actually that was you dean

deanlovescasposts  asked:

Do you think Crowley and Dean did actually have a relationship back when Dean was a demon?

Yep. Scroll my #drowley and #the love chevron tag :)

Crowley is much more than his own character but also as I often say the sublimating Dean metaphor. Crowley encompasses everything that Dean denies himself when Human, being selfish, choosing to do what HE wants, his bisexuality, singing anything other than classic rock (I wrote about that in this post because the song choices give me feels ok).

Dean literally just wants to romp around having fun, having sex with *people* with no responsibilities and no agenda… but even Crowley gets sick of this after a while, and he does end up doing ‘good’ e.g. with Anne-Marie’s boyfriend.  Demon Dean is brilliant, I love it, because he doesn’t just go dark or evil, he basically shrugs off the things that are repressing him, he does let down the facade and it’s so interesting…

Anyway, yes, Drowley…

Yeah it’s totally coded for me as not just metaphorical but an actual relationship. I wouldn’t call it a romantic relationship as such but for me it’s definitely a thing.

I mean over and above all the meta side of things purely the fact that Dean shows an annoyed but not actually dismissive or denying face when Crowley says that he rubbed off all over him and that he could shove the bomb up his (arse), that they had a clearly sexual relationship re: triplets etc etc etc - for me this was definitely sexual and some kind of intense relationship even if it wasn’t love.

It’s also very interesting how, given the whole love chevron thing, Drowley has become much more blatant and canon while Destiel also does in the later seasons even though it’s been over for years… it’s a great mirror / parallel to emphasise the Destiel by canonising Drowley and the Cas/Crowley mirrors all at the same time, think 11x23′s referring to canon Drowley then the Dean/Cas stuff, 12x12 Crowley saving Cas FOR DEAN and 12x15′s Dean thanking Crowley for saving Cas while in the SAME CONVERSATION Crowley brings up Drowley again…

As Cain said, losing Crowley he would have mixed feelings about and I think this is very relevant to his relationship with him. It was also paralleled to Cain / Abbadon which was also coded as sexual though not love, so… that’s my pov on it anyway :)

me: i know destiel isn’t ever going to become canon. jensen has said it on multiple occasions, they’ve all said that wasn’t a storyline they were going to go down, and i understand this and am now going to move on

an episode like 12x12: *happens*

me:

The Five Times You Encounter Dean Winchester

Word Count: 2,914

Warnings: Drinking. 

A/N: I missed writing Dean, so this happened :) Hope y’all enjoy! Let me know ^^ 

Originally posted by out-in-the-open


Five Years Old
There is a new kid in your kindergarten class. He’s quiet, has freckles all about his tiny face, and wide green eyes. He stands next to the teacher as she introduces him to everyone and you smile widely when you realize that the only open seat in the classroom is the one next to you.

A new friend and you’re thrumming with excitement as he takes his seat next to you.

“Dean!” you exclaim, making him jump.

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Writing is Hard, part 6: SEX

Summary: Dean and the reader have sex. Finally. FINALLY.

Read Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 4250ish

A/N: This is all written with love for fan fic. I’m teasing, not putting it down in any way. And the quotes are from my own Faking It series, in case anyone was curious. Hope you enjoy! (Sorry, tag list is closed!) XOXO


“You knew he didn’t quite understand why you found it so hot, but Dean had never seen himself leaning over the engine in a tight, sweaty t-shirt, hands and forearms covered in grease as he worked.”

Dean’s outside working on the Impala, and you’re reading fics about just that. Apparently, Dean working on the Impala is the hottest thing to ever grace the fandom (aside from his lips…and his green eyes…and his cocky swagger that is really just hiding adorable and unnecessary insecurity…and Jesus, these people are thorough), and you’re curious. In your actual experience with Dean, working on the Impala is just a nuisance. You have to wait longer to get on the road, Dean takes forever to scrub himself clean afterward, and for the next few hours, everything smells like metal and oil covered up by motel soap. Why do people find that so hot?

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after 12.23

(yes, more angst. i love to suffer.)

He’s seeing him again. Everywhere. 

