#insecure!Dean

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Body Insecurity/Appreciation

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @roseblue373. 💜 It's a special one to me personally, being plus-sized myself and having gone through my share of insecurities. Wish I had one of these guys to make it better lol!~

Prompt/Request: Great job with the latest Dean/Beau/Ben reacts vignettes! I'd love to see one where reader has put on weight and isn't happy with their body, and how each would make her feel better!! IF the muse agrees, of course! ❤️

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to your body insecurity.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Established relationship, body insecurity (but also body appreciation), thicc thirty, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, spiciness/smuttishness.

Dean Winchester

You've started breezing past mirrors when you get out of the shower.

Because if you catch sight of your own reflection, you can't help but utter a sigh, your lips dipping into a frown.

In the privacy of the room you share with Dean in the bunker, you take a risk in unwrapping the towel from your body in front of the mirror.

You inspect yourself with growing dejection, noting all the places that are rounder, heavier, less firm than they used to be.

Looks like no amount of running down leads and killing monsters has been enough to keep you in shape.

Too much shitty fast food, too many times you indulged yourself with snacks and dessert alongside your foodie boyfriend.

"What'cha doin', sweetheart?" Dean asks. He steps into the room while wiping donut icing from the corner of his mouth.

Speak of the devil.

When Dean finally catches you frowning at yourself in the mirror, you inhale sharply and close the towel back up.

"Nothing. Just need to get dressed," you reply quickly. "Shower's open."

You try to offer him a smile, despite the pang of jealousy when you eye him.

He gave you the first chance at the shower after the latest case wrapped up, so he's still wearing most of his FBI suit, sans jacket. The white dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows, a few days of scruff neatly trimmed across his cheeks.

The man can cram an entire pizza down his gullet and wash it down with three slices of apple pie, not to mention countless beers. And still, Dean stays looking downright edible.

By comparison, you feel...fat. Like you've let yourself go.

You turn away from him to grab your well-worn sweatpants and an oversized shirt; you plan to change alone in the bathroom, but Dean grabs your arm.

"Who says you need to get dressed?" he says, popping his brows with a suggestive grin. He slips his arms around your waist, but your instinct is to shy away from his hold. You chuckle awkwardly and avoid his now curious gaze.

"Sorry, babe. Um...I'm wiped. I just want to get to bed," you say.

But Dean isn't fooled. His spidey sense is tingling, and his gut is almost never wrong.

His hand slides down your arm and grasps your hand, tugging you back into his arms. You utter a little gasp, but you ultimately smile at his familiar grin. There's a perceptive gleam in his eyes though.

"You know, seems like you've been pretty wiped lately," he says, raising a brow. "It's been a while since we, uh..."

He waggles his brows playfully, squeezing your hips. You want to smile, but you can't let yourself. You can't quite look at him either.

For Dean, it's another glaring red flag. His lips form a frown, and he dips his chin to find your eyes.

"Hey," he says. "What's goin' on? Talk to me."

His tone is so sincere, you have to blink against the sting of tears. Your lower lip wobbles, and Dean frowns in earnest. He presses a hand to your cheek and gets you to look at him with your watery eyes.

"Sweetheart, you gotta tell me what's wrong," he says, more gently, but serious.

Eventually, you're able to get it out. You can't bear the thought of him touching you, because lately, you can't even bear looking at yourself.

"I know I've been gaining weight, I just..." your voice breaks, and you gesture haphazardly at your body. "I'd get it if you're not really into this right now."

Dean's heart clenches. He's downright shocked at your confession, and more than a little disheartened. He presses a hand to your cheek and guides you to look at him.

"All right, hold up just one damn minute."

His calloused fingers gently brush away your tears, but his hands keep moving, slowly traveling down your body. They slide down your bare arms, skimming the sides of your breasts.

Your breath hitches. Your hand is still fisted over your beating heart, keeping your towel closed. His hands continue to move, molding to the curve of your waist over the fuzzy fabric.

"I'll admit, we've been pretty busy lately with everything we've got going on. But if you think that means I'm ever not into this delectable, sexy, voluptuous, goddess body you got rockin' the house?" he says, grinning that utterly Dean grin of his.

You bite your lip against a bubble of laughter. He's too fucking much sometimes.

Dean tugs you closer, until your hips fit snugly against his through his slacks. His tall, broad frame crowds you. His lips skim your cheek, then over your lips in a tease.

He squeezes the flesh of your hips, tender and sensuous.

Your heart flutters at the feeling.

"Mmm, I like you nice and soft," he murmurs against your cheek, close to your ear. "Feels that much better when I fuck you."

