I go by Tin or Lu. I'm over 21. I use any pronouns.
My old account is @tinfairies
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Dark content including rape, self harm, suicide, murder, violence, drug and alcohol abuse, necrophilia, cannibalism, incest and bodily fluids will be present here.
My only major boundary is scat. It just doesn't interest me.
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Fandom Interests
Anime/Cartoons: Hunter x Hunter, Death Note, Fruits Basket, One Piece, Black Butler, Hazbin Hotel, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, Ouran High School Host Club, Princess Jellyfish, Bungo Stray Dogs
TV Shows: Supernatural, The Boys, Gen V, Alice in Borderland, Game of Thrones, House of the Dragon, Criminal Minds, Percy Jackson, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Movies: Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Hunger Games, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, MCU, DCU, X-Men, Slasher/Horror Fandom, Star Wars, The Last Unicorn, Repo! The Genetic Opera, Twilight Saga, Phantom of the Opera
Video Games: Left 4 Dead, Fallout, Mass Effect, Dragon Age, Borderlands, Resident Evil, Dead By Daylight, The Sims, Stardew Valley, Red Dead Redemption, Animal Crossing, Boyfriend to Death, The Price of Flesh, Sally Face, Fran Bow, Night in the Woods, Fear and Hunger
Misc: Creepypasta, Marble Hornets, Homestuck, The Vampire Chronicles, Lychee Light Club
“your designer heart still beats with common blood" is such a raw line you'd think it came from shakespeare but actually it's from repo! the genetic opera (2008)
The idea: John and Sam having an argument about something, (most likely something small that John blew way out of proportion) and John leaves the motel for a while, then comes back and "puts Sammy to bed"
TW: incest, rape, CSA (no graphic descriptions), Dean worships Sammy and doesn't think John deserves Sammy.
A/N: I didn't proofread this and also I'm high so if I ramble or mess up grammar.. Oops
Sam and Dean are curled up in one of the motel beds, slipping in and out of sleep, just listening to the sounds of the city. They know they can't actually fall asleep, if John catches them it'll start another argument all over again.
John thinks Sam is too old to be sleeping in the same bed as Dean, and yet half the nights the three of them actually spend together, John chooses Sam's bed, although for the past few weeks he was in Dean's bed. The older brother had praised himself for holding his father's attention for so long.
Not because he wanted his father's attention, that was only a small part of it. Dean hated sharing Sam. His Sammy. No one else's, not even their father's.
Dean subconsciously tightens his arms around his baby brother, causing Sam to press harder against him. His crotch fit perfectly above Dean's hip as they lay in a position not too similar to how a mother would hold their toddler.
The older brother took a deep breath in, to calm himself and to get a lung full of the warm musk Sam started having as he grew up. Even under the offensive smell of Irish Spring the boys use, Dean can smell it.
A low hum escapes Sam's lips as he tries to stay awake, "What time is it?" his voiced cracked like porcelain.
As if on cue they both hear the sound of the impala pulling into a parking spot in front of the motel. The light from the highbeams peak through the curtains, illuminating Sam's face enough for Dean to see his frown. "Dad's back." Sam says, his voice muffled against Dean's collar bone.
Dean sighs in response and untangles their limbs, they had laid so close to each other, as if they to crawl under the others skin. Sam immediately feels cold without the perpetual furnace of Dean's body pressed against his.
As soon as they were both curled up in separate beds, the door opens, shuts, then locks. The boys listen intently as John sets his keys and dagger on the table, then removes his boots. He still seems to be pissed about the argument, though not as explosive anymore.
Dean wills himself to not tense up as he feels weight on the bed next to him, he holds his breath and waits for what he expects, but after just a few seconds the weight is gone. He listens as his dad moves from his bed to Sam's.
Panic alarms fire off in Dean's head, he'd managed to keep John focused on him for weeks, it was only a matter of time before his interest shifted back. It was hard to not just roll over and offer himself to his dad, but Dean knows that won't work. He'd just be told 'stop being ridiculous and go back to bed'
Unlike Dean, Sam was unable to keep himself from flinching when John leaned over him. His dad's breath was hot against his ear and the man smelled like whiskey. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at John, just as he had many nights before.
His wet eyes gave John a look that begged.