Back when he was fresh from Purgatory he couldn’t be sure that what he was seeing was even real, but he knows now that this is not. 

Well, except that it is, in a way. Shimmering blue light in the distance, not grace but something else entirely. Real as the far-off twinkle of the stars, beautiful and unreachable in all the same ways. He stares for a very long time into the burning center of wisping shapes, cold and familiar. The heavy expression fixed on the face is endlessly unnerving, like the eyes see right through Dean and into the fabric of the world behind him. Dean always ends up turning his eyes down in shame. Out of grief that he’ll never get to move past.

He bundles himself up in jackets like he had when he was young and just as scared and alone as he feels right now. Swimming in them because of all the weight he’s lost. Not on purpose, it just… happened that way. The joints in his hands stick and crack when he cleans his guns. He takes up smoking again just to get some warmth back in his chest.

We could make this go away, Sam tries to tell him. Dean won’t have it. The chill in his bones is a comfort, and he’ll fight to keep it even if it ends up freezing him from the inside out.

Them in the passenger seat again together. The Impala’s chassis doesn’t balance out the way that it does when there’s two people in there, leaning on the turns and squealing in the wheels, but he can still pretend. He hangs an elbow out the open window and taps his cigarette out onto the oil-slick asphalt. He keeps his eyes straight ahead when they pull up to a red light. He shivers and fights the urge to turn his head, stare into dead eyes.

Dean tried to talk, the first few times. But there’s just not enough of him left to dredge up an answer, Sam thinks, not even the affectionate syllable of a name. There’s not much they can do about that, but Dean loses sleep over it anyway.

It’s Dean’s curse to be haunted by what he wants and loves. Ghosts, sometimes, they’re not tied to things. They’re tied to the people that hold too tightly to them.

Writing is Hard, pt 8: Slow and Steady

Summary: Dean shows you his favorite kind of sex.

Read Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Warning: Smut, dirty talk

Word Count: 3100ish

A/N: This is all written with love for fan fic. I’m teasing, not putting it down in any way. Hope you enjoy! (Sorry, tag list is closed!) XOXO

The motel door opens quietly and you hear Dean shuffle in, his footsteps easy to recognize. You don’t move, body too exhausted to even roll over in bed and say hi.

Sam has to know that Dean comes to your room every night now. Actually, Dean just goes straight in with you now more often than not, leaving Sam to himself. You’ve never discussed it, but you suspect that Sam’s silence on the matter of you and Dean is his thank you for finally having some privacy on a regular basis.

Either way, you aren’t remotely surprised that Dean is here. You listen to boots being kicked off, a gun being placed on the night stand, and clothes being shuffled off. He’s down to his boxers when he slides beneath the covers.

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Enough is Enough

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,067

Warnings: slight panic attack, language, asshole Dean 

Request: Can I request an imagine where the reader lives with the brothers at the bunker & Dean is always a jerk to her & then one day she has a panic attack & then fluff ensues…

Summary: Reader has lived & hunted with the boys for 3 years & usually puts up with Dean being a dick pretty well. One night, she can’t take anymore and has a panic attack.

A/N: Enjoy!! Feedback greatly appreciated!! And thank you to @mamapeterson for just reading over this before I posted it lol wasn’t too confident on it tbh but I hope y’all like it!!

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One Last Thing

12x12 coda almost a week late (oops)

When they get back to the bunker, Dean is surprised to see Mom head toward the room they’d assigned to her all those months ago. He assumed she’d leave as soon as they were safely back underground. He’s still staring down the hallway after her when he hears Cas sigh.

He turns to find him slumped in a kitchen chair, his hands in his lap and his coat closed enough to cover the blood and black…goo on his shirt. He’s staring down at the table with a crease between his brow.

“You OK?” Dean asks gruffly as he takes a tentative seat perpendicular to him.

“No.”

Dean balks at the honesty but doesn’t say anything. He leans forward and folds his hands on top of the table. Somewhere in the direction of Sam’s room, a door opens and closes.

“I shouldn’t be alive,” Cas continues, still staring at the table. “I would’ve never…”

Suddenly Cas’ eyes pop up and past Dean as Sam enters the kitchen.

