and i totally agree with him letting a few… well, let’s just say some high noises out when he’s close. and if you asked him about it like it was regular conversation, he’d probably close up and hide in his shell immediately. he’s ashamed of it, ashamed of how he acts when he’s in bed. it’s not manly. it’s not hot. at least, dean doesn’t think it is.

you, on the other hand?

you like it.

it’s one of the hottest things he does, and that’s saying something when it comes to dean: because everything he does seems to be hot. but by far, it’s the way he sounds when he’s in bed with you. the way he lets go, the way he feels comfortable enough to truly be himself around you—it makes you feel out of this world.

it’s around the third time you guys have sex that you bring it up. you’re still navigating each other, whatever this relationship will be, but one thing remains certain: you can’t get enough of one another. you’re in bed when you build up the courage, dean still laying on top of you, basking in the aftershocks.

he was by far the loudest this night, since he didn’t have to worry about nosy neighbors or sharing the room with sam. you can tell he’s embarrassed about it. uncomfortable with the fact that you had to hear him like that. with the fact that he let his guard down, showed his true colors.

you’re the first to break the silence.

“y’know, some people might think i’m hurting you when we’re together,” you try and ease his overthinking, your hands still tracing over his bare back.

dean huffs a snort into the skin of your sternum, but it’s halfhearted. “yeah, uh. sorry ‘bout that. didn’t mean to uh. turn you off or anythin’ like that.”

oh, dean. always putting himself down. “you didn’t,” you shake your head on the pillow. if you leaned your head a little more down, your face would be in dean’s hair. “i like the noises you make.”

dean blinks. your confession makes him look up at you from where he’d been laying on your chest. “y’do?” he sounds shocked. appalled. like no one would ever like the noises he makes.

“i mean… yeah,” you sheepishly reply, looking away briefly. “well, i, y’know, wasn’t expecting that from you, but… it’s hot.”

huh. well, if you think it’s hot, maybe it’s not so bad that he does it then, dean thinks. maybe it’s not as unmanly as he thought. he absorbs your words for a moment, eyes searching your face. you’re telling the truth.

“oh,” is all dean has to say at first. “well. then, uh. guess i’ll, uh. keep doin’ that, then.” you smile at the way he’s all flustered, and not from post-sex. your hand goes to his face, cupping it—and dean pushes his head into your palm immediately.

“you shouldn’t be ashamed of that, you know,” you murmur quietly.

“yeah, well, shouldn’t and actually doin’ it are two different stories,” dean mutters back, looking down again, too. “i jus’… i can’t control it. not with you.”

“and i’m not asking you to,” you retort. “like i said. i think it’s hot.”

dean nods, his face melting at your words and your hands still tracing his face. maybe you’re right. now, this shame won’t go away entirely, but he can feel the walls starting to crack. he sighs, but not because he’s upset with you. quite the contrary.

it’s because he’s safe.

in case you missed any of my sub ! dean work, here’s literally everything i’ve ever written about him:

sub ! dean headcanons

sub ! dean cries during sex

sub ! dean somno

sub ! dean sex in the back of the impala

sub ! dean sleepy sex

sub ! dean dry humping

sub ! dean jerking off to you and you catch him

sub ! dean is into soft sex

sub ! dean (ish) with male reader

brat ! dean headcanons

spoiled his entire career—well deserved, based on his home life—but his fame has most definitely gotten to his head. it’s made him self-absorbed, and also simultaneously the most i-don’t-give-a-fuck person on the planet.

you figure out very quickly once you two start… well, whatever this is with soldier boy that he’s a little brat. he teases you and sasses you, pushes your buttons he knows drives you up the wall. he knows what pisses you off, and does it anyway. not because he thinks he can get away with it—but because he wants you to do something about it.

so you do.

tonight, it was particularly worse. a mission that went right, but not because ben was making it easy for the team. they blamed him, and ben wasn’t taking it lightly. he was throwing a tantrum, and now you had to deal with it, because the boys certainly wouldn’t. you knew most of them resented you, from how close you were to him. it should make you feel ashamed.

it doesn’t.

he’s been mouthing off to you ever since he got back and slamming things around. testing you, seeing how much it took to push you over the edge—and while it should make you want to explode or even be scared of him, you know exactly what his true intentions are.

or rather, you know what he needs.

ben’s stewing on the couch, arms crossed over his chest after his last comment he’d grunted at you. the tv’s not on anymore—since ben threw his bottle of whiskey at it after he couldn’t figure out how to get to netflix. so now he has no tv and no whiskey.

you’d changed so you were wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts. does it fit right? no, but ben’s mind goes haywire when he sees you in his clothes. just like now: he does a double take as you approach him, blinking at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

you tilt you head at him before getting into his lap, straddling his legs as he’s sitting on the couch. ben’s hands half raise up to meet your body, hesitating ever so slightly before his warm big palms find your waist.