Begged to he left alone. Begged for John to just lay down and go to sleep. Begged for mercy.
All this did was fuel the fire in John's stomach, the flames licked up inside him like the hellfire that will consume him for the things he does. John leaned forward and pressed a stubbly kiss to Sam's cheek, the boys trembled as his dad pulled the blanket off of him.
The moments between being rolled onto his back, then having his knees pushed to his chest seemed to blur together. Sam was lost in his head until he felt the burn; everytime feels like the first time. He cried when John put him to bed. That was until he was 11. By then he'd learned how to tense his shoulders and relax his spine to ease the pain.
Sam never liked to close his eyes when John put him to bed. He didn't want the feeling to be associated with actual sleep. Even as a young kid, Sam was smart enough for his own good. Now as an adult he has no trouble sleeping. As long as he's not on his back.
Dean listened with a tight chest, he desperately wanted to jump up and tear John off of Sam. He wouldn't win that fight, and he knows it. Dean's mood soured further as he heard the sharp sound of his dad's zipper.
The ratty motel bed squeaked lightly as John put Sam to bed. John is never fast and rough with Sam, much to Dean's happiness. Sammy couldn't handle fast and rough, he needs to be treated tenderly.
Dean clenched his jaw, and a low, wet sound filled the room. Jealousy rises in his chest, though it's not an unfamiliar sounds, Dean will never get used to it. A few minutes pass and he hears John sigh loudly and now they both know it's over. Their dad places another kiss to Sammy's lips before he rolls over and lays with his back to both Sam and Dean.
Sam turns his head and peels his eyes from the ceiling. Dean rolls to face Sam and their eyes lock.
Only now do the tears come, hot streams paint his cheeks and causes a pang in Dean's chest. He wanted to take Sammy and run away, to keep him safe and treat him how he should be treated.
Dean reaches his hand out, and Sam mirrors him. Their hands lock together, Sam's are almost as big as Dean's already; soon it will surpass his. For now Dean is content with Sam's small hand dwarfed in his.
School bag in hand, he leaves home in the early morning, waving goodbye with an absent minded smile.
The door to the impala creaked as Sam popped open the door, ready to head into school. Dean watched as his brother ducked under the doorframe, he'd gotten so tall already. Sammy gave a half hearted wave and a “See you later, Dean.” before letting the door swing shut.
A breeze blew back into the car as the door clicked. The early autumn air chilled Dean to the bone despite the layers he was wearing. A knot in his stomach formed as he watched Sam disappear into the crowd of the other highschoolers.
Dean was happy to no longer have to attend school, he found it pedantic and useless. Sam seemed to like it though, and his grades certainly reflect that. The only thing that Dean didn't like about graduating was that he no longer had an eye on Sammy at all hours of the day.
Call it obsessive, or possessive, Dean would agree. He doesn't find shame in the fact that he wants to protect Sam. That's his baby brother, and Dean won't let a damn thing happen to him.
I watch him go, with a surge of that well known sadness, and I have to sit down for a while.
Dean finally looked down at the steering wheel once Sam was nowhere to be seen. A deep breath escaped his lips, a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. The knot in Dean's stomach grew tighter, and he needed to get out there.
Once he was finally on the road, Dean fished out the pack of cigarettes from the glove box. Sammy hated when he smoked, but right now he needs it. The smell should clear by the time Dean picks him up anyway.
Guilt still ate at him. For what? He didn't know. Dean would like to believe it was because he's smoking against Sammy's wishes, but he knew deeper down that it was much more than that.
The smoke burned his mouth and lit a fire in his chest. The tightness dissipated and by the time Dean made it back to the shitty motel, the cherry of the cigarette was burning the filter.
Dean stops himself from putting it out on the skin of his wrist.
The feeling that I'm losing him forever, while never really entering his world. I'm glad whenever I can share his laughter.
That sunny little boy.
The closer Sammy gets to 18, the more nervous Dean becomes. He knows that once Sam is a full fledged adult, that he'll pack and leave. Hell, he'd talked about it for years. Ever since he had that major growth spurt during the summer they spent at Bobby's. Sam was different. Sam was becoming a man.
Dean knows that Sam loves him. He knows that they're very different people and he knows that it's not personal. Yet he still feels guilty, like he'd run Sam off; made him mad in some way.
