#SUPERNATURAL GIFS

[figthoughts]

DEAN WINCHESTER holds your hand when he’s eating you out. he laps at your weeping pussy like a starved man, his warm tongue flicking and sucking on your fattened clit, pulling whimpers and gasps from your pretty mouth.

dean’s good at this; good at eating pussy and making you cum again and again and again for him. you’re so sensitive and swollen from his mouth, but that doesn’t stop him.

your sweet needy noises fill his ears, and his hand moves from holding your thighs open to searching for your hand. he finds it, intertwining your fingers and squeezing it gently as he laps at your cunt, forcing more of your honeyed nectar onto his tongue.

you taste so sweet; dean can’t get enough. he holds your hand, squeezing it encouragingly as you cum again, his puppy dog eyes flickering up to meet yours, checking in with his pretty baby, gauging just how much more you can take. he rubs his thumb along your soft skin, a silent gesture of affection passed between the two of you.

dean’s hand doesn’t leave yours until he’s done, pulling away from your drooling overstimulated cunt, his chin and lips glistening with your arousal. he licks his lips, trying to savour the taste of you as his green eyes rake over your twitching form.

“you were so good for me, yeah? so good, sweet girl,” he praises, squeezing your hand again as he brings it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

[flamewillow]

such brothers

The looks they shared behind ghostfacers’ backs were the best. 

[winchestergifs]

STACKEDNATURAL ⇉ 182/327 (part 1)

7.13 The Slice Girls Written by Eugenie Ross-Leming & Brad Buckner Directed by Jerry Wanek Original Air Date: February 3, 2012

[seasononesam]

Secretary's name is Carly. She's twenty three, she, uh, kayaks, and they're real.

[michaeltrevino]

JENSEN ACKLES as DEAN WINCHESTER Supernatural | I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here (9.01)

[silverskyy]

[ID: two gifs of Ruby during season 4 of Supernatural with text overlaid. In the first she is looking at Sam, about to kiss him; the text reads "where the devil can't succeed,". In the second she smirks and looks down; the text reads "he'll send a woman." /end ID]

- Ukrainian/Polish Proverb

[dulcescorderitas]

the bar’s packed, bodies pressed together, heat rolling off them like a furnace, beer sloshing in plastic cups, cheers and groans bouncing off the walls. the game’s on every screen, a tidal wave of green and red jerseys, but you don’t give a shit about football. neither does sam, not really. he’s here for dean, who's already three whiskey shots deep, yelling at the tv like his life depends on it.

you’re here for sam.

he's leaning against the wall, beer in hand, his eyes flicking from the screen to you, more interested in the way your lips wrap around the rim of your drink than whatever the hell’s happening on the field. there’s something simmering in his stare, something slow-burning and wicked, and when the eagles score, the whole bar erupts, but all you hear is his voice low in your ear.

“if the eagles win,” he murmurs, his lips just brushing your skin, “i’m fucking you so hard your legs don’t work tomorrow.”

your breath hitches, the weight of his promise making your fingers tighten around your glass. but you don’t back down, tilting your head to whisper back, “if the chiefs win, you’re eating me out until i forget my own name.”

his hand flexes at his side. tension coils tight between you, and it’s unbearable, the game, the people, the noise—it all fades because suddenly it’s just him and you, and the need pooling low in your belly.

you don’t wait for the final score.

the bathroom is dimly lit, the walls vibrating with the energy outside. you barely get the door locked before sam’s on you, his hands greedy, rough, palms dragging up your thighs, over your hips, pushing you against the cool tile. his breath is hot, his mouth demanding, swallowing your gasp as he lifts you like you weigh nothing, setting you on the sink.

“fuck, you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this,” he growls, his hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingertips branding heat into your skin.

you do. because you’ve wanted it just as bad.

your fingers tangle in his hair, dragging him down, mouths clashing, messy and desperate. his beard scrapes against your jaw as he kisses you hard, like he’s trying to consume you, like he can’t get close enough. and when his hands move lower, when he tugs at your jeans, you help him, kicking them off, the cool air a sharp contrast to the heat between your legs.

his fingers slip beneath your underwear, dragging through your slick, teasing, before he groans, “fuck, you’re already so wet for me.”