A small gasp gets trapped in your throat, while the gravel depths in his voice go straight to your pussy in a pulsing throb of warmth.

By the time he claims your lips in a devouring kiss, you're all too willing to let him peel your towel open, drop it to the floor, and guide you backwards onto the bed.

There he'll take his time, forging yet another mental map of every plush square inch of you.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a busy man. You understand that.

As Sheriff, his job demands a lot from him. He's also a father and has an ex-wife to contend with. (You knew that going in, and you've come to love Emily too.)

However, you can't help but start to take it personally when your sex life begins to suffer. He's often claimed being tired...but there's another suspicion that's been taking root in your mind, feeding your doubts and insecurities about how your boyfriend sees you, and about how you see yourself.

When you slip into bed at night, a kiss goodnight is all he gives you lately, before he's sighing deeply and closing his eyes, his soft snores soon filling the room.

One night, you try touching his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his bearded cheek. He hums at the pleasant feeling.

"You wanna...?" You trail the question in his ear, pressing more sweet kisses down his neck.

"Aw, sweetheart," he groans. "I'd like to, but I think I'd just smother you. I'm about to pass out."

You huff a laugh. You teasingly walk two fingers across his chest. "What if I make it easy for you?"

You shift onto your side. Resting a hand on his chest, you lean down to kiss him. He hums at the softness of it, but the more passion you try to imbue into each new kiss, Beau isn't as responsive as you would like. Eventually, you stop all together.

You frown, becoming disheartened. "You're not into this, I guess."

He opens his tired eyes, gazes up at you in apology. He opens his mouth to reply, but you beat him to it.

"You know it's been a month since we've had sex," you say.

Beau frowns, sliding a hand up your back. Only now does he notice, with appreciation, the familiar silky négligée you're wearing.

"Nah, that doesn't sound right," he says.

"Well, it is," you say. "I know you say you're tired, but I mean, you've had this job for as long as I've known you, Beau." Your eyes fall away from him. "So is it the job, or...is it me?"

Beau's brows furrow. "Now wait a minute."

The mere thought dredges up what's been plaguing your mind recently, and it has your throat tightening. Tears of embarrassment and upset well up in your eyes, no matter how much you try to push it down.

You push away from him and turn away, crossing your arms. You try not to look at yourself in what used to be your favorite lingerie.

You can't stand the extra weight you've put on, mostly in your hips and ass, but in your middle and arms too.

You've gone through your own stress at work this year, with less and less time to try and take care of yourself, along with making sure Emily gets to and from school, cooking for the three of you, going to PTA meetings when Carla can't make it (since Beau often can't), and every other proverbial hat you wear.

Beau follows you, sitting up and laying a hand on your back. "Sweetheart--"

"I know I've put on a few. Hell, more than a few," you admit, hastily wiping under your eyes. "God, I can't even look at myself right now, let alone have you--"

"Hey. You stop right there," Beau says, more firmly. He gets you to turn around with his hand on your shoulder. He doesn't like the way you're curled in on yourself, as if hiding your body from his gaze.

That, and the sight of your tears damn well break his heart.

He cups the side of your face gently and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, followed closely by your lips.

You don't want to melt, but you just can't help it. You cling to the front of his shirt and lean into his kiss, like you've been lost in the desert, and his lips hold the breath of life.

You almost don't realize it when his arms slip around your waist. He earns a surprised yelp from you when he gathers you close against his chest and rolls you underneath him.

You land against the pillows in a huff. You stare up at his playful smile, his green eyes glinting with amusement, with fondness, and also with desire as they roam over your breasts, barely contained by dark green satin and lace.

"I've been neglecting you, haven't I?" he says. His voice is a low, earthy drawl as his gaze rakes over you. His big hand runs down your side and over your hip, then down your bare thigh, squeezing soft, tender flesh. He slips that hand under the satin night gown.

His hand can't span your entire thigh, but it's not for lack of trying. Your heart beats a staccato rhythm at the way he looks at you, your breath hitching when his thumb dips between your legs, brushing against the damp, silky fabric of your panties.

"It's not because I don't find you sexy as hell. Believe me, darlin', I do," he says. "You're so fuckin' beautiful, especially when you're all laid out for me here."

And he means what he says. You know it by the hardness you feel pressing against your hip. You slip your fingers into his hair with a sigh.

He bows his head to press kisses along your neck; down and down, he noses at the thin strap of your night gown. His path of kisses continue, and he indulges himself by dipping his tongue between the valley of your breasts.