He was always mad nowadays. Dean remembered a time when he was his brother's whole world. That summer is burned into his soul, no creature on earth or in heaven nor hell could make him forget.
They'd spent half the summer in the watering hole just half a mile from Bobby's. The two would pack a cooler and walk down there early in the morning and just spend the day being kids. Acting how they were supposed to.
Little Sammy would insist they bring sunscreen and rattled off some sciencey blabber he'd read about in school. Something about UV rays and skin cancer.
A smile spread over Dean's lips as he remembered.
If he closed his eyes he could almost feel the sun warming his skin, smell the creek water and honeysuckle. Along with the sunscreen he so lovingly rubbed into Sam's skin.
Dean used to love helping Sammy apply sunscreen and aloe, his hands would linger on his brother's shoulders and the small of his back.
Now he wished he hadn't stuffed the cigarette into the ashtray. Dean deserved the burn for where his thoughts were heading.
Slipping through my fingers all the time. I try to capture every minute, the feeling in it.
Do I really know what's in his mind? Each time I think I'm close to knowing, he keeps on growing.
Memories are a funny thing. Tricky, and not always accurate to what really happened. Dean knows. He still likes his interpretation of that hot, humid summer night.
Sammy had turned 13 just a month prior and was already experiencing a massive growth spurt. He was still shorter than Dean, but his limbs were long. Awkward; It reminded Dean of a newborn fawn.
They'd forgotten sunscreen that day. Sammy got burned up something awful. He was being tough about it, but the way he flinched when putting his shirt back on made Dean's heart rabbit up.
He felt bad for enjoying how Sammy had to rely on him for a few days. How he had to have Dean help take his shirts on and off. Had to have him rub aloe on his scorched skin.
Sammy slept on his stomach for a week and Dean enjoyed laying next to him, ever so gently running his fingers along Sam's blisters. ‘My poor baby’ Dean had thought at the time.
Summary: Dean watches helplessly as John beats Sam for talking about his strange dreams.
TW: child abuse, alcoholism. Kinda wincest..
A/N: I wanted to rewrite that one scene from The Black Phone but insert the Winchester's. Idk bruv. Just take it. I plan on expanding this to have an aftermath where Dean cleans Sammy up and it's angsty feelings for both of them
Also on my AO3
The first thing Dean heard was Sam's shrill voice cracking as he yelled, then he heard their dad's gruff response followed by a thud.
Dean leapt from his place on he and Sam's shared bed, and rushed to get the door open. The hinges squeaked and the dingy door drug on the carpet as he tugged. The family had been staying here for about a month, renting this shitty trailer on the edge of town.
It had actually become decently peaceful, although that was because their dad was gone for about 3/4s of the stay. Dean knew it wouldn't last. It never does; He's used to it.
Sam however, fought with John tooth and nail over anything he could think of. For years the two have been like that, and Dean wondered if it would ever mellow out before they killed each other over a disagreement.
There was another loud thud and Dean could finally make out their words as he entered the main room.
“Don't you talk like that! Your dreams don't mean anything!” John barked and Sam scrunched his face up in anger. This was not a new topic they battled on, in fact it was a monthly debate.
“You don't know that! You won't even look into it!” Sammy stepped back as John took a step forward, he tried to keep from showing how scared he was, but Dean knew.
Their dad had clearly been drinking, and Dean could smell the whiskey on him even from across the room. He always smelled like booze these days.
“Dad.” Dean spoke just loud enough to be heard, trying to get John's attention, but it fell on deaf ears.
“I won't look into it because it's nothing. Nothing! Sam, your dreams are just dreams!” The words slur and John stumbled just a bit as he tried to get closer to Sam.
Sammy had his hands on the back of one of the dining chairs, placed between him and their dad. That must have been the first thud Dean heard; Sam grabbing something to shield himself from John.
“What if it has something to do with mom?” Sam prodded, this is an argument they've had before and it never ended pretty. Sam never relented on it though.
John's hands were flying to undo his belt buckle before Dean could even close the space between them. Sam flinched and gripped the chair tighter, prepared to use it if he had to.
“Dad!” Dean tried again, hesitantly lifting his hand as if to reach out and grab his dad's arm.
John didn't even look at him before speaking. “Dean, go back to bed, this has nothing to do with you.”