“sam,” you whimper, hips rolling into his touch.

he doesn’t make you wait. not tonight.

he frees himself with one hand, stroking once before lining up, his eyes locked on yours as he thrusts in, slow, deep, stretching you inch by inch until he’s seated fully, a broken moan spilling from your lips.

“jesus,” he breathes, forehead dropping against yours.

his hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he starts to move, each thrust deliberate, driving pleasure through you like a pulse. the bar noise is distant now, muffled, drowned out by your soft cries, the wet slap of skin on skin, the sharp hiss of his breath.

he fucks you like he promised—like he’s trying to ruin you, each roll of his hips hitting that spot that has you clawing at his back, desperate for more. and when you tighten around him, close, so fucking close, he growls against your throat, “come for me, baby. come all over my cock.”

you do, gasping his name, shattering around him, and he follows with a deep, guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you.

outside, the bar erupts into cheers.

sam’s still breathing heavy, forehead resting against yours as he huffs a laugh. “guess we missed who won.”

you smirk, fingers tracing his jaw. “we both won.”

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @deanssun @ambiguous-avery

[wendichester]

⊹౨ৎ ₊˚ i'm home,

summary. dean comes home after weeks away.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 1216

notes. slight smutty ; mdni!

The front door swings open with a heavy thud. The sound is sharp enough to make your breath hitch, but you know it’s him—there’s no hesitation, no fumbling with the lock. Just the unmistakable weight of Dean stepping into the house.

Your heart jumps. You weren’t expecting him. You never do. His job—whatever the hell he does in that mysterious, classified “military” role he claims—keeps him away for days, sometimes weeks. He doesn’t have a schedule, doesn’t give you warning. He just shows up, worn and bruised, carrying the weight of something you don’t fully understand.

And yet, the second you hear his duffel bag drop, you’re moving.

You rush toward the door, socked feet slipping slightly on the hardwood, your body already reaching for him before you can think. And then there he is.

A mess.

Blood stains his shirt in dark patches, dirt streaks his jawline, and sweat clings to his skin. He smells like engine grease, like gunpowder, like Dean. His knuckles are raw, split open in places, his lip swollen, a thin cut riding high on his cheekbone.

But he’s here. He’s whole. And the smile he gives you—crooked, exhausted, so full of warmth it makes your chest ache—tells you everything you need to know.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice like gravel, and suddenly you’re breathing again.

“Dean.” His name comes out as an exhale of relief, as you throw your arms around his neck, pressing yourself into him. He grunts at the force of it but doesn’t hesitate to pull you in, wrapping you up tight. His fingers splay across your back, holding you against the solid heat of his body, as if he needs the reassurance just as much as you do.

“Missed you,” you murmur against his neck, feeling the rough scrape of stubble against your lips.

Dean lets out a breath, his grip tightening. “Missed you more.”

You pull back just enough to take him in—his tired green eyes, the dark circles beneath them, the exhaustion he wears like a second skin.

“You look like hell,” you whisper, reaching up to brush your thumb over the cut on his cheek.

Dean huffs a laugh, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. “You should see the other guy.”

Your chest tightens. You don’t know what battles he fights, what enemies he faces out there, but you know one thing—he always comes back. To you.

“You’re here,” you murmur.

“I’m here,” he echoes, voice low and sure.

His eyes flick down to your lips, and that’s all it takes.

His mouth crashes against yours, swallowing the words you might have said. It’s desperate, aching, a kiss that feels like a promise and a prayer all at once. His hands roam over your back, up your sides, gripping, holding. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groans into your mouth.

You barely register the way he starts moving, guiding you backward until your back meets the bedroom door. He kicks it open, walking you inside without breaking the kiss, without letting you go.

His hands slip beneath your shirt, palms rough and warm against your skin, tracing the curve of your waist before tugging the fabric up and over your head. He drinks you in like he’s been starved, his eyes dark, pupils blown.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he murmurs, lips trailing down your jaw, your neck, nipping and sucking in a way that has heat curling low in your belly.

You reach for his shirt, but he beats you to it, yanking it off and tossing it aside. The sight of him—battered, scarred, but so breathtakingly solid—makes your pulse stutter.

“You’re hurt,” you whisper, tracing just under the wound on his upper arm that was poorly patched up. Messy stitches, made by his brother Sam—which you had yet to meet.