"Filling out this lacy little thing so nice," he murmurs into your skin.

Your upset has turned to abject relief, but you still have to blink away the remaining urge to cry.

You let out a slightly tremulous breath.

"Oh, yeah?" you ask.

Beau pauses. He pulls away, just so he can look up and meet your eyes. He still finds insecurity in yours, so he meets you with a kiss filled with heat and intent.

He's now wide awake. He plans to take his sweet time taking you apart, inch by inch.

In fact, in the back of his mind, he also plans to do better about letting his deputies help him out more at the precint so he can have a better work-life balance.

(Because going a whole damn month without the taste of you is "no bueno," in his words.)

Soldier Boy (Ben)

The man may not be very patient, or particularly perceptive, but he's not an idiot.

At least, not about sex.

He knows that you've been feigning tiredness, and generally avoiding his touch.

What's strange is that you haven't been avoiding him. You still cook for him, still share conversation with him, still insist on having him spoon you on the couch while catching him up on the past four decades of TV shows and movies.

But when he begins to sneak a hand under your oversized shirt (an old one of Ben's), caressing your hip, then dipping down to your softer stomach on the way to your panties, breaking your concentration from the movie as unease laces down your spine.

You grab his wrist on reflex, instead lacing your fingers together.

"What's the matter now?" he asks.

You look over your shoulder at him and find him frowning at you, a divot between his brows. You don't manage to hold his gaze for long.

"Sorry," you say quietly. "I'm just, um, tired."

Ben doesn't believe you, and he's direct when he calls you out on it.

Reluctant to put what you've been feeling into words, you pause the movie and leave the couch (and him) behind.

Ben is annoyed enough to follow you (and underneath, he hides an edge of concern). The conflict leads into the bedroom, where you're still unwilling to open up.

He finally stops you from walking away from him, pinning you against the dresser by your hips. He practically looms over you as he demands an answer. He knows you're hiding something — something that's had you reluctant to let him touch you.

"Is there something you wanna tell me?" he says, a raw edge of warning in his tone. "What, are you fucking somebody else?"

Shock flashes in your eyes, making you angry. "What? No!"

"Well, you seem to be getting your fill somewhere, and it hasn't been from me--"

"Are you fucking serious? I'm not..." Your lips purse. You're actually hurt that he would hurl that accusation your way--and it couldn't be farther from the truth.

You tug your long shirt downwards and cross your arms, but it's more like you're hugging yourself, shielding your body away.

Ben's brows furrow a little bit more.

Eventually you get it out; you haven't been feeling up to being intimate because you're having a hard time even looking at yourself lately.

"I know I need to, um, get back in shape," you say, taking in a shaky breath to try and steady yourself. Your throat constricts, the beginnings of tears stinging your eyes. You want to look at anywhere but at Ben. "I just haven't had much time, with everything going on. But Annie gave me this guide on some different diets, like intermittent fasting, Keto--"

"Fasting," Ben intones. "What, you wanna fucking starve yourself? What the fuck is Keto?"

You sigh, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"No, not starve myself. And Keto's just..." The idea of trying to explain the new diet craze to your boyfriend is too daunting a task to consider. "Never mind. The point is, I have a plan. My hips, my thighs, my ass--"

Ben squeezes your hips at the mention of them. He happens to like the softness.

"Yeah, you've got a little extra. So fucking what?" he says, his voice deep and exacting as his gaze roams over your body. "Just gives me more to hold onto when I'm fucking you."

You utter a shocked laugh. "Ben!"

He grins lazily, and he turns you this way and that, admiring you from all angles. In his eyes, he doesn't find a side he doesn't like. You can't help but blush hotly under his gaze.

"Sweetheart, do whatever you want if it makes you feel good. But you don't need to starve yourself." His hands move to your ass, squeezing a bit harder on the plush flesh.

A yelp escapes you; he's pressing into you from the front as well, and you feel him heavy and already half-hard against you. You grab onto his arms for stability as your breaths quicken.

His attitude kind of surprises you, even though it soothes the frayed, insecure part of your soul that wants to be as beautiful and attractive in his eyes as he is in yours.

Ben is literally a super soldier. You're actually kind of jealous. The man can drug and booze hard and eat whatever the hell he wants, but his super metabolism just seems to absorb it into his washboard abs.

(The more you think about it, the more you want to smack him.)

Nothing about him isn't hard and lean, muscle and strength.

Only his hands have a measure of gentleless when they're holding you like this.

"I've just got so many stretch marks now," you begin to complain, in an emotional whisper.

He snorts. "And? You think it's anything I haven't seen?"