None of them say anything as Sam grabs a cold cup of coffee. Dean and Cas look at each other. When Sam leaves, Cas’ eyes find the table again.

“I wouldn’t’ve…said what I said,” Cas continues, hesitance clear in his tone, “If I had known…”

A couple of seconds pass before it clicks for Dean. “That you weren’t actually gonna die?”

Cas nods minutely.

Dean leans back, runs a hand up through his hair and then drops it to his knee. “Look, man, you know I ain’t good at this. But you are family, so…what you said…it’s not–it doesn’t–you’re not trying to take it back, are you?” What the fuck–that’s not what he meant to say at all.

“No, of course not.” For some reason, Cas sounds angry. “It’s just that I–nothing.” He quickly turns his head to the side, the way he used to do when Dean had hurt his feelings.

“Cas,” Dean says softly. He waits until Cas looks at him. “I was scared to death when I saw that…what that spear did to you. I can’t lose you, man. So, uh, tell me. Whatever’s on your mind, spit it out.” It’s too harsh, too casual, but anything else wouldn’t be Dean.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“What?”

Cas squints at him. “It was a declaration made because I thought it was the last chance I would get to tell you. I couldn’t die without telling you that I…that.”

Dean leans forward again and wipes his hand over his mouth. “You, uh, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. You know I’m not–I’m not very good at the whole, uh, love thing, but I know it’s there. I know we’re–you know, we’re good.”

Cas squints harder and leans forward so they’re only inches apart. “You knew I was in love with you?”

Hold on.

“That’s not–you didn’t–that’s not what you said, man. You didn’t say that.”

“Dean.”

That’s his “quit being a dense idiot, Dean” voice.

Dean huffs a nervous laugh and stares at the table. “Yeah, uh, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you had died.”

Now Cas is laughing, too. “We are terrible at this.”

Dean lifts his eyes shyly. Cas is studying him.

“Do you remember…” Dean stops and sucks in a breath. He shouldn’t be talking about this. “That day in the cemetery, when we all thought I was gonna die.”

Cas nods once but doesn’t say anything.

“I wanted to, uh, say something.” Dean smiles and scratches the back of his head. “Actually, I didn’t. I wanted to–to kiss you.” He winces in embarrassment.

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

Dean looks sharply over at him.

“If you waited until you were on the brink of death to kiss me, I would’ve killed you myself.”

“You waited until your deathbed to tell me you lo–”

Cas cuts Dean’s argument off with a kiss. It’s just a tentative press of lips, but Dean still lets out a needy, embarrassing whimper as it happens. When Cas pulls away, Dean mumbles, “Nuh-uh,” and grabs him by the cheek to pull him back in. His hip is digging into the edge of the table, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

It’s sloppy and too fast and Cas is breathing heavy and whispering, “I love you,” over and over right against Dean’s mouth and it’s all too much and not nearly enough.

Later, in the pitch black of his room, lying breathless next to an angel, Dean tells Cas that he loves him, too.

anonymous asked:

you should definitely talk about size differential!kink bc absolutely same

I mean, okay anon, TWIST MY ARM why don’t you.

Let’s talk about–

That first time, when Sam’s eighteen and hitting that second-to-last growth spurt, still mostly skinny because he doesn’t eat enough but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him–he just goes up and up, and Dean’s buying him new jeans again and Sam tries them on in the grody Goodwill dressing room and comes out and Dean thinks, what the hell. Sammy’s long long legs in jeans that fit, for the most part, though his shirt’s too short and pulling when he stretches so that line of bare stomach peeks out. He comes up to Dean’s side and Dean’s conscious for the first time of looking up and there’s a moment where his stomach goes weird and hot. Oh.

Or–

Dean doesn’t like being shoved around. Has enough of that out in the field, and he’s been thrown into enough walls for a lifetime. And–it’s not that Sam shoves him around. That’s not it. But–sometimes, if it’s been a long day and they’re tired, and Sam gets that kind of intense look around the eyes, sometimes then, Dean will find himself caught up by the hips and–urged, maybe is the word for it, pushed step by step back until his shoulders are up against the motel-room wall, and even if he’s standing up straight Sammy’s standing up straighter, looming, his shoulders blocking out the lamplight, having to bend his head to look into Dean’s eyes, and that, that Dean doesn’t mind, so much.

