried through the thick concrete walls of the bunker that were separating you both. you shot up from your bed, years of instincts kicking in and legs moving before your sleepy mind could catch up— or think twice. 

because the only thing that was going through your freshly-awoken mind?

the absolute worst.

you made it to dean’s door in record time, swinging it wide open with your own gun at the ready to fight something— but the sight you were met with was not the one you had been expecting.

at all.

dean was still sitting up straight, but now barely-relaxed, rapidly blinking his eyes with his trembling hand still holding his gun, adjusting to the still-dim but brighter light flooding his room, to feeling damp in his clothes instead of all bloody and broken, to the echoes of screams being replaced with the white noise of the bunker– 

and to… you. 

yeah, you. standing in his doorway, hand on the edge of his door (you’d caught it as it bounced back from you essentially tearing it open), your own gun now at your side instead of drawn. your hair was all messy, clothes a little bunched up in places, breathing a little unevenly, yet not as much as him— but you still looked breathtaking, nightmare aside. 

dean didn’t know what the hell kind of water you were drinking to make you look like that. even being freshy pulled from sleep like him, you looked beautiful. pretty, gorgeous, stunning? dean couldn’t find a word, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

and him.

oh, him.

dean always looked good— to the point where it bordered on you wanting to rip your hair out, most days. and despite what de’d just gone through, he still looked good. kidding aside, you craved the times you were able to see him like this more than you cared to admit to yourself. 

not because he was in pain, or suffering the traumas of his less-than-peaceful life— but because it reminded you that even dean, for as everything that he was: a hero, larger than life, better than any hunter, still had moments like… this. when the memories became real life again. when the thoughts and his past actions echoed in his mind like taunts.

when you saw him like this: sweat all over, hair sticking up, eyes like they didn’t know what was real, you saw a piece of dean that few— or none at all had seen. most times, it felt like you were intruding on something private, sacred. and every realistically-thinking cell in your body screamed that you shouldn’t be here, seeing this. seeing dean. 

but that little voice in your head just wouldn’t listen. 

it never did. not when it told you that maybe dean didn’t touch you like he did everyone else— because hell. 

he never touched anyone else. only you. 

he’d do it all the time, so frequently and without a word that you weren’t sure he was aware he was actually doing it. dean sat so close to you what seemed like 24/7, like a magnet. in a booth, at a bar, wherever. you’d gotten so used to it, it had been unusual not to have the solid warmth of dean next to you when you’d gone off on your own to interview witnesses on a case. 

and you would catch him playing with your hair on more than one occasion. and while dean got all embarrassed, you just smiled a little, then went back to reading the old-ass book you’d been poured over (but not without first nonchalantly adjusting yourself so he got more access to your hair). 

dean would never forget it. 

because that’s who you were, essentially. taking all the pieces of him in tow with you. all the dirty, messed up, strewn-about shards of him, scattered like a discarded shattered vase on the floor— and just accepting it. 

and you never tried to ‘fix’ him, but in some way, you still somehow were. without really ever talking about it, or maybe even knowing. but when those times that only occurred on a rare occasion that dean would talk, the words spilling out and overflowing— but you never judged him. only listened. spoke when it was needed from you. 

it meant everything.

and more. 

dean would hug you almost every five minutes when he was too drunk to stand straight, you had learned one night early on in your friendship. when his ‘hey, maybe we shouldn’t do that’ voice in his head was silenced, he was kinda (a lot) all over you. because yes, he was much touchier when he was drunk, especially around you. 

even now, after years since it happened, you still remembered the way his broad, loose frame had crumpled against you— and you caught him.

just like now.

you’d snapped over whatever the hell just came over you— and you weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there, but you hoped it wasn’t as long as you thought it to be, then slowly shut dean’s door behind you with a click, enveloping you both in the dim light this time. 

because no way in any world were you about to leave dean alone after seeing him like this.

you pad across his room like you’d done a million times before— but never in this way. this late in the night? sure, but not like now. 

you weren’t really thinking. because let’s be honest here: for every critical and rational thought you had, dean seemed to just… make them all disappear from your mind.

not in the survival sense, but in the ‘really, what’s stopping me from just kissing him’ viewpoint. so much so that you had to literally force yourself to not do anything. to not cross that line. you weren’t sure if he even knew that he was aware he was doing it to you, yet it still happened. a lot.