At that, your head tilts in consideration. Butcher's Granny Fucker remark comes to mind. You bite your lip against a smirk.

Ben crooks a curled finger under your chin. He guides you to meet his eyes, before he lures you into a lusty kiss.

It's somewhat rough because of his beard, but you still smile afterwards, leaning against him now.

"Ain't nothing about you that I can't handle," he adds, all smirking and cocky. To prove his point, he hooks those strong hands behind your thighs and lifts you onto the dresser.

You gasp and cling to his shoulders. From there, he makes quick work of ridding the oversized shirt from your body, revealing you to the cool air and his hot gaze.

You take his face in your hands and bring him in for an even steamier kiss, your heart lighter and trembling with anticipation.

You've held yourself from him long enough, Ben thinks, and he has every intention of devouring you right on your old dresser -- before you two even get to the bed.

AN: 😮‍💨 I feel like each of these could've been even longer with their own one-shot loll. I wrote the Midnight Espresso-verse for Dean, partially to explore what his relationship would be like with a plus-sized reader. 💖💖

Let me know which one you liked most this time!

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[loverslantern]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: A summer car ride reveals something that’s been brewing beneath the surface

Warning: Happy time to angst but then it’s okay, arguing, banter, self deprecation, insecurity, a down bad Dean

Word Count: 1.4k

Return

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Outfit)

The cool wind whips at my face, my hair blowing behind me as I lean out the car window to feel the warm sun on my face. It’s just me and Dean out on the road. He decided to take me for a drive, just the two of us, I think he’s doing it because he feels bad about what he said the other day. And while I’m pretty certain I’ve already forgiven him because of course I did, I’m not going to complain about a drive. It’s a beautiful summer day, hot but not unbearable.

It feels like old times too, just him and me driving with no specific destination in mind, one of his tapes singing to us. This time he let me pick the music, so I chose an Eagles tape. In fact it’s the one I gifted him years ago when I accidentally bought two, or at least that’s what I told him had happened.

He’s drumming along to the song, fingers tapping the steering wheel as I hang out the window watching the fields, on either side of the road, dance in the breeze.

There’s a tug on the belt loop of my shorts,“You’re gonna fall out the window,” he warns, his hooked finger slipping away just before I sit properly and put my seat belt on.

“I definitely wasn’t,” I laugh, nudging his arm. “I’m totally experienced in hanging out car windows.”

He snorts, shaking his head, “Yeah, like a dog.”

“A very pretty dog,” I correct.

“Yeah, a pretty one,” he agrees. But then the smile is slipping off his face, and he’s clearing his throat. “Uh, you know I was thinking I could drop you off at your brothers. ‘Know you’ve been meaning to go.”

“Oh, sure!” I chirp, “But, what do you mean “drop off?” He’d let all of us stay, you know that right?” I turn to him, sitting sideways, despite the fact that he’s looking straight ahead.

I watch his Adam’s-apple bob, distracting me from tracing his sharp jaw. He shifts a little as if he’s uncomfortable, his knuckles whitening against the steering wheel. He’s making me nervous now. “I, uh, I think it’s time you go home.”

“What?” I whisper before I can fully register his words. All the joy I had harbored and the bright smile on my face instantly vanished, replaced instead by something too big to put a name to.

“I asked you to tag along to find my Dad. Well, we found him and he’s gone now. So, you can go home,” he clarifies.

It makes sense now; he didn’t take me on a nice drive because he felt bad about the other day, he’s taking me on a drive because he knew he’d feel bad about what he was going to say.

My throat aches and yet I really don’t want to cry. “I…I don’t understand,” I mumble, shifting my body to face forward. I don’t want to look at him right now, it’ll only make it harder not to cry.

I don’t want to leave. I want to stay with him and Sam, but especially him. “I don’t mind staying around. I want to,” I add.

He sighs through his nose, his head hanging low for a moment before he has to focus on the road. “You should go home,” he states. He’s telling me. This was never a conversation, there was never going to be a negotiation. His mind is already made up.

It feels as if a long sword was shoved through my heart and I’m left to choke on my blood. He’s being mean. I want to hate him or to scream but instead I look down at my clenched hands, nails digging into my palm. “That’s not fair,” I answer, trying to speak around the invisible hand that grips my vocal cords.

“Is this because of Gordon? Did he say something or…or make you realize something?” I ask, my head snapping towards him. But he’s already looking at me, his eyebrows furrowed and a frown pulling on his lips.

“No, that’s—“ he tries to answer but I’m already cutting him off.