Sam tried to use the small distraction to make a break for the door. Unfortunately, their dad had quicker reflexes and managed to grab Sam by the shirt. Fabric tore as the boy was dragged back, then thrown to the floor. A loud crack struck the air, followed by a strangled cry as John's belt came down on Sam's side.
Dean knew better than to interfere hands on, it'd just make it worse on Sammy. He couldn't do a damn thing but stand there as his baby brother was beaten by their own father. It makes his blood boil. Dean wished he could take Sammy's place.
“I wouldn't have to do this if you'd just listen to me!” John had tears in his eyes and Dean had to bite his own tongue before he made things worse.
‘You're beating the shit out of your son and yet you're the one crying?’ The words hung in Dean's throat, he was choking like a dry pill; words he would never say aloud.
Sammy is a fighter though, and thank God for that. He managed to pick himself up off the floor between belt strikes and shoved the chair into John's knees. The wood scraped the yellow linoleum and nearly knocked John off his feet.
A slew of curses sprang from his mouth, and Sam rushed for the kitchen. He snatched the full bottle of whiskey off the counter and held it above his head as a warning.
“Quit hitting me! Quit hitting me or I'll drop it.” Sam's voice cracked from a mixture of puberty and all the screaming. Dean's heart broke at the sound, and all he wanted to do was hold his baby.
John turned to look Sam dead in the eye as he white knuckled the belt.
“Put the bottle down, son.” His voice was softer now, the threat of losing alcohol got his attention better than his son crying from the abuse.
“I should break it! This shit is poison to you. I hate the way it makes you act!” Hot tears stained Sam's cheeks. Even still, he had a look of determination in his eyes.
“Watch your fucking language!” John stepped forward and Sam's fist unclenched from the neck of the bottle.
All at once Dean heard glass shattering, John shouting, and more cracks of the leather belt on skin. Cursing and yelling followed, and Dean finally found his agency to help Sam.
“Dad quit!” Dean grabbed his brother and pulled him off the floor. The belt whipped Dean's arm and he yelped, but refused to let Sam get beaten anymore.
“Not until he says it!” John gestured to Sam, “Say it. Your dreams are just dreams.”
Sammy scrunched his nose in disdain, Dean knew that was the last thing his baby brother wanted to do. He stared at the back of Sam's head as he held his blistering shoulders, as if trying to telepathically beg him to say it.
‘Just say it. Please. You don't have to believe it. Just say it. For your safety.’ More words Dean would never say in front of John.
“My dreams are just dreams.” Sam mumbled, venom in his tone.
“I can't hear you.” John pressed; Dean wanted to punch him in the face.
“My dreams are just dreams.” Sam says louder.
“Again!” A look of satisfaction crossed John's face.
“My dreams are just dreams! There's nothing special about me! I'm normal!” Sam spat, trying to hold back another sob.
This seemed to satisfy their dad, he took a deep breath in and nodded while looping his belt back through his jeans. “Good. I don't want to have this conversation again. Ever.”
John grabbed his keys from the table and made his way to the front door. “I'm gonna get more whiskey.”
Before the door shut again, John turned and looked Dean in the eyes. “If you ever interfere with a punishment again, I'll make sure he feels it 10 times worse.”
That wasn't a threat, it was a promise, and Dean knew it.
The boys stood in the living room, frozen where they'd been left. It wasn't until they were absolutely sure their dad was gone that Sam finally broke down in Dean's arms.
The hunt that night went well. Dad had this shifter pinned under his thumb since the first night in town, all they had to do was get to the thing and kill it dead.
If Dad had only brought Dean along, they would’ve weeded it out a day earlier. He wanted Sam in on this one, though, and Sam was still new enough at hunting to warrant a training wheels protocol. It had to be nearest to a sure thing as they could hope doing what they did. And it was. For Sam—for John and Dean right there with him—it was no question. Dean staked the final blow, gravely recognizing it kept Sam from being a killer for however longer.
In the car, John stretched his hand behind Dean’s head and scruffed his nape firmly enough to jostle him. Father to son, man to emerging man. Dad smiled, disheveled and not quite happy, but proud. He wore it to glance at Dean, then Sam. Proud and grateful.