Dean catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingers. “I’m fine,” he assures you. “Better now.”

He backs you up toward the bed, lips meeting yours again, slower this time, more reverent. His hands work their way down, slipping beneath the waistband of your leggings, pushing them past your hips. They fall to the floor, and then he’s lifting you, laying you down with careful hands.

He follows you down, settling between your legs, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the best way. His lips never leave yours, not even when he reaches for your panties, tugging them down and tossing them blindly—where they land somewhere near the dresser, forgotten.

His fingers trace along your thighs, slow and teasing, sending shivers up your spine.

“Dean,” you breathe, arching into him.

He groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how much I love hearing you say my name like that.”

He kisses his way down your throat, teeth scraping over your pulse, tongue soothing the mark he leaves behind. His hands roam your body, memorizing, relearning, making up for every second of lost time.

When his fingers dip between your thighs, you whimper, hips rolling up into his touch.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, watching the way you fall apart for him. "You always this needy for me?"

You nod, breathless.

His lips twitch, but his eyes are dark, heavy with something raw. He leans in, voice dropping.

"Missed you so much," he murmurs, dragging his mouth down your stomach. "You have no idea."

Then he’s between your thighs, and all you can do is feel.

The heat of his mouth, the slow drag of his tongue, the way he groans like he’s the one being wrecked by it. He holds you down, grips your hips like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You don’t know how long it lasts. Could be minutes. Could be hours. But by the time he finally drags himself up your body again, you’re panting, dizzy, wrecked.

Dean smirks, kissing you slow, deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

Then, just as slowly, he lines himself up and sinks into you.

You both gasp, foreheads pressing together as he stretches you open, fills you in a way that makes you feel whole.

His breath is ragged, his hands trembling where they grip your hips.

"You okay?" he rasps.

You nod, nails raking down his back. "Yeah."

Dean exhales sharply, then moves.

It’s slow, deep, each thrust measured, deliberate, like he’s savoring it, like he wants to remember this. His hands roam your body, his lips press hot kisses against your shoulder, your neck, your jaw.

"You’re mine," he murmurs, voice breaking. "You know that, right?"

Your heart clenches. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him down for another kiss.

"Always," you whisper against his lips. "I'm all yours."

Dean groans, rolling his hips deeper, dragging another gasp from your lips.

The world melts away.

Hours later, you’re tangled together beneath the sheets, your body still humming, your limbs heavy and satisfied. Dean’s arm is slung over your waist, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against your hip.

You shift, turning to face him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You should sleep.”

He huffs a tired laugh, eyes barely open. “Not yet.”

Your lips curve. “Why not?”

He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Because I’m home.”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @KayleighWinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @lmg14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20

[starzify]

let go for me — dean winchester

pairing dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings smut | cunnilingus | angst | hurt/comfort

MASTERLIST

You don’t realize you’re crying until Dean’s thumb brushes your cheek, catching a tear before it can fall. He’s standing too close now, his expression tight, unreadable—but his touch is soft, grounding.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat. “I don’t—I can’t.”

Dean exhales sharply, his hand sliding to your jaw, tilting your face up just enough to make you look at him. His eyes search yours, flickering with something like frustration, but not at you—at whatever’s hurting you, at the way you’re holding it all in.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” he says, voice rough, low. “Let go for me.”

Something in your chest cracks.

The weight of it all—everything you’ve been carrying, everything you’ve been trying to push down—it surges up like a tidal wave, and before you can stop it, a sob rips from your throat.

Dean catches you before you can fall apart completely. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head as you tremble against him. He doesn’t shush you, doesn’t tell you it’s okay—he just lets you break, lets you cry into his shirt, his own breath uneven as he holds you.

“I got you,” he murmurs against your hair. “I got you.”

You don’t know how long you stay like that—pressed against him, taking in the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the quiet strength of him.

And then, slowly, carefully, he pulls back just enough to see your face. His thumb swipes another tear away, his touch lingering this time, tracing down to your lips, his fingers trembling slightly where they brush your jaw.

You look at him with glassy eyes that are filled with the desire of comfort. “Make me feel better, Dean.” You desperately begged.

And when his lips finally press against yours, warm and slow and filled with something so much deeper than just comfort.

He plants a kiss on your temple before delicately removing the clothing off of your body. Dean swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let me take care of you.”