“I know what I am, I’m sorry,” I plead through a crack in my voice. “I wish I could change it but I can’t. But I can…I can stop using my powers. I don’t have to use them, we can forget it exi—“

The car comes to a sudden halt, a gasp cutting myself off. His hands move quick to put the car in park right where we stand in the middle of the road. He really looks at me then, not stolen glances while he drives, but full on attention. “You don’t apologize, you hear me?” he says sternly, his green eyes suddenly hard and sharp. He pauses long enough to hit the music off, never looking away from me.

“I don’t want you to ever change for me or anyone else,” he continues, firmly. “I don’t care what the hell you are. You could put a hex on me, and I still wouldn’t care, hell, I’d probably thank you. You’re my girl. If I ever say otherwise or say anything about you bein’ a witch like that then you hit me, understand?”

I nod, stunned. It’s a total 360. One moment he wants me gone, and the next he’s calling me “his girl.” And like an idiot my heart lurches in my chest like a bow against the strings of a violin in a slow song. “Then why do you want me gone?” I ask softly.

“I don—“ he clears his throat, eyes shutting as his head hangs low. “Fuck,” he mutters, finally looking at me again. His eyes have softened up, the storm passed right through. “You need to go home because I keep putting you in danger. Every hunt. The car crash. Gordon, for hells sake. I was too busy being an asshole to leave with you when you said you wanted to and it could’ve gotten you killed.”

“Dean, it takes a lot to kill me, you don’t have—“

“Doesn’t matter,” he cuts me off, his jaw clenched tightly. “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and you’ll always be in danger if you stay with me.”

“But I want to stay with you,” I reply. “I knew what I was signing up for when I came along with you.”

“No, you couldn’t have guessed all of this,” he corrects. He’s desperate for me to agree with him.

“Maybe not all of it but I don’t care. Dean, this isn’t for you to decide. I know what I’m getting into and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” I argue, finding some strength.

“You don’t mean that,” he shakes his head.

“How can you say that?” I ask, offended. “I do mean it. I mean it with my entire being, with every breath I take, and every pulse of my heart.”

He swallows roughly, his lip twitching as he looks down.

“There is nowhere in the world that I’d rather be than right beside you,” I continue, pleading. He doesn’t need to answer, doesn’t need to say a word. I just need him to listen and to understand. His eyes close tightly as if he took a hit just from me speaking. “You can’t get rid of me, not unless you really want me gone ‘cause you can’t stand to see my face.”

His eyes snap up at me then like I said something crazy. “I’m not going anywhere,” I double down. “It’s sweet that you care so much and I know it scary to lose people, but you can’t just push me away. I’m not leaving.”

“Don’t,” he exhales.

“I won’t.”

“Good,” he nods, lips parted just slightly.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I am,” he nods.

“Are you just agreeing with everything I say?” I ask.

“Only the parts where you’re right,” he answers.

“I must be really right then,” I remark.

His lip twitches, pulling into a slight smirk. “You are. I’m an idiot and an asshole.”

“Stop with that self deprecating nonsense,” I frown. “I know you think of yourself as some bad guy, for whatever reason. But you’re not. You’re incredibly kind, and loyal, and—“

“Don’t,” he cuts me off.

“Why?”

“I don’t deserve that. I made you upset,” he explains.

“You did make me upset,” I acknowledge. “But it stemmed from a good place, and I get it.”

“You shouldn’t forgive me,” he shakes his head.

“Why not?” I ask, nearly laughing.

“You shouldn’t,” he repeats.

“Okay silly, you’re forgiven,” I smile.

He scuffs, putting the car back in drive. “You’re annoying,” he mutters, smiling.

“Thanks,” I chirp.

“But, I’m…um,” his smile drops from his face. “I am sorry.”

“Oh, shut up and buy me a slushie, please.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.”

(Next Chapter)

A/N: This is lowkey inspired by this Eagles tape i’ve been listening to on repeat for the last two days. This also reminds me of the Laurie-Amy confession scene in Little Women (2019) which is kind of gonna make me crash out even though i’m the one who wrote it.

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[angelsdean]

ok no i am gonna think abt it and i am gonna cry abt it. mary jokes, "could you eat that any faster" and dean jokes back "no. no, i could not" and mary has no idea that dean hoards food and dean eats fast bc he spent so much of his childhood food insecure and starving. dean loves fatty, carby food because it's filling. as an adult now dean indulges in food because he can. food is a comfort. but so many of his food habits are so deeply rooted in the food related trauma he suffered as a child. he still eats fast because he still has that muscle memory of starving and finally getting a meal and going "food in front of you now? eat it up!" he goes for seconds and thirds when food is available because you gotta eat up while you can. and whatever he doesn't end up eating? save it, hoard it, even if it goes bad. keep it for emergencies.