Or–or after, sometimes, when they’re older, Dean broadens out a lot more, takes up lifting in the bunker, and he likes the look it gives him. His shoulders look good. Except–Sam’s bigger, still. Sam’s always bigger. Puts on muscle like it’s nothing and he’s still got those long, long legs, and Dean still doesn’t think of himself like a fainting damsel or anything, but it does something to him if Sam gets all worked up into a mood and yanks him in close and picks him up, being showy, using his strength like he usually doesn’t. It yanks at the pit of Dean’s stomach, lights him up like nothing else, and he pretty much goes liquid, lets Sam lay him out and do whatever he wants, then. They have good sex, fun sex, and they each have their little kinks and foibles, and he’ll maybe never be over how Sam likes his hair pulled, or how he likes to get tied up, sometimes. Sometimes, though, what Dean wants is exactly this, and he doesn’t really know how to ask for it, because how do you ask that? Sammy, he could say, I like that you–that you’re tall. That you’re bigger than me. He’d get no end of shit for that. Still. Doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it. Doesn’t mean that, when Sam gets into a mood, he can’t go onto his back on their bed, let Sam loom over him with those shoulders, his body just… bigger, his legs longer and his hands huge as they trap Dean’s against the bed. Doesn’t mean he can’t go light-headed crazy with watching Sammy’s bigger dick slide up against his, can’t cup his bigger balls and love the way they feel, the way they weigh heavy against his own lighter skin. When Sam flips him on his stomach and he spreads out, gasping, he can love how Sam pushes up inside, big and inescapable, weight crushing Dean down into the mattress, and watch Sam’s hand twine with his, longer fingers and bigger palm, and love how Sam’s big enough that he blocks out everything else, his arms braced around Dean’s head, his long long thighs bracketing Dean’s, so that Dean’s left feeling–small. Caged, cradled, pinned. He doesn’t say a thing about it, doesn’t ask. Doesn’t have to. It’s just–a fact. Sam’s bigger than him. 

(Thing is–Sam knows it, too.)

~ SPN 12x11 coda ~

Dean’s head still throbbed by the time the [Lebanon - 13 miles] sign gleamed in the Impala’s headlights. The three cups of coffee at dinner had not helped to ease the pain, and neither had the four Ibuprofen Sam gave him once they got back to the car. Sleep – that’s what he needed now.

He rubbed his hand over his face, grimacing at the stabbing ache behind his eyes. “Want me to take over?” Sam asked, Dean dropping his hand to the wheel. He sounded concerned and rightly so. If Dean was being honest with himself, Sam should have been the one to drive.

But since when was he honest, especially with himself?

“Nah, I’m good.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel when Sam scoffed. “Besides, we’re almost home.”

Dean could almost feel Sam roll his eyes. He scanned the shadowed turnoffs for the one that would lead them home. His inner autopilot told him that it was coming up soon, but the actual location was escaping him right now. Panic fluttered in his chest and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from voicing his concerns. He could figure this out; he could remember this…there was no need to worry Sam.

“Dean.” Sam pointed off to the left side of the road. “Did you forget our turn?” He recognized it then, his anxiety decreasing a little as he slowed down and turned onto the gravel road.

It was not too long before they reached the bunker. Dean was relieved, if not a little overwhelmed, by the rush of memories flooding. Everything would be back to normal in the morning, probably…He just needed to sleep off the lingering remains of the spell.

“Go inside,” Sam said once Dean parked the Impala. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“So bossy.” Dean slipped out of his seat and grinned back at Sam. He closed the car door and trudged to the front door, his keys jingling in his hand.

The muted sounds of a far-off TV greeted Dean once he was inside the bunker. He squinted, the florescent lights grating against his headache. The high-pitched ring of the TV led him to the study where he found Cas. He glanced over to the doorway when Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Cas.”