“You boys did good tonight.” John served up no elaboration, he didn’t need to. Dean let the praise wheedle its way into him. He wanted to look over at Sam but didn’t because he knew Sam had already forged himself indifferent to Dad’s opinion. Dean wanted to enjoy it for a second longer, Sam wouldn’t get it.
Back in the motel lot, Dad fished his pocket for a few crumpled bills to give Dean. “Why don’t you take your brother to the vending machines? I’ll unload.” Dad stopped giving them so much junk food change right around the time Sam started wearing Dean’s too small hand-me-downs. Tonight he prompted Dean almost like he had a thousand times years ago, to a different kid.
Dean’s door creaked on its hinge, Sam’s following moments later. An ease settled over Dean. Everyone made it out okay. Dad wasn’t losing his head bunting orders at them about what they should’ve done better. Sam likewise kept whatever brewing comments he had under the lid. Dean figured he could count on at least one of the lit up vending machines having a Reese’s. As far as hunts went, it could’ve been a lot worse. They did do good.
The vending machine’s artificial blue-white beam bugged every so often, dimming before a kick-start into throbbing fluorescence. Sam scuffed his beat up sneakers against the pavement directly in front of it, eyeing up the options and sticking an open palm out in Dean’s direction. Dean slapped a bill down into his waiting hand.
He watched Sam hunch to look down at the buttons while punching in a code. Off behind him, Dad lifted a bag over his shoulder and reached inside the Impala for a second one. All around them cicadas chirped over one another and the night swelled with trapped mugginess. Dean thought about melted chocolate on his fingers and instead of feeding the leftover change into the slot, he stuffed it all in his back pocket.
Sam straightened to his full height, lifted the chilly soda can closer and tapped on the top rim three times before cracking it open. It burst in loud fizzy pops. Sam tipped his head back to swing a short, gulping chug. This way Dean could see parts of Sam in a new light. Small spatters of dried blood flecked the underside of his bottom jaw, a shiny red sheen bloomed on the high swell of his cheekbone. Dean kept himself from lacing his fingers through Sam’s hair, but made a face at the matted mess of it.
“You have monster guts in your hair,” he said, staring as Sam used the back of his limp hand to wipe the carbonated trickle from his mouth. Sam felt around his head curiously, coming away with a tacky coat of muddy crimson and a grimace. Dean laughed at him, couldn’t help but to. “That’s gonna be a bitch to get out, man.”
Sam cut a glare Dean’s way. He was extremely touchy after hunts, and Dean knew better than to prod him. Knowing better didn’t make it any less funny. That was Sam’s fault.
“Eat me,” he threw back dryly, annoyed Dean had the nerve to carry around a sense of humor about these things.
Sam wet his caked hand with driblets sweating off the soda can and cracked a small grin. Before Dean thought a little smarter about what that meant, Sam was dragging the mess all down the side of his shirt. Not that it hadn’t already been stained and ruined with a lot worse, that’s not what mattered. It was his snot-nosed brother thinking he could retaliate.
Dean jumped on him seconds after, first by shoving him away hard, then fisting the ribbed collar of his tee and tugging him closer. This past year Sam’s gone through a growth spurt, shot straight up like a beanstalk, but he still only came up to Dean’s shoulders. Between that and his knock kneed gangliness, Dean could still push and tilt and trip him any way he wanted. His shirt twisted up in Dean’s grip against the current of Sam’s squirming to get away. They were laughing together or maybe just panting or maybe they weren’t making any noises at all except for their shoes on the ground and their hands nipping each other’s skin. Dean thought about wrestling him to the concrete and shoving his face into all the boot prints. It would be easier to wrangle the drink out of his hands and spill it down his boxers. In all its sloshing, it had already splashed them enough times Dean could smell the cola while it dried sticky.
A door opened and shut firmly somewhere close in the long line of identical rooms. Dean didn’t really care to stop their roughhousing until the commanding voice boomed out. “Boys!” Dean positioned ramrod straight, Sam’s shoulders hunched while he uselessly looked to iron out all the wrinkles in his shirt. Dad waited for Sam to finally glance up. He was going to chew them out for being so loud at the late hour, for acting like mutts more than sternly raised men.
None of that happened. Dad stalked a few steps closer to the parked car, raising a brow at them as a wry smirk fixed itself to his face. “Gonna pick up some dinner. You boys get cleaned up before I get back.” He was in good spirits, but it was still a demand all the same.