[gothicrepetitions]

Thinking wayyy too much about this but Ben and Samantha would’ve had the same issues as Sam and Dean but a hundred times worse. Instead of the four years, Ben would’ve had a whole childhood with Lisa (and Dean to a lesser extent, but would’ve known him from ���before’) and there’d be a very significant gap in experience between them. On the other hand, Ben’s canon idolisation of Dean which mirrors Dean’s of John, coupled with the fact that he doesn’t even know if Dean is his father or not, would cause worse resentment than Dean’s for Sam (Sam he loved, Sam he doted on). Perhaps a justifiable insecurity if you keep in mind Samantha is essentially an extension to SamDean, Sam the brother who Dean mourned everyday which kept him from fully ever integrating into a family dynamic with Lisa and Ben (with Lisa canonically understandably resenting Sam for this)

[beatsheetromanroy]

Community 3x06 // Supernatural 4x07

"Secret handshake?"

"I am not a hammer, as you say."

[themaguito]

I think Sam's "im perverse, im less than human, you said I am an abomination" and "but- your profound bond with Dean" and then Castiel's reassurance its essential to the ship. Thanks

[lambmotifz]

yes dean can be overly possessive & controlling towards sam especially in s4 because he wants him to be “a little brother who looks up to him” forever and he wants sam to be vulnerable & dependent on him and he can’t stand when sam acts like an unruly brat and i can’t really blame him for wanting to punish sam because as much as i hate it i also love when he makes sam feel guilty and miserable and i think it’s hot that dean is canonically the only person who can reduce sam to a needy wrecked and ruined mess

[alternativeproject]

Button pusher extraordinaire Dean Ambrose

[adanmwere]

What the yhell ok I'll bite

SPN AU THING!!!! IM GONNA EXPLAIN IT IN A DIFFERENT POST I PROMISE!!! IT'S VERY LATE AT NIGHT AND MY brain is mush I stared at this drawing for like 30 minutes solid just HELP idk Ignore how fucked up everything is shhhshhh

[winchesterlesbian]

This might strike some as dramatic but I think everyone in these replies should die

[pollsnatural]

Ohh, hellers, br*nlies want to fuck us so bad it makes them look stupid. We're literally everything they're talking about.

[incesthemes]

actually i have one more thing to say about season 9 and it's that i'm kind of impressed how well seasons 8 and 9 work together. there are so many parallels between them and role reversals; they're two sides of the same coin. i think that's pretty clever and excluding my general criticism for season 9, i think it was executed well too. they're one unit, with a sam-focused season and a dean-focused season: sam betrays dean, dean betrays sam; they cope with the complicated feelings; in the end, they reassert to each other that nothing matters more to them than each other. they reveal at the time of death that they'll happily throw everything away just to keep each other alive, after a whole season of them thinking the other doesn't love them as much as they do.

idk even though i think season 9 had some weird pacing issues, the themes were there, and the parallels were really awesome. it resulted in a really great finale that tied both of the seasons together. they did a good job.

[samsbrowncarhartt]

I’ve been thinking about subtextual sexual violence in Supernatural and so I’ve been reading a lot of meta about different allegories of sexual assault that the show uses. And I keep reading this take that Dean is sexually violated by men while Sam is sexually violated by women. Not to say that Sam doesn’t get assaulted by women but are we watching the same show???

[artemis-73]

Suptober Day 14: Fave Episode

"…I need you to keep the faith, for both of us. ‘Cause right now, I… Right now, I don’t believe in a damn thing," Dean says, heartbroken eyes glimmering with tears.

Chuck hits pause. The shot holds on a closeup of Dean, so obviously changed by everything he's lost. With a thought, the lights in the movie theatre raise. "A perfect ending to the episode, right? All of Dean's angst and pain and suffering stewing in what was once a hopeful, bright-eyed and bushytailed kid. Him needing to lean on Sam. You love that, right?"

Becky hasn't moved. She's staring up at the screen with tears in her eyes. She looks back at Chuck. "What… No! What happens next? Does Cas come back? Does Mary?"

There's satisfaction in knowing that she's hooked on the story, even if she's being a little pushier than he'd like and is focused on all the wrong things. "Who cares? Mary's resurrection was Amara's failed experiment. I love my sister, but she's got no instinct for what makes a good story. And Cas? Cas should've been gone years ago. It's time for Dean to get over it. He's in the Empty, which is where he'll stay. Think of it as the cutting room floor. I can't see them; they can't see me. Come on. Let's focus on what matters: Lucifer's kid, huh? That's a fun villain."