He slowly gets down on on his knees, keeping his eyes on yours while doing so. He planted a few kisses on the inside of your thighs before licking a stripe up your slit, earning a moan from you. “More.” you murmured, and Dean listened to you. The only thing he cared about, at the moment, was to make you feel better.

His tongue swirled around the bundle of nerves as your hands latched on to his hair. You subconsciously began grinding your cunt against his mouth as his hand reached out to squeeze your breast. He backed his mouth away for a second and looked up at you. “Am I doing a good job?” he mumbled in a soft, almost vulnerable tone. “Yes, baby. You’re doing awesome,” you praised, caressing his head as you continued fucking yourself against his mouth.

Soon enough, the knot in your stomach began to tighten. “Dean, I’m gonna cum.” you panted, gripping onto the bedsheets. “Let go for me, sweetheart.” he commands.

tags: @beausling @titsout4jackles @ultravi0lence14 @bluemerakis @figthoughts @deanswidow @deanssun @whisperingdaze @deansbeer @deanangel @frosttbitessam

[flamewillow]

Winchester Brothers

Nightmare | 1x14

[acecroft]

Dean Winchester in SUPERNATURAL 8.03 'Heartache'

[funkycoloured]

| STRESS RELIEF - DEAN W.

NOTES . . . I have to be up in around 2 hours to work a full day at the barn and I'm too anxious to sleep so I wrote some smut 🙃 strawberry girl is still in the works but this is just a quick thing to pass time

WORD COUNT . . . 845 exactly.

SUMMARY . . . After a stressful day of driving for hours on end hunting down a monster, you and Dean indulge in some much needed stress-relief. (y'all fuck).

WARNINGS . . . literally just smut so MDNI!! f!reader, unprotected sex (don't do this irl), cowgirl, soft sex, petnames, a little bit of cockwarming, basically no plot, I think that's it but lmk if I missed anything, written in regular text under the cut cause I'm blind as hell, NOT proofread

The bedsprings of the motel room's mattress creaked in rhythm with your movements, groaning underneath the shared weight of you and Dean. Your breaths came in soft pants, eyes shut in bliss as you fucked yourself on his cock, the tip nudging that spongy spot inside of you that your fingers never managed to reach. You both had been going at it for a while, a creamy ring forming on the base of his cock — a mess created from your shared orgasms. Dean's eyes were glued to your breasts, watching the supple flesh as you bounced on him. Your thighs were aching, shaking slightly from the effort it took to keep yourself upright. You were already tired to begin with, the stress of the long day wearing you down, but that wouldn't stop you.

Dean seemed to notice your silent struggle, the way you weren't riding him as smoothly as you were just moments ago. Your hips stuttered, nails digging into his chest where your hands once lay flat for support. A choked, desperate little whine escaped you, and he took that as his cue to step in — despite how pretty you looked, skin sweaty and features twisted in a mix of exhaustion and pleasure.

“Shh, I got you, baby,” Dean spoke, voice breathless, as his hands clasped your hips. When he squeezed the soft flesh, the coldness of his ring was a contrast against your heated skin. His gripped tightened, his brows furrowing as his lips parted in concentration. He lifted you up, and down, slamming you back onto his cock. You cried out in pleasure, stars bursting behind your eyelids as he let out a low moan of his own. “Y'need me to help, huh, sweet girl?”

“Yes, please, De-”

Dean interrupted your breathy plee, planting his feet flat on the mattress. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers leaving indents in the fatty flesh, and using it as leverage to lift you up and down. His hips buck wildly for a moment, but it only takes a few seconds to work into a rhythm that has you both moaning in pleasure, hips thrusting up in time with his movements dragging you down. You collapsed against his chest, moaning in his ear as you clenched around him, walls fluttering in response to the new deep, quick pace.

“Mmh, there we go,” Dean cooed, his own eyes falling shut, lashes kissing against his freckled cheeks. The cheap metal headboard thumped against the wall, sounding off in tandem with your little whines and gasps. Dean's hands eventually left your hips, arms wrapping around you to hold you close, one hand cradling the back of your head as it rests against his chest.