“Yes sir,” Dean shot off. Sam didn’t say anything, only nodded his head to show he’d heard and understood. And if it had been a worse night Dad would call him out on it, start a whole thing that didn’t need to be started. Dean felt lucky when Dad just tapped the roof a few times before getting in.
In between the engine roaring to life and tires crunching gravel, Sam stuck Dean in the side with his pointy elbow. “Your bet?”
Dean zoned out on the glowing tail lights, thinking. “Burgers,” he finally said, blinking back to Sam. “Yours?”
Sam drew in a heaving breath before pressing his lips together. “Chinese.” They used to bet each other’s left overs on it. Now it’s habit enough just to go through the motions.
Mosquitoes ate him alive, buzzed around the lip of Sam’s drink enough to keep him from sipping any more. He really was a mess. Hair knotted in clumps, face scratched up. Sam wouldn’t mind until he saw all of it in the mirror and remembered other kids his age didn’t track monsters down for a living. Then he’d get all huffy for first dibs on a very long shower and not want to talk much the rest of the night. There was no such thing as a good hunt in Sam’s eyes.
“Come on.” Dean bobbed his head in the direction of their room. “First shower’s yours.”
Inside the A/C churned cool air out through a low and steady humming. It was prone to spit water out, so Dean couldn’t comfortably sit in front of it and soak up the chill. He dropped himself down on the couch and sprawled out, feeling gross and mucky but sated somewhere deep in the pit of his belly.
Sam dug through some bags and came out with a fresh pair of boxers, a towel, and some small miscellaneous bottles. He padded in a direction opposite the shower, Dean didn’t have the energy to search his motive out. But then Sam was behind him, gazing down at him without saying a word. He’d taken his shirt off and since neither bothered turning on any lights when they were walked in, the moon pooled shimmering light across his chest as it fell and rose strongly.
“There won’t be enough time,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Not for both of us before he gets back.”
The solution was easy. It was what it was. Sam knew that as well as Dean. “Okay Sam,” Dean replied slowly. Sam had red marks down the base of his throat, and Dean wondered if that was from earlier tonight or left hy him near the vending machine.
Sam didn’t break their tense staring, but he did inhale a terser breath. “Are you going to make me say it?” He didn’t look pained either way, only impatient and intentionally guarded.
“What are you talking about?” Dean still asked anyway. Like he didn’t intimately know. Like he didn’t lay awake thinking about it a lot more than he should, when Sam would look for him next. Ask for him. And pretending not to know should’ve made it easier, too. To stop letting it happen. But it didn’t.
Sam became fed up with Dean’s pretending. “There won’t be any warm water left for you.” He took off, headed toward the bathroom without turning around or faltering even once.
A panic peeled the skin from around the achy center of Dean’s chest, awoke the crescendo of its relentless pounding. It felt worse than anything Dean’s ever felt before, and it was always the same at this crossroads. One day he should see if it kills him in letting it run its course. One day, maybe.
“Sam.” Dean caught him as Sam’s finger flipped the light switch. “Okay.” He nodded and got up, trying not to give away his shakiness, hoping Sam would still wait.
They shut the door and turned off the flickering light since there was a window in here, too. The bathroom didn’t make space for two people, but neither of them wanted it anyway now that Dean had given in. He brushed past Sam’s warmed skin to turn the shower knob. Then he worked around Sam’s form, pressing into it, to get to the sink. He tried avoiding his own reflection as he bent for a drink of tap water.
Sam set down his things and caged Dean in from behind, his hands finding the hem of Dean’s top, skirting along and underneath it to dance goosebumps across his abdomen. He moved up, up, up. Traced the thick chain of Dean’s amulet, had it bouncing subtly off the plane between his ribs.
Dean rocked back against him, to push him off more than anything. But he was still trying to be gentle. He didn’t want Sam to get the wrong idea. Dean was here, he was with Sam. But— “Get in, it feels nice,” he whispered, pebble skipping his gaze around his baby brother’s face. “Let me wash you.”
Sam understood and found Dean’s eyes before tipping his head in agreement. He stripped completely bare, tapped Dean’s arm to let him through and allowed Dean to pull the curtain back for him. Sam closed his eyes under the stream, loosed some of the tension his body clung to.