but back to now. back to dean’s room, to the light being returned to normal, and dean’s wondering why the hell is it so cold? he was still just a complete mess, his frayed and raw nerves only being held together by skin, blood and bones. he shut his eyes and kept them like that, trying to banish the memories from his mind, to just snap the hell out of it. he could hear this ringing in his ears, and it was so loud, he just wanted it to stop—

and suddenly, it did.

dean didn’t even realize you’d started holding him until the scent of you finally flooded his senses. until he felt how warm you were. until he felt your hair on the side of his face. until he felt and heard your breathing. 

during the aftermath, you’d somehow managed to gently pry dean’s gun out of his hand, setting yours and his on his desk before you’d gotten on his bed and sat with him, hugged him.

when his eyes finally opened, just for a split-second— the only sight he was met with wasn’t the pit, or purgatory, just the guns. the metal had glinted off of his desk light, his vision only slightly impaired by your hair.

your hair. why did it smell so good. and why was it so soft. the world may never know, dean thinks. well, he does know. you’d told him one night while putting something in your hair, and he had been walking past the doorway. he’d teased you about your ‘girly stuff’, but you didn’t even bat an eye. 

that was another thing he’d noticed about you. you didn’t change yourself based on other’s opinions. you were secure in who you were, and didn’t need approval from anyone else to feel your best. it was one of the things dean wished he could do for real and not just as a front, as a defense. 

you were confident, but you still asked him once in a while if you looked okay, more so in the most recent years.

and dean could never lie to you. he always said “‘course y’do”.

but that night, you’d shrugged, then just told him about whatever the hell you were putting on your head, explaining it in a way he’d understand if he’d been listening— but dean had been a little to focused on your lips moving and not enough on the words actually coming out of them. 

dean found himself burying his face into your hair now, half into your neck and chest, his breath coming out uneven and in short pants against your skin. he allowed his eyes to flutter shut again as he just let himself sink into you, resting his head on your shoulder, arms finding your waist. he felt the adrenaline wearing off, but his heart was still pounding in his chest, and he felt his shoulders trembling. his mind was starting to adjust, but he felt like he’d just gotten off a treadmill after running on it too fast. 

and dean felt so weak. even more so now than he ever had. a shell of himself, a whole grown-ass man crumpled into you like he was a little kid again, scared of the dark.

if his dad could see him now.

if sam saw him right now. oh, sam would finally see that his brother wasn’t the tower of light, safety he’d always viewed him as. he’d treat him differently, for sure. dean was no longer the protector, the one who watched over everyone and everything. too much had happened to sam, to the people he loved for that to be even a fraction of true anymore. 

what was true, though? 

dean was a failure.

in every sense of the word. he’d failed innocent people, family, friends— everyone more times than he could count.

but his mind remembered. 

and it reminded him every night. 

dean used to have the sense that he was at least doing something right, but as of late, everything he’d done so far was nothing short of one disappointment after the other. it was pitiful, really— he was a freakin’ hunter, for god’s sakes. you’d think he’d get a goddamn win once in a while. but not for a long time, it seemed. 

and this was just yet another failure, another thing he absolutely sucked at. dean couldn’t even get back to normal after a nightmare without someone being there to hold him. it was pathetic, humiliating— but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of you. 

somehow, that was his breaking point. the last straw. 

dean finally just… broke. 

you didn’t even realize what was happening until you heard the smallest strangled, trapped noise came out from the man you were essentially holding together, muffled against you— but you still heard it.

all it took for dean winchester to cry these days? 

a hug, apparently.

the tears had been welling up in dean’s eyes faster than he could will them away— and he just couldn’t do it anymore. couldn’t put up the front he’d always been able to. he tried, god he tried so hard, but he was still shaking, for christ’s sakes— and he’d just woken up. 

the more dean thought about it, the more your arms seemed like a good place to finally let it all out. you’d always treated him with kindness he didn’t deserve, so he just prayed that you wouldn’t push him away. that you would just let him have this. he doesn't think he could handle you rejecting him in this way right now.

and when you hear a slight sniff against you, you almost couldn’t believe it. dean didn’t cry. he got angry, upset, went non-verbal– but the one thing you hadn’t seen him do (at least in front of you) in all the years you’d known him, is cry.

but you weren’t leaving.

no, you just held him tighter, adjusting your grip and the way you were sitting so dean was more comfortable. you didn’t lay down, but you pulled him closer to you, running a hand up and down his back. 

it’s not like you could say anything. what the hell could you say?

well.

one thing did come to mind. 

so with your hand still gently rubbing dean’s back, you moved your head just a fraction so it could rest on his, whispering close to his ear.

