#dean winchester the man that you are

[strawlessandbraless]

Dean: Dean Winchester doesn’t beg for anyone

Also Dean:

[cas-dyke]

anyways shout out to my cool awesome roommate @towboats who bought me my favorite piece of spn merch ever for my birthday

[morallygreyintrovert]

Spent hours of today in tears writing a particularly sad scene in my Destiel fix-it fic and I’ve had to call it for today because I’m feeling so bummed out and feel the need for a really strong drink…

No wonder Dean spent the entirety of the show inebriated, I’m only writing about his life and I’m depressed, imagine living it?

He has to have one of the most tragic story arcs for a character on any tv show ever!

[penisbrigade]

so i’ve never actually fully watched supernatural, i just picked up everything i know from tumblr (which is, not shockingly, a lot), but i decided i was going to actually watch it recently. another important piece of information about me is that, initially against my will but over the years…….i know a whole lot about destiel. so now im watching and everytime dean does or says anything with any sort of feeling, all i can think about is how castiel described him before becoming a victim of ultra homophobic hell and everything else ive heard him say. when dean is comforting and trying to talk some sense into sam, i just remember castiel calling dean the most loving and kind and good human or whatever and then i cry. two episodes in and spn tumblr already ruined my life (/pos)

[geddyqueer]

imagine surviving 10 seasons of saving people hunting things the family business coming back from the dead multiple times and then you back your car into a pothole right as a tornado gets you

[haydenthewitch]

HE WANTS TO DIE AND DEATH WILL NOT EVEN TAKE HIM

[adamshallperish]

i love when dean (dad stuck in 26 year old slut's body) tries to be hip and with the kids

[thismustbefakeminespn]

I love a man in uniform!

8x20 Pac-Man Fever

[strawlessandbraless]

Gay panic

Gay panic

Gay panic

Gay thing

The ‘you can do that?!’ to ‘he was my gay thing’ pipeline

[archiveofvirtue]

i need this rfn 😩

thinking about dean winchester resting his arms behind his neck, and FUCKING WHISTLING while you're riding him.

"attagirl. there you go, baby. take whatever you need." and he groans, trying not give in and touch you.

i'm not even ovulating yet, wait a week, and i will be getting 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂. (send me 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 requests pls... i need bottom sam and dean asks PLS PLS PLS PLS PLS)

[cas-dyke]

dean is the most suicidal character i’ve ever seen and yet he just told his brother about his dream retirement beach vacation :(

[morallygreyintrovert]

The tortured hunters department (Dean’s version)

John Winchester, the smallest man who ever lived -

‘I would’ve died for your sins. Instead, I’d just died inside’

‘And you deserve prison but you won’t get time’

‘And in plain sight you hid, but you are what you did. And I’ll forget you, but I’ll never forgive. The smallest man who ever lived’

You can’t convince me taylor Swift Isn’t a Destiel shipper. If John winchester has no haters then I’m dead. Obviously I’m reading another fic where our poor Dean is struggling to battle his demons and childhood trauma

[targaryenchester]

god gives the hardest battles to his strongest soldiers. (to Dean Winchester)

[cas-dyke]

should’ve been at the clerb 😔

save me stanford era dean save me

[vesperscas]

dean winchester woke up on his 45th birthday and bent his creaky old man knees to get up and put on his fluffy old man robe and fuzzy old man slippers.

[vampiredaisiesss]

touch me — d.w. x reader

synopsis - you run your knuckles through the stubble littering his cheeks. your fingers travel upwards, thumb tracing his crow's feet. the lines on his face have deepened as he's grown older as has his hair gotten lighter. you find him all the more beautiful like this.

trigger warning - older dean winchester (early 40s) with younger reader (early 20s)

He thinks about time, about how it marks you, about how each silver strand falling to the floor is another reminder of all the years between the two of you.

The harsh glare of the bathroom light is unforgiving, casting every line on his face into sharp focus. Dean watches your reflection in the mirror. The gentle snip-snip echoes off the tile walls as you work the scissor over his hair, your lip caught between your teeth.

Steam still clings to the bathroom mirror from your shower, making the edges of your reflection soft, dream-like. Your tank top's damp where his hair falls against it, and there's something so domestic about this moment it makes his chest ache.

You hum "Hey Jude" while you work, because of course you know that's what Mary sang when she cut his hair. Of course you know that's what he sometimes hummed in his sleep whenever he'd have a nightmare.

"You're thinking too loud, again," you murmur, running your fingers through the short hairs at his nape.

"I've got shirts older than you," he says finally, the words tasting bitter on tongue.

You laugh out loud, and it sounds like every good thing he probably doesn't deserve. "And they're all flannel, and they all smell like gunpowder and cheap liquor that you probably spilled on them two decades ago, but never got dry-cleaned, and I love them." Your smile turns soft at the edges. "Just like I love the man wearing them."

"Kid—" he starts, but you cut him off.

"Don't 'kid' me, Dean Winchester. Not when you're balls deep inside me every night." You pause for just enough time to fix him a determined stare, and he offers you a small smile.

"You think I don't know who I'm choosing? You think I haven't counted every scar, every gray hair, every year you spent saving the world before I was old enough to know it needed saving?"

The scissor is forgotten on the countertop as you run your knuckles through the stubble littering his cheeks. Your fingers travel upwards, thumb tracing his crow's feet. The lines on his face have deepened as he's grown older as has his hair gotten lighter.

You find him all the more beautiful like this.

Dean's throat tightens. You're stripping him bare with your touch. "Exactly. You could have anyone. Someone who—"

He swallows hard, but he's smiling now. His chest feels heavier with something else. "When you say it like that, sounds like I should be in a museum, not your bed."

"Someone who what? Someone who hasn't survived forty years in hell? Someone who doesn't wake up reaching for a weapon? Someone who doesn't understand why I keep rock salt by the bed and devil's traps under the rugs?" You shake her head. "I don't want easy, Dean. I want you."

"There," you say finally, brushing loose hair from his neck. Your lips find that sensitive spot behind his ear, and he can feel you smile against his skin.

"Please," You chuckle. Your hands slide back into his hair, resuming cutting. "Museums are for looking, not touching. "And I'm very..." snip "...very..." snip "...fond of touching you."

"Touch me," he says, and it comes out like a prayer he never learned properly – rough and wanting and holy all at once. It curls around your heart in the shape of Dean's hand.

He reaches up, catches your hand before you can move away.

You touch him like you're reading braille, like every freckle on his body has a story to tell. Your lips trace constellations across the map of blue veins over his body. And when you finally put your lips on the scar along the side of his hip — the first ever souvenir he collected on his skin — you feel the smallest tremor in his breath. It’s so faint, but unmistakable, and for a moment, you could almost swear you made Dean Winchester mewl.

And you do.