Dean got to work, shrugging his top off before reaching for the shampoo bottle, squeezing a dollop into his palm and rubbing his hands together to coat them. “C’mere,” he murmured, even though he helped guide Sam close enough.
It had started when they were both younger, because Sam couldn’t do these kinds of things by himself yet but Dean could. Then, somewhere in all the gunk of their lives, it grew on them. There was routine in it; Sam would shut his eyes tight, roll his neck this way and that as Dean’s sudsy hands directed him, and they tried not to talk too much. Both began to understand there were going to be things Dad just shouldn’t know about.
Dean stayed careful around the tangles, worked them out with his fingers as gently as he could. Sam never winced or whined about it anymore or anything, but Dean couldn’t kick the habit. He threaded his hands through its soapy slickness, dug in by the base of his neck, eased the notches out.
Sam hummed and sighed, drooped and sagged. Content. His hand circled around Dean’s wrist for no reason other than to feel him.
Sometimes, more often than Dean could confess, it grew into more than this. Dean would undress himself, Sam would coax him under the water with him. They’d roam and glide their touch all over their slippery bodies. Tonight they would need to be quick, quicker than usual. So Dean crept in and pressed his chest to Sam’s back and scrubbed them both down without meaning to linger very often. Sam turned his cheek to Dean’s shoulder, pressed his open mouth to the wet flesh and scraped his teeth against him lightly. They were both close to hard, but there wasn’t time and Dean tried to believe it wasn’t about them, only bodies and their closeness.
Dean got to fooling himself this was better, as long as it was just this. Eventually he’d have the willpower to deny it altogether. Eventually.
like sam admitting to dean she's never had an orgasm during sex and dean makes it her MISSION to make her sister come. pulls out all the stops she knows. even convinces sam to let dean use a strap on
but also. soft kisses when they're drunk. dean braiding sams hair for her. sam teaching dean how to do eyeliner. them thrifting together and somehow still coming out the store looking like their dad.
Dean getting a barely 13 year old Sammy drunker than a skunk and taking advantage of him.
Telling Sammy that he needs to practice kissing because next year he'll be in high school.
Taking it a step further and teaching him how to give hickeys and it leads to teaching him how to receive a blowjob.
Sammy little cock throbs in Dean's mouth and Dean is in absolute bliss. The taste of his baby brother on his tongue is better than any slut he's ever had.
It isn't long before Dean is swallowing the pitiful, watery load that dribbles out of Sam's cock. The poor boy can barely stay conscious and last thing Sammy remembers before passing out is the taste of his own jizz on his tongue as Dean kisses him.
In the morning, Dean gaslights Sam into thinking it never happened, telling him that he got drunk way too fast and simply fell asleep.
Dean fucking Sammy's tight little hole, and he's trying to be gentle. He slowly pushes his cock in, letting his baby boy get used to feeling.
Sammy whines and mumbles out " 's too deep."
Now Dean knows Sam is trying to be difficult, trying to drag out their 'playtime' but time isn't on their side. They only have about an hour before John is expected to be back.
Dean scoffs as Sam whines again, sounding something akin to a pup.
"Nuh uh. This isn't too deep." Dean's voice is teasing but stern, and he holds back a sigh as he pushes himself as deep as physically possible.
Sam yelps and cries out, digging his nails into Dean's shoulders. "Owie! Stop!"
Dean just gives him a malicious smirk, "See that was too deep."
hi !! wincest fic idea :) cnc that turns into actual rape <3
tw: CNC, r4pe, inc3st
note: thought about writing this all day, thinking of furthering it some other day but this is what I came up with in about 30 minutes just now from the itch to write it <3 tell me what you think, would love your thoughts. (I am working on all other suggestions/prompts, dw you're not forgotten)
Sam's head was pushed down, air knocked out of his lungs as Dean's rough hands carded through his hair, fingers gripping in a tight hold to keep him there and yet he fought against the hold, desperately trying to climb up for air but his brother never let up.
"No-no, no, no-" He muffled into the pillow hand coming up to dig his nails into Dean's wrist who hissed in return, pulling him and pulling Sam's back to his chest.
"I told you I could've been more gentle if you were nicer, laying down like the whore you are. But no, no you want to fight back." His rough tone rang in Sam's ear and he was shoved down again, rough and mean.