The fire in the pits of your lower stomach grew, walls fluttering and clamping around his cock like a vice. “Fuck, baby-” He hissed, brows furrowing again. He knew you were close, and he was determined to get you there before he broke. “C'mon, baby,” Dean grunted, the hand he once had on your back sliding across your ribs and to your front. His middle and ring finger find your swollen clit, calloused fingertips rubbing the sensitive bud in circles.

The shrill moan you let out makes his heart skip a bit, his cock throbbing inside of you. He cursed again. “You're gonna be the death of my, baby.” His voice is whiny, and his thrusts stutter, faltering as he works hard to get you to the edge.

“De- Dean! Holy fuck, ‘m gonna…”

“You gonna cum, sweetheart? You gonna cum all over my cock? C'mon, baby, do it. Let go.”

And with that, you did. His cock nudging your g-spot, his fingers on your clit, warm breath against your ear and the creaks of the bed down to the wet squelch of your pussy made your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. You scream out in pleasure, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Dean's hips come to a stop as he spills himself inside of you, the seed from his earlier climax slowly seeping out of you and down his cock, to his balls.

It was quiet, heavy breaths mingling together as you both basked in the aftermath of pleasure. If Dean wasn't so tired, he might've been a bit worried about just how loud you were. A noise complaint was worth it. He panted, arms wrapping around you tightly as he softened inside of you. One of his hands stroked your head, shaky lips pressing a kiss against your temple.

“You with me?”

“Mhm.”

“Good,” He whispered, carefully lifting you off of him to lay you down on the bed. Dean was quick to press a kiss to your forehead when you winced as his cock slid out of you, sticky white seed spilling out of your spent hole. “Did so good for me, baby,” His voice is soft as he speaks again, pulling you close to his chest. Dean knows he needs to get you cleaned up, but a short moment of peace was well-deserved.

[deansbeer]

✶ MARKED BY SIN ݂ ౨᭪ ׂ 

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

📖 LIBRARY !

PAIRING. demon!dean x f!reader.

SYNOPSIS. while dean's fucking you deep and rough, he's obsessed with those little dermals on your lower back—just another excuse to touch you.

WARNING(S). smut | rough sex | dominant behavior | manhandling | back dermal piercings | possessiveness | strong language | he's a lil mean (obviously).

KARI TALKS. i'm missing him terribly rn !!! so i hope u enjoy whatever this is <3

DEMON!DEAN'S grip is bruising, fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you back onto him with every deep, punishing thrust. the motel room is dim, bathed in the dull red glow of a flickering neon sign outside, casting everything in shades of sin. it fits.

his hands roam, sliding over your sweat-slicked skin, tracing the curve of your spine until they find the tiny, glinting dermals embedded in your lower back. his pace falters for just a second, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he presses his thumb against one, feeling the cool metal against your fever-hot skin.

"fuck, sweetheart," he rasps, voice thick with something dark and dangerous. "always forget you've got these."

you whimper, barely holding yourself up on shaking arms, your body rocking with every thrust. he's relentless, setting a brutal pace that has you gasping, moaning his name like it's the only thing you know how to say.

DEMON!DEAN chuckles—low, smug—as he palms the small of your back, his fingers brushing over the piercings again. "bet you got 'em just to drive me crazy, huh?" his breath is hot against your ear as he leans over you, chest pressing flush against your back. "knew i wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you."

you can't even form words anymore, just broken moans and choked whimpers spilling from your lips. he fucking loves it. loves the way you're trembling beneath him, completely at his mercy.

he grips your hip with one hand, the other spreading across your stomach, pulling you back harder. "c'mon, baby, let me hear it," he coaxes, voice dripping with amusement. "tell me how good i’m fuckin' you."

you try—you really do—but all that comes out is a shattered moan, his name falling from your lips like a prayer to something unholy.

DEMON!DEAN just smirks, pressing a kiss to your jaw before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, claiming you the way only he can.

"that's what i thought."

꒰୨୧꒱ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @bluemerakis @unfortunate-brat @beausling @aileenunfiltered @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @lacydollette @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @ultravioletrayz @soldiersgirl @deanssun @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @eepwtf @rafespreciosa @deanswidow @deansbite @voidsuites

[flamewillow]

their smiles

Babies (◠‿◠✿)

[winchestergifs]

STACKEDNATURAL ⇉ 181.5/327

12.10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets Written by Steve Yockey Directed by Thomas J. Wright Original Air Date: February 2, 2017