“you haven’t been being very nice to me,” you murmur softly as you look down at him.

“well, ‘m not exactly a very nice person, doll,” ben mutters back.

“that’s true,” you nod, hands going to his shoulders. “but what do nice soldiers get?”

ben sighs dramatically, then grumbles reluctantly: “…their dick wet. but you’ll give it to me either way, won’tchya?” he adds, devilishly smirking up at you.

you just look back down at him, ever so patient. he can sass you off all he wants—but you both know how this ends.

ben’s hands are wandering now—always taking whatever he wants and expecting no consequences. you’ve slowly but surely been domesticating him.

it shows in moments like these. ben could easily take what he wants from you forcefully. he’s much stronger and faster. but he doesn’t. he wants you to take from him, in a way. make him be at your mercy. maybe he just doesn’t like being the strongest one all the time. maybe he wants someone else in control of him.

either way, you’ll happily oblige.

it’s a long night of teasing and push and pull ahead of you. you know how it’ll end: you and ben stuck together. tangled sheets, sweat, the smells of you and him combined into one. you’ll be absolutely covered in him by the time he’s through—because of course his supe powers make him a machine that can’t stop coming inside you and on you.

he’s calmed down now. just ben, not soldier boy—because you picked him apart and peeled back all the layers that hide the real him. you only see it when he has meltdowns like this. you’ll probably have to burn the entire bed set you have by the time you’re through, like you’ve done before. but 2 things remains certain.

1) that is it’s going to happen all over again tomorrow.

2) you wouldn’t have it any other way.

you hum around him, sending a vibration through what felt like his entire body. dean gasps in a breath like it’s his last one when your nose grazes at the hair on soft skin of his tummy. he can feel the wind-up of his release creeping in everywhere since he’s been holding it off for what feels like forever.

so how’d you get here? long story short, your dream came true. finally.

of course, dean’s a specimen in every aspect, but something about his lower torso: his soft stomach but firm in certain spots, his happy trail, and the legend you knew that was in his pants made your head all light and filled with want. usually, you wouldn’t give anyone a second glance. but dean was different. and you don’t delve too deep into your own feelings as to why that is. that’s a rabbit hole for later.

he’d been shy, like you thought he would. poor guy, you thought. shivering like a baby bird in the cold as you touched him, like you would somehow hurt him. it made your heart ache. he got flustered when you put your hands on his stomach and hips, watching his reaction as you did so. he tensed up almost immediately again, like he was bracing himself for you to make fun of him.

but you didn’t.

you just touched him, looked at him with all your care and love while you ran your fingers over his hair on his stomach. just like you’re doing now, too—only this time, it’s as you suck like there’s no tomorrow. if he didn’t believe you then, you’re going to make him a believer by the end of the night.

dean lets out another broken sound, his hand tightening where it’s placed behind your head, a sure warning of what’s going to shortly happen if you don’t stop your ministrations.

but you don’t stop. in fact, you speed up—and dean thinks he’s died and finally reached the so-called paradise everybody says is waiting for him at the end of his life. he’s been trying to prolong his release, but in reality, he’s been about ready to bust his load since you got down on your knees for him. for him. it’s like he fell into one of his own dreams, because there’s no way this is real.

but it is.

he wants to say something. he’s not sure what he could muster up, since his entire train of thought is focused on what you’re doing to him. dean looks back down at you again, taking a mental screenshot of you like this, with your eyes a little watery, for later—then tips his head back as he lets himself go.

he’s loud. he’s not trying to hide it, for once. you wouldn’t make fun of him for being too vocal or making too much noise. you didn’t look at him in disgust when he took his shirt off, either. dean was sure you’d run for the hills—he’s built, sure, but he doesn’t have a 6-pack. you can see lines where his abs are, but it doesn’t look like a bag of dinner rolls, how dean thinks he’s supposed to look. it’s just skin, mostly, and nothing else.

but maybe, dean thinks as you swallow everything he gives you, maybe it’s not that bad. sure, he’s no bodybuilder, but he’s still got some looks. you told him so—and you’re showing it right now. so dean calls that a win. him: 1, finally, and the universe: infinity.

thanks to you, he’s finally on the scoreboard.