“i got you.”

and that was it. 

dean’s eyes screwed further shut, lip wobbling as he gripped way harder onto you, like you were the only lifeboat left in a choppy sea. like you were going to keep him here, like he’d suddenly fall apart, die if he let go. 

and he let go—

figuratively.

you’d never heard a sob come out of dean before, but that night, you decided you never wanted to hear it after this. because it was physically hurting you to hear dean right now. 

but you didn’t dare let him go. you held dean in your arms, still running a hand on his back, and he cried into your chest like he was four years old again, his entire body trembling against yours with the force of how much his sobs were wracking through his form. 

this wasn’t just about dean’s nightmare. this was everything. the decades of holding things in, pushing them down, then moving on without ever unpacking it— it was all bursting through the floodgates, roaring in his ears, his senses.

broken sounds left his throat, almost choking on them. they were coming straight from the place dean dared not to ever touch in his heart. but he didn’t care how loud he was anymore, or how embarrassing this must be, how humiliating—

because you said that you had him.

and you wanted nothing more than to take every ounce, every inch of pain, heartbreak, suffering, and loss that made up the man you loved away from him so he didn’t have to deal with it.

dean didn’t deserve any of it. he deserved to be normal.

to have a life. 

and damn you wanted to give that to him, so badly.

but for now, you’d just hold him. give him a place to rest. to let everything go.

to be the solace he needed, he deserved.

neither you or dean knew how long he’d stayed like that, but you both didn’t say a word the entire time you held him— the only sounds that filled his room were his less-than-quiet sobs (god he hoped sam hadn’t made it home from elieen’s yet) and the faint rustle of his sheets. 

but at some point, with a final sniff, dean lifted his head from your shoulder, but didn’t meet your eyes. couldn’t.

he was so ashamed of himself, his actions. it didn’t matter that you guys had been friends however long, this was not supposed to be the side of him you saw. he’d seen you comfort dozens, maybe even hundreds of crying people on cases— because of lost loved ones, or because they had seen something too scary. 

dean just never thought he’d be one of them.

you didn’t say anything at first. dean, eyes and face still wet with tears, was looking down between you both, eyes fixed on your pyjama pants’ pattern. he was avoiding the obvious, the pill he had to swallow. he’d just cried like a baby into you.

he could see the wetness on your shirt from the corner of his eye, but he dared not look up all the way. god, this was humiliating. you’d probably move out of the bunker after this.

because no way does dean come back from a stunt like he just pulled. staying in your bed is one thing, but the fact that he just broke down in front of you? you’d never see him the same, never look at him the same– and even if there was any chance of it  before, no way in hell were you ever going to look at him in the way he wanted you to look at him.

he’d messed up big-time— again. the only thing he swore to never ruin, to never take away from himself, it all just unraveled because he was a goddamn crybaby. an idiot. why did he do that? just let himself? was he seriously that braindead that he couldn’t—

dean’s pulled out of the spiral of thoughts he’d conjured up for himself when he feels a hand under his jaw. 

your hand. 

dean’s breath was all out of whack, courtesy of crying— but his next inhale literally gets stuck somewhere when your free hand uses your fingers to wipe the tears off his face.

you hadn’t really registered the fact that you’d even started doing that until you see dean’s glassy and red-rimmed eyes meet yours in his barley-lit room. all you’d been thinking was that you wanted to see him. and when you saw all the wetness on his face, how ashamed he looked, you didn’t think. 

case in point: you never did.

not when it came to dean.

and dean just melts all over again. you could’ve teased him, poked fun, even just got up and left— but instead, your arms are still halfway around him. you’re leaning over by his nightstand, grabbing a tissue for the snot and larger tear tracks. 

he should feel embarrassed. at least a little gross. 

but he didn’t. 

he just felt you.

dean let his eyes flutter shut, because this had to be a dream now. he wasn’t expecting this from you, but damn if he didn’t need it. every gentle brush of your fingers on his face felt like pure gold. like you were putting him back together. 

dean’s still trembling under your gaze, under your touch. but seeing him react the way he did stirs at that feeling inside your tummy that always seemed to spike when dean was around. you toss that urge away, along with the tissue you’d used on his face.

but you don’t take your hand away. 

your hand was so warm, so soft was all dean could think, feel. you weren’t taking your hand away, so dean just melted like a pad of butter in a pan into your fingers that were cupping the side of his face, his eyes still shut. he could feel the slight burn of them from crying, along with the pressure in his face so high— but your thumb absentmindedly brushing on his cheek was starting to make him feel like he was floating instead.