“You’re back.” His brow furrowed as Dean staggered into the room. Little specks of light danced around the edges of his vision as Cas sat up on the couch. “Are you okay? Dean?” Dean nodded, his temples throbbing in protest at the quick movement. He must have winced, judging by the concerned tch of Cas’ tongue. Dean sat on the edge of the couch next to him and met his eyes. “What happened?”

“Witch. Lost my memory for a while. Now all I’ve got is this headache.”

Cas extended his hand, placing his fore and middle fingertips on Dean’s temple. The vice-like pressure vanished in a blink of an eye. Cas’ gentle touch lingered for a few seconds before he dropped his hand to the space between them on the couch. “Better?”

Dean moved to stand, happy to find that the world was no longer topsy-turvy. “Much. Thanks, buddy.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” 

Dean looked down at Cas who had gone back to watching TV, anxiety tightening around his chest. The mantra he had chanted to himself all day sprang unbidden to his mind once again. My name is Dean Winchester. Sam is my brother. Mary Winchester is my mom. And Casti – 

“You’re my best friend.” He blurted before the panic he felt earlier could settle in again. “You know that, right?” A tiny smile curved the corner of Cas’ lips as he nodded. “Promise me you won’t forget that.”

Cas glanced over, looking like he was about to make some sort of sarcastic remark. His smirk, slight as it was, dropped when he took in Dean’s solemn expression. “I promise.”

A sigh of relief loosened the anxious tension constricting his chest. Dean smiled as he headed for the door. “Night, Cas.” He paused when he reached the doorway, glancing over his shoulder to find Cas watching him. “See you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

4

S10 Countdown: 46 days - or
The one scene that cuts me into tiny pieces with pain and beauty - SN 01X12

I just watched 12x19. Lots of big stuff here. But first can I please just point out.

DEAN MADE CAS A MIXED TAPE.

CAS HAS HIS OWN ROOM AT THE BUNKER.

PLEASE STOP AND THINK ABOUT THESE THINGS FOR A MOMENT. THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT.

Regarding Dean

Characters:  Dean, Reader, Sam

Summary:  Sam calls reader to babysit Dean after he’s cursed by a witch.

Warnings:  Angst-ish

Word Count:  1776

Tags are at the bottom.  As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

Regarding Dean

The screen lights up on your phone, Sam Winchester’s name flashing on the screen.This can’t be good, otherwise Sam would never, ever call you. Not after everything that happened. Should you answer? You don’t really want to dredge all that shit up. But if he’s calling, it’s important. You’re thumb hovers over the green button. It’s on the third ring before you decide to answer.  

“Hello?”

“(Y/N)? It’s me, Sam. Please, don’t hang up, just hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

“Thank…thank you. Listen, I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t need help, you know that I wouldn’t. But I need you.”

———–

You can’t figure out how Sam knows you’re in the area. You haven’t had contact with Dean or Sam for over year. Is he still keeping tabs on you through the hunter network?  It’s touching in a way, you’ve always had a soft spot for Sammy. Truth is, you miss him.

Why the fuck are you driving to the motel right now? Why would you willingly put yourself in this position? Must be temporary insanity. It’s the only logical explanation. Maybe you should drive straight to the psych ward and check yourself in after this is over.

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Boner

2,500 Followers Oneshot

Summary: The reader moves into a new town and finds out something surprising about her new gorgeous neighbor.

Prompt: “I’m not sure if you’re trying to turn me on but I have a boner now.”

Pairing: neighbor!Dean x Reader

Requested: @whispersandwhiskerburn


Change.

You’ve never despised a word so much in your god damn life. It mocks you, rips every little aggravation from the world and throws it right into your fucking face. It’s turned your life completely and totally upside down. Then it spun you the fuck around just to make sure you’re officially screwed.

Having just moved from New York two weeks ago, you can now call Nashville home. Forget a different state, you feel like you’re in a freaking different reality. The friendly residents alone throw you for a loop. You’re slightly convinced that they have some ulterior motive. Then again considering the shady fuckers in your past, you could just be paranoid. 

Growing up in a big city has given you a tough exterior that the men around here seem to be intimated by. It must be the way you carry yourself, also the permanent bitch face that you’ve acquired over the years.

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