📨 woo hoo i am finally back on the smut train! choo choo all aboard the dean winchester express 🚂

you want to shoot the stupid smug smirk off his face, want to crack his jaw that moves with every pass of shameless flirting with anything that he seems to come across.

because he’s an idiot. a manchild that can’t take his one goddamn job-that’s-not-a-job seriously—but somehow, is able to wow everyone with his rugged charm. it’s infuriating, knowing how hard you worked to get to this point—yet dean has skated by this entire time on pure luck alone.

if that wasn’t the worst part, he’s so fucking arrogant in everything he does. he thinks he’s always right, and never lets anyone else have a say. not you, not even his own brother. you’d known your entire life that men like him are dangerous, and being around someone like that only puts you in harms way. yet, you still helped him and sam on a case, because bobby asked you to.

and dean knows you want to kill him. because he feels the same way about you, with your self-righteous crap. he’s supposed to be the one making decisions, keeping everybody safe—and you just had to come in with your own ideas. even if they were better than his, dean wasn’t having it. you’re too uptight, too complicated for him. he doesn’t want to figure you out—because figuring you out would unlock something he would figure out about himself, too.

but you’re as stubborn as he is, so it’s impossible to try and reach a resolution. you are an unstoppable force, he is an immovable object. you clash together like oil and water sometimes, yet are the perfect blend under certain circumstances. most of the time though, you keep your distance.

but you don’t know.

you don’t know how terrified dean is of loving someone. how overwhelmed it makes him to think about love. honestly, he’s unsure if he ever has loved someone—but he still wants to experience it, despite the fear he feels so deep in his bones.

and it seems like you’re taking him under, regardless. something about you pulls him in—something about the way you seem to know everything, the way you’re able to make quick, controlled, and logical decisions, ones that despite giving you the short end of the stick seem to be the best option.

he notices, obviously: your tendency to shove your own needs down into a little ball for the greater good. he notices, because dean himself does it too. how everything and everyone is put before your own feelings. he recognizes it, and feels like he knows you on such a deeper level because of it.

and though you won’t ever admit it, he does know you.

yet, apple pie life, the girl, the white picket fence—it’s not in the cards for him. he’s tried and failed. it’s like the universe, or god, or whoever is pulling the strings to puppeteer his and sam’s life wants him to be miserable and alone. dean has begged for help from someone, anyone—and yet was met with nothing. he is only helped when it benefits the greater good.

and dean is not the greater good.

but dean doesn’t know.

dean doesn’t know he’s taken up so much of your mind. your usual defenses are useless against him—because they’re the same as dean’s. you are less tough in certain areas where he is, and vice versa. like a devastating puzzle piece. it should make you want to hit the road and never speak to him again, how you barely seem to get along. but it doesn’t.

because you have grown to… ugh. care about him.

even sam’s noticed, the way you two look at each other. you both never look while the other is watching—like you’d both be smited on the spot for stealing a glance, for wanting the other. for wanting something that only benefitted yourself instead of someone else, instead of the greater good.

but you do. and dean’s been feeling it, too. it’s getting harder to pretend you don’t like him, so you just stop pretending, after a while. you don’t linger on how it feels like you’re being simultaneously corrupted and fixed in the same breath, whenever you’re around dean. you are rougher where dean is softer, and softer where dean is rougher. it’s strange, almost like you’re puzzle pieces.

and it scares the hell out of both of you.

for dean, it’s the feeling of not being in control. dean has to be in control, otherwise, he might die. but you come into the picture, and suddenly, he’s a lot more okay with you taking up his every thought. he’s willing to let things slide, because something about you ceases his defenses.

for you, it’s feeling like you’re being cheated, as your feelings grow. that some day, dean will be the same as the men you’ve heard horror stories about. the same as the men who will eat you up and spit you back out, leaving you to die. dean hasn’t done that yet. it feels like you’re waiting for the ball to drop, but it never comes.

it all comes to a head one night.

it always felt like you were being stretched too thin, but tonight was especially the worst. you felt less than present, in your own body. of course, you told no one about these trepidations that you had. that wasn’t how you grew up, and you sure as hell weren’t about to start doing it now. you gave up on sleep after tossing around your bed for an hour, deciding to brave the kitchen to see what you could distract yourself with.

you open your door, and almost walk right into dean. he’s just… standing there, in the doorway. you wonder how long he’s been standing there, or if he just got here. either way, you’re shocked to see him this late at night. it’s not like you haven’t been noticing the bags under his eyes. he has them all the time now, including as he stands in front of you.

and you know what he’s here for. he feels comfortable enough with you to even be here—and you don’t take that for granted.

so you step aside, and let him in.

dean doesn’t say anything. neither do you. and you’re not even sure what you’d say, anyway. there’s no words you could possibly comfort him with, because you know better than anyone how he feels. so you don’t bother.

you lay back down in bed, midnight snack forgotten as dean sinks into your sheets. he faces you, but looks embarrassed. like he’s corrupted himself by coming here. like he’s corrupted you. and yet, he’s still laying next to you. still looking at you, despite the urge to run away.