and because he’s greedy, because he’s weak, dean’s own hand releases its hold from your shirt and finds your wrist, keeping your hand on his face. the one that used to be under his jaw had dropped when you knew that he wasn’t going to look down again.

no one’s shown dean care like this. your presence was like a blanket, like the warm, soft light of a candle. he couldn’t get enough. he never wanted it to end. 

dean doesn’t know how long he stays like that— could’ve been seconds or hours. but he finally breaks the silence with a quiet, raspy “thank you”. he doesn’t open his eyes yet.

because he’s afraid that you’ll be gone when he opens them. 

but you weren’t.

no, in fact? you did something much stupider.

you leaned forward and kissed dean on the cheek that your hand wasn’t currently holding.

dean’s eyes snap open in surprise at the contact if your soft lips on his skin, his trembling breaths getting stuck in his throat again— because holy hell. whatever he’d been guessing you’d do, it wasn’t even close to that.

like everyone knows now: you weren’t thinking.you just wanted him to feel better. you just didn’t know how to do that for him.

dean’s red-rimmed eyes were still wide as you leaned back, your hand on his face faltering when you see his expression, because that didn’t seem like he enjoyed it— but he didn’t drop his hand from your wrist. he wasn’t going to let you let go. you’d only kissed him on the cheek one other time, and that was when he was dying for the third, maybe fourth time? it was too long ago for him to remember, but honestly, he had been happy just dying like that, too. you’d kissed him, and that was what he needed. he didn’t want anything else from this world.

and you just did it again.

the only thing he said?

“do that again.”

now it was your turn for your breathing to stop working.

but you didn’t hesitate. 

you leaned forwards once more and pressed your lips on dean’s cheek again, lingering for a second too long before you reluctantly pulled away. because you wanted more. you wanted everything, honestly. but you’d never ask that of him. 

you don’t know how you’ve lasted this long, pretending not to want one of your closest friends for as long as you can remember. you can recall a time when you didn’t feel like this— back when dean winchester was just some hunter with his brother. you helped them out once in a while, since they were your age and seemed nice enough, but somewhere along the way, after an apocalypse or two, sam and dean were always kind of just… there. it was like you were on parallel paths, going in the same direction— and both had intersected at some point. 

now here you were. 

it was times like these you wished that dean would just pick a side. he never truly hit on you, only for a case once in a while— and he couldn’t even look at you after he did that. he never made a move, and honestly, you were fine with that, for a really long time. you’d deemed dean much too out of your league anyway, since he didn’t really flirt with you like he did every other woman that came across his path— and that was odd to you, because dean flirted with everyone.

just not… you. 

and while it stung, you just pushed through it. i mean, it’s not like you haven’t been let down before— but you couldn’t place why your heart felt like it was being shredded up in your chest when you’d met lisa for the first time.

but you knew. 

deep down, you knew exactly why. 

you knew why your gut twisted whenever he chatted up a waitress, or a witness. you knew why your friends gave up on talking to you about him, because you were a lost cause. 

because you were so stupidly in love with dean, it was almost humiliating. 

every single person, even some monsters you were literally hunting had called you out on it.

and you didn’t know what the hell to do. 

there were too many variables, too many outliers, and certainly not enough confidence to even consider the fact of telling him. of manning up and just taking what you wanted. because what would you even say? do? what happens after he rejects you? and what if—

your thoughts are interrupted by a warm hand on your face.

dean’s hand.

your hand was still on his cheek, one of his own still holding your wrist— but the other was now brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

and then it just… stayed there. on the side of your face. 

just like you were doing to him. 

you’re gonna die, you think. 

once again, you found yourself wanting dean to just do something. he’d been blurring the invisible line you’d drawn for yourself, the one you swore to never cross—

unless dean wanted you to. 

it was getting much harder to tell if he wanted you to or not, especially in the most recent months.

and it was killing you. slowly but surely.

“what’re you thinkin’ about?”

the words leave your mouth before you even have time to think, because dean’s hand is so warm, so big against your face and it’s really hard to focus when his own thumb is brushing on your cheek— 

“you.” 

the answer leaves dean’s mouth without hesitation, without another thought. it wasn’t a lie— because you were all he thought about.

dean didn’t deserve this. you. any of this. and yet, he couldn’t refuse it right now. not when you were so close to him, and your skin was so soft—

“are you—” the words get caught in dean’s throat. “are y’thinkin’ about me?”

oh, why did dean just say that. why on chuck’s green earth did he ever say that. how did he even sound more pathetic than he’d just been when he was crying in your arms? and his voice was so small, so unlike him— plus it was still raspy from his stunt he’d pulled earlier. he was an idiot. a fool. he sounded like an insecure freakin’ teenager. it was pathetic. he was pathetic—

“yeah.” 

dean’s eyes flicked back up to yours— and that was a mistake, because your hand was still mirroring his own on his face, and you were looking at him like you meant what you’d just said. like he meant something. 