Becky swipes at her eyes with shaking hands. "Jack?" she asks. "He's just a kid. He hasn't done anything wrong. He seems to really care about Cas, too. Maybe he can help Sam and Dean get Cas back."

"Enough about Cas!" The lights flicker, and the theater shakes. Chuck wishes he could find anyone else to be a part of his focus group, but Becky's the only one he can trust with all the lore. Sure, he doesn't always listen, but he has to know the rules before he can break them. "Now, Cas is gone for good. So let's talk about my outline for the rest of the season—"

"Wait," Becky interrupts, always so inconsiderate. "There's still a minute left in the episode."

Chuck whirls to face the screen. His little outburst must have jolted the electrical because below Dean's devastated face is the scrub bar with the episode length. It should only have a couple of seconds left, after all, there's no need for credits during a private screening with the Creator. Chuck is sure that when he cut the episode together, this was the last shot he chose.

But there's a still a minute and change left.

He scrambles for the remote. He has to know, even though he dreads what comes next. It has to be Amara. It has to be.

Dean's face twitches into action as he breaths raggedly for another second. Then it cuts to a shot of Castiel lying in a field. A familiar field.

"No, no, no, NO! I cut the meadow. I cut Dean spreading his ashes, and I cut Castiel."

Castiel stands in the sun, his smiling face tilted toward the sun, and then the episode ends, and the screen goes black. In the silence that follows, Chuck seethes. Bringing Cas back from the Empty would've taken some serious mojo. More than anyone but Amara has, but Amara doesn't care about the angel. She doesn't care about Dean, really. She wouldn't intervene. Maybe to spite—

"Jack," he breathes. He remembers the last episode when Jack overheard Sam and Dean's big knockdown drag out, and his eyes had glowed golden, and he'd said Castiel's name right before the episode ended. "It's impossible. He can't be that powerful already."

"Wait, so Jack saved his dad?" Becky is beaming because she has no taste.

"Shut up." Chuck snaps his fingers and sends her back to her boring life. He'll need to work through a couple drafts before bringing her back. He'd hoped for more time to pick her brain before wiping it again, but he has so much work to do.

Step One: Get rid of Jack.

Step Two: Get rid of Castiel.

[stardust-goddess]

Effort

Dean Winchester x Plus Size! Reader

Summary: Reader feels like she needs to put in extra effort to look and feel beautiful. Dean doesn’t think so.

A/N: hi everyone! I’m new to tumblr and writing but wanted to give this a shot. I feel like I might have made Dean out of character, but I think of this almost every morning when I get ready and just loved the idea. This is the first fanfic I’ve ever written, so let me know what you think and Enjoy!💕

The room was full of sunlight when you opened your eyes. Squinting at the brightness you took in the familiar surroundings of the motel room as you became more alert.

You and the boys were in Montana. Sam had found news articles of multiple murders from the past few months, all in close proximity to each other. With all the evidence leaning towards a possible werewolf, you and the boys packed up Baby and made your way to the latest murder scene to investigate. After a few days the hunt was successful and you all went back to the motel to get some sleep before heading back to the bunker.

Looking across from where you were, you noticed Sam’s bed was empty with a note on the pillow. ‘Probably out for his morning run’ you thought. Making a mental note to confirm that as soon as you got up. Turning slightly, you found Dean. He was still asleep, arms and body completely wrapped around you encasing you in warmth. You snuggled a little deeper in his embrace giving yourself a few extra minutes before finally getting up to start getting ready.

Slowly sitting up from the bed so Dean wouldn’t be disturbed, you untangled yourself from his arms. After checking Sam’s note and confirming he was in fact on a run and promised to bring back breakfast, you made your way to the bathroom. Starting to wash up for the day you looked over yourself in the mirror.

Looking at your bare face you sighed, today was definitely another makeup day. You’re skin looked a little blotchier then usual, with dark circles under your eyes, and a dull complexion. Eyes traveling a little further down you took in the rest of your body. Big arms, stomach, and thighs bounced back at you.

You had always felt insecure about your appearance. Being the size you were, you felt like whenever you were out in public people would stare. That they were judging you, and thinking you were big and sloppy looking when you really weren’t. This led you to putting extra effort into your appearance. Makeup always on, hair nicely styled, and a well put together outfit for the day. Being a hunter, this wasn’t something that you could pull off everyday, but you tried your best. On the days that you couldn’t, you always felt a little anxious, but Dean always made you feel better.