and you’re looking back at him, too, despite your gut’s reaction to hide away. it’s a different reaction than usual—like you know the outcome, but you don’t care, or don’t think it’ll happen with dean here instead of someone else.

it’s a weird thought, and you don’t know how to process it right now. it’s like you’re not who you used to be, but instead, it’s who you’ve been all along. the parts of you that used to just peek out once in a while are now on full display. and you can’t seem to care.

you hold dean to your chest, his face pressed between your breasts. you’re sure he would’ve made a joke about that, but he didn’t. he just breathes you in, his arms you always used to stare at when he wasn’t looking wrapping around you tighter. he needs you, you realize.

and maybe you need him just as much, too.

@ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @supernotnatural2005 @g0thamgirl @mostlymarvelgirl @kaz-2y5-spn @sophiaesthetic @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @tinas111 @0ccvltism @lunaleah @saintfaux @defnot-svnshine @kimxwinchester @bettystonewell @harlekin705 @megara0224 @ej13928 @fertilise-me @butterphii @halsteadwichester @jollyhunter @whimsyandfear @iknowyouknowimnottellingthetruth @anabellelycan @taecallsmenoona @s0ullesslullab1es @kiarasleeps

not like it was hard. dean was like a sponge: he soaked up all your love until he seemed to overflow, despite the fact that it felt like drowning sometimes. it wasn’t anything you did wrong, but it just felt overwhelming once in a while, being loved so fiercely and gently, when dean has experienced everything but that in his life.

you seemed to be very in-touch with your emotions and with your love. you cared deeply about sam and dean, and you showed it: in your actions, your words, your everything. but especially dean. you told him you loved him all the time—and you made sure he knows that he’s worth loving, too. that he means something not just to you, but to the world itself.

it might’ve started with you making a snack for the brothers. they were deep in research at bobby’s. you brought sam celery and dean a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and dean almost exploded when you set the plate down in front of him. but he couldn’t, since his brother was across the table from him, mowing down on the celery you brought him. you knew sam would want something healthy, but dean would want something comforting if he was going to eat. you just knew, without asking either of them.

dean opened his mouth, about to say that he wasn’t hungry—but upon a second of hesitation, he realized he was. so he closed his mouth, gave you a closed-lipped smile. you smiled back, ruffling his hair—and it was like the sun was shining on him. he damn near melted into the floor.

on the other hand, maybe it’s just the touching. you touch dean so often, like second nature, and he hopes he’ll never get used to it. he hopes he’ll cherish every head pat, hand on his shoulder, arm linked around his own, and kiss on his cheeks and on the top of his head like he has been since you walked into his life. it’s enough to drive him insane, but strangely, he’s alright with it.

you touch him all the time. dean loves laying on top of you, letting your hands wander all over his back. he’s even started sleeping shirtless again, something he never thought he’d do, just so your fingers and his skin aren’t separated anymore. the feel of your hands on him makes his brain fuzzy in the best possible way. especially when your hands find their way to his hair. you rake your fingers through it slowly, until dean’s a pile of mush against you. and you hold him close, even when you sleep. like you subconsciously wanted him there. like you actually loved him.

you love him like it’s easier than breathing. like you didn’t care about his fuckups, his worst mistakes and his deepest regrets. it was so freeing, but at the same time, dean feels like it’s a dream. like tomorrow when he wakes up, you’ll be gone. like he conjured you up himself in his mind, just for him, and the rug will be pulled out from under him.

it’s hard, because dean’s never had something to call his own. not really. his car was his dad’s before his, plus even his own thoughts might be mirrored to his dad, too. he shares everything else with his brother. not that he minds. it’s just the truth. plain facts. he’s never had something, someone all to himself, just for him—until you.

then you came along, and suddenly, everything made sense. you love him, more than anything. just for him. you don’t ask him to be anything else, other than who he is. and you always say how much you love him: a simple “love ya” before you go to the store, or a full-fledged “i love you so much, dean” on the hard days. you remind him, so he never forgets. he can’t say it as much as you do—and he’s not sure why. given time, he’ll get there, but not yet.

for now, he’ll take your love. even though deep down, he thinks he doesn’t deserve it, he’s going to take it. take something for himself for once, with no regrets. you love him for all this scars, all his mistakes—and dean knows that something like that cannot be taken lightly. he’s not sure any woman he’s been with has loved him. not as true and as strong as you do. so he doesn’t take you or your love for granted. not ever.

dean may not believe in himself just yet, but he believes in you, and in your idea of him. believes that one day, he’ll be the man you see looking back at you.

and dean believes that someday, he could be that man.

someday.