“yeah?” the breath left dean’s mouth before he could stop it, and he hated how hopeful he sounded. he’d moved a fraction closer to you, but it felt like he just traveled a mile. 

“yeah,” you nodded, a little dazed, voice barely above a whisper. because dean was so close to you now, you could feel his breath on your face. you could barely think straight, because all you wanted to do was just lean in a little further— “i don’t really, uh… stop. thinkin’ about you.”

and dean’s gonna die. 

he is going to die, because you said that and you were looking down at his lips and you smelled so good and your hand was still on his face—

dean was a simple man. that’s all he’ll ever be. he’d never ask you to do something you didn’t want.

but god, he wanted you. 

so the words fell out of his mouth in another exhale—

“me, either.”

oh. 

oh. 

the way you were looking at him right now? after he said that in response?

you wanted him, too.

you’re both not sure who moved first, but your lips were on dean’s after you leaned in and he used his hand on your face to tug you to him, closing the remaining space between you both on his bed. 

the first thing you noticed?

dean tasted like home. 

you didn’t kiss him too fast. neither he with you. because you wanted to map out every inch you could, and because you were half-sure that this was some fantasy your mind had cooked up out of a state of delusion. your hand on dean’s face snaked deeper back, burying into his hair, and he groaned into your mouth at the action. 

that did something to you. the same thing happened when dean’s hand went into your hair, too— you made this little noise on his lips.

that did something to him.

kissing dean was actually gentle at first. not hesitant, but like you already knew how. but then after you’d both made those noises, it’s like a switch flipped. suddenly, there was way too much space in between you both— and you gripped onto the front of his shirt, tugging him towards you as you let your back hit his sheets, taking him down with you. 

this wasn’t like anything you’d ever felt. no, this was going on a decade of wishing, wanting, hoping for something, anything to come of you and dean besides friendship. 

and dean? dean pressed right into you, one of his hands and barely bothered to keep himself upright. he needed to touch you, feel you. another groan escapes you and him involuntarily at the friction between you both— because you’d spread your thighs, his torso fitting right between you.

and it felt good. 

you couldn’t take a full breath anymore, but you didn’t dare take your lips off of dean’s. you just tugged him closer, hand still in his hair, the other on the back of one of his shoulders.

both your lips broke with a pop, you and dean taking in the same breath of air, his nose brushing against yours and eyes fluttering, because wow.

dean didn’t know he’d said that aloud until a smile tugged on your lips, eyes looking up at him like he still wasn’t real. like this wasn’t real. 

“you know how long i’ve been waitin’ to do that?” dean breathes against your lips, eyes threatening to shut again. 

your smile gets wider as your own eyelashes flutter at the closeness, relishing in the contact of feeling dean on top of you before you respond:

“you know how long i’ve been waiting for you to do that?”

──────────────────────── 𖤐

tags: @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @mahi-wayy @viarasvogue @tinas111 @0ccvltism @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @lunaleah @saintfaux @kimxwinchester @bettystonewell @honeyyxxbee @harlekin705 + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[strawlessandbraless]

Dean Winchester collecting strays & offering comfort through physical touch

[secretsoftheuniverse1987]

Thinking about how Dean Winchester was an atheist before he got caught up in the biblical apocalypse because in his mind, the two possible realities were an absent God and a cruel one. Thinking about him learning God was real and he had a Plan for him. Thinking about how that robbed him of his faith that a God wouldn't be capable of such cruelty. Thinking about how quickly he came to put his faith in Cas, despite his distrust of the divine. Thinking about The Man Who Would Be King. Thinking about Dean's only on-screen prayer to God being a plea to "bring him back."