Dean made you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. Underneath his tough hunter persona, he was so gentle and loving. Always complimenting you, and taking care of you. While he helped your confidence little by little, you still couldn’t stop those negative thoughts racing through your mind from time to time. Those thoughts where you wished you looked like the women you saw on TV and magazines. Women who were skinny and effortlessly beautiful. Women who could throw on leggings and a t-shirt with little to no makeup, and looked like they stepped off the runway.

Shaking those thoughts from your head. You finished washing up. Grabbing your hand held mirror and makeup bag to bring back to the bed. You always like doing your makeup sitting on your bed. It was comfortable and you had plenty of space to spread your products around. Walking out of the bathroom you noticed Sam was still out. You also noticed that Dean was now awake, sitting against the headboard, and scrolling through his phone. Seeing you in his peripheral vision, Dean looked up and gave you a breathtaking smile. God he was so gorgeous.

“Good Morning Baby.” Dean said lovingly reaching his arm out for you.

“Morning Handsome.” giving him a smile of your own, you grabbed his outstretched hand and let him lead you back to the bed. Settling you in between his legs, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, making his way down to the part of your shoulder that was peeking out of your oversized shirt. His arms wrapped around you to pull you a little closer.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Good, I always sleep the best when you’re with me, you?” you replied grabbing your makeup bag to get what you needed.

“Great, because my gorgeous girl was next to me.”

Dean dropped more kisses to your shoulder making you giggle, but inside you felt a little pang of sadness. You just woke up there’s no way you looked gorgeous right now.

you fell into a comfortable silence after that, enjoying each other’s presence while you started your makeup. Putting concealer first then foundation you started to bounce your beauty blender across your face, making sure everything got covered evenly. Once that was done you started coating your lashes in mascara. Dean watched you from your little mirror as you worked. Rubbing little circles into your hips with his thumbs, Dean broke the silence.

“Baby, you know we’re going to be in the car most of the day right? You don’t have to get all dolled up if you don’t want to.”

Stopping mid mascara swipe you looked down in your lap for a second before continuing

“I know, but I have too. If I want to look good I have to put the extra effort in.”

Dean’s brows scrunched together in confusion.

“Extra effort? What do you mean? You always look beautiful.”

Finishing your mascara you close the tube and look back down in your lap.

“I have to put more work in to look pretty. If I don’t people will see me and think I’m lazy and sloppy. I’m already big I don’t need to add more fuel to the fire”

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew you had insecurities and did his best to remind you that you were amazing and let your confidence shine through. Despite this you did still have some bad days, but this is first time you expressed those negative thoughts so bluntly. He couldn’t let those thoughts continue a second longer. Angling your body more towards him, Dean tucked some loose hair behind your ear before tilting your chin up.

“Listen to me baby, strangers opinions on the street don’t matter. They don’t have the honor of knowing how amazing you are. You’re so selfless and hard working. You constantly put others before yourself, saving people and helping me and Sammy make the world a little better. You’re not lazy and definitely not sloppy you’re stunning.”

Pulling you a little closer Dean continues

“Makeup, or no makeup, dressed up or dressed down you always look so pretty and so amazing. I get lost in those gorgeous eyes and this gorgeous body. I love the way you feel in my hands and pressed against me. You’re absolutely beautiful inside and out.”

You close your eyes, a little overwhelmed by his sweet words. He was right, others opinions didn’t matter. Finally finding your voice you speak up

“I just can’t help it sometimes. You could have any gorgeous woman on your arm, but you picked me. I feel like I have to prove to the world that I deserve you.”

Closing the rest of the distance between you, Dean presses a searing kiss to your lips. A kiss so full of love and want you feel warmth spread through your body. Breaking the kiss Dean cups your cheek, thumb running across your bottom lip.

“You have nothing to prove. I already have a gorgeous woman and I’m not letting her go anywhere.”

Blushing you let a smile work it’s way across your lips.

“There’s that smile I love, brightens my whole day.”

Moving you back into your original position, Dean slips his hand under your shirt. Rubbing small circles on your back while the other hand grabs your lipstick handing it to you.

“You already look beautiful baby but might as well finish what you started.”

Grabbing the tube you also grab your discarded mirror to finish up. Feeling lighter after talking with Dean. You were beautiful, you were confident, and with Dean by your side you could take on the world.

“I love you Dean, thank you.”

“I love you too baby, always.”

[ro-sham-no]

looking and dying, a poem by me.