[bloodydeanwinchester]

DESTIEL IN EVERY EPISODE → 7x21 reading is fundamental

lines that almost certainly set destiel's relationship back years because dean took it as confirmation of what he's suspected all along...that he's like poison to castiel

[orangepajamas]

need to put all that aggressive energy into something useful

[sunflowernovak]

something intimate about cas healing dean

[borgialucrezia]

"[Saying goodbye to Sam and Dean] was the most difficult thing to do, but in the most beautiful way. Because we earned the right to have that moment, and it was special, but it was really difficult and emotional." — Jensen Ackles, spndallas 2023

[pretty-circa006]

Can't Sleep

Negan x F! Reader summary Negan helps you out when you can't sleep tags cockwarming, pet names, fluff, groping just a little drabble (what is a drabble) born from my procrastination problem

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

i did not proofread this!

wc: 538

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

She stood outside of Negan’s bedroom door, rocking anxiously on her heels as she waited for him to answer the door. She raised her fist to knock again, but before it could make contact, the door opened. Negan stood leaning against the doorway in his white t-shirt and boxers. He looked tired and slightly irritated, probably from just having been woken up. His thick brows raised upon seeing it was her standing at the door, in nothing but a tank top and panties. He grabbed her arm and pulled her inside before slamming the door. 

“The hell you doin’ walkin’ around the Sanctuary like that?” He growled. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled, looking down, “can I sleep in here…with you?” Negan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. 

“Fine, just this once. This will not become a regular thing,” he reluctantly agreed. She jumped into his arms and hugged him tight before pressing a quick peck to his lips. He set her down and she wasted no time in climbing into his bed. He climbed in beside her and she cozied up in his arms. His long eyelashes kissed his cheeks as his eyes fluttered shut, waiting for sleep to take him back. She wasn’t sleeping, and by the looks of it she wasn’t even trying. Her gaze was fixed on his pretty face as she doodled random details with her finger onto his strong chest. 

“Doll, what the hell are you doin’?” He asked without even opening his eyes. She withdrew her finger and rested her head on his chest instead, facing him. He opened his eyes and glanced down at her. She was looking up at him with small smile and big doe eyes. 

“It…it’s hard for me to sleep without…you…inside of me,” she admitted shyly before burying her face in his shirt. Negan couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his mouth corners. After their nights together, Negan would usually stay inside of her, keeping his seed inside of her abused cunt, even after he went soft. It wasn’t intentional, but the first time it happened, she had fallen asleep before he was ready to pull out and when he finally was, she whined for him to stay. So he did. And it became a thing

“Oh baby, hearin’ that just tightens my goddamn pants!” When she peeked up at him, a dimpled smile was upon his face. She sat up and moved to straddle his hips, Negan’s hands on either of hers guiding her. He freed his semi-hard dick from his boxers before moving her panties to the side and rubbed the tip along her slick slit before lining himself up with her dripping hole. She met him the rest of the way, sliding down his shaft. She felt each vein sliding along the velvety walls of her pussy.

“You fill me up so good, Negan,” she sighed contently before laying down against his chest. His large hands slipped beneath the waistband of her panties and groped her ass. She let a breathy moan out by his ear as he continued kneading the mounds. 

“Neegaan, I’m trying to sleep,” she whined. 

“Shhh, babydoll, go to sleep.” 

thank you for reading!

[acecroft]

Dean Winchester in SUPERNATURAL 8.12

[redneckangelsdrinkmoonshine]

Dean only touched Cas when Cas was dead or dying, right? He would cradle Castiel's face in his hands or he would kneel by Castiel's body.

The last and final time, Dean never got to do either of those things. Instead he had to watch from a safe distance while his best friend got dragged away and pretty much died without a fight.

Pretty sad, right? Y'know what else is sad?

Dean finally found out he could have touched Castiel whenever he wanted, yet he didn't even get to touch Cas one last time.

Let that sink in.

[gravesplit]

beer-drunk dean fucking blackout lightweight sam in their motel room as their first real fuck.

sam’s head is spinning, his body is fighting against nausea and the urge to pass out but he’s also enjoying the sex, arching his back and trying to get dean even deeper inside of him.

dean has never seen sam this into anything in his life, and he’s obsessed with it. he fucks sam nice and rough, giving no attention the the fact that sam is falling in and out of consciousness (not to mention avoiding throwing up.)

eventually it wears sam out entirely, and he ends up begging dean to stop, but it comes out quietly— just barely a mumble, before he succumbs to the urge to pass out. dean keeps fucking him until he gets himself off.

sam doesn’t remember it in the morning, but he knows something happened. he’s more hungover than he probably should be, and that’s saying a hell of a lot. he’s sore everywhere, and it feels like his body is trying to puke out more than just the remaining alcohol.

dean remembers it pretty clearly, but he won’t say anything. if he says anything, sammy won’t ever get drunk like that around him again.

[deancasforcutie]

the tactile way Dean remembers or longs for Cas' touch