He could hear the clink of the belt being taken off behind him, and it was like everything moved slowly, his hands clawing at the sheet as he attempted to move away but it was fruitless, truly. Dean was right behind, grabbing at the hands that tried their best to reach for freedom.
Sam may be bigger, taller but Dean was always stronger, able to round him up and move him how he pleased.
"Please, I'm sorry, please Dean, no-'' He cried out when his arm twisted behind his back. "No, please, I don't want to, Please-" the belt fastened around his wrist, tight enough to burn from the rough drag and dig of leather in his skin. And then Dean's hands were back onto him, rough and calloused as it pushed his front into the bed, other hand going to Sam's pants buttons, opening with haste, so easy - like Sam was free access to begin with.
And Dean treated him like that, pulling down his pants and boxers mid-thigh and he was exposed. It was embarrassing how his cock was red and throbbing between his legs, it was embarrassing how he whined when the cold air rushed to him.
He was reacting so well - like a true whore, Dean had thought as he took the disappointingly average cock in hand, giving a few dry jerks just to hear his little brother cry, leg kick out. He was always too sensitive for his own good. But good god did it make Dean twitch in his own boxers.
Sam could kick and cry out all he wanted but he enjoyed this, he wanted it. It was their little game after all. Big mean older brother Dean taking advantage of his little brother Sam who wouldn't want to hurt Dean too much to even properly protect himself. He was just Dean's baby, his toy. Always was and always will be.
So it wasn't surprising when Sam's tip began to leak when Dean dragged his nails down Sam's back, watching the red marks leave in their absence. Maybe it was wrong, the things it did to him when he saw it.
Dean pushed down his own pants and underwear just enough to slip out his cock, his slowly moved his hand from the middle of Sam's his ass, and just as he reached his ass, pulling his cheek to the side enough to get him a view of his hole, and that really got Sam to start a kicking mess again. And just as the first kick went out, little "no's" coming from his lips, Dean's hand landed harshly against the skin of ass, a red blooming under his palm and skin heating up.
But he didn't stop at one, he did it again, and again until all Sam was cry a couple of tears and finally stopped fighting against him, shaking legs giving up the hell they were raising.
Sam could feel the ache of his ass and it made his cock pulse, so close to the edge. But the pain wasn't over, a few little "no, no's" passed his lips before there was the feeling of a wet and blunt tip against his hole and he gasped, legs seizing - he was frozen, and scared and Dean was pushing in, liquid hot fire flooded his veins as the ache ran up his spine the further he forced his way in.
It wasn't right, something was wrong- it was never like this before, he couldn't explain it but he couldn't speak, the hands tied behind his back were tapping against Dean's abdomen, in the three tap pattern Dean swore he'd notice and stop at - that the play was over. Sam was gasping desperately for the little air he had to fill his lungs because he just couldn't breathe.
Dean was pulling out, and Sam waited and waited for the coo's and care that was to come but it didn't - "Awe, you're bleeding baby." he pushed back in and again and again - he wasn't stopping, not like he promised.
The pain was too much, like a never ending fire. Sam fought against the restraint, pulling desperately at them to get his hands free, to crawl and fight away. But the belt simply rubbed his wrist raw and he sobbed an honest sob. His throat was raw from it alone, dry and sore. He cried out for his brother, wanting his aid and not his pain.
"-hurt's, it hurts, hurt's, Dean, angh-" The air rushed out of him just as it had come. He couldn't remember what he was meant to say, couldn't remember the safe word.
Why didn't he stop when he tapped? Why did he keep going?
He tried tapping again, pressing against Dean's abdomen as it came again and again. Impaling him so deep it was all he could feel, all he could think about - about how much it hurt. How wrong, wrong, wrong it was. His thighs were shaking and they were aching. The only thing keeping them up was the death grip of Dean's hands on his hips.
Sam feverishly shook his head in the pillow, tears falling one after the other.
But it was like Dean was too caught up in the way Sam wrapped around him, sucking him in further - tighter than usual and it was just too good to stop, not when the tears and panic of Sam's shaking added to the pleasure coursing through his veins.
He would take what he wanted, he always would and will. So that's what he was doing. One hand grabbing onto the belt of the restricted hands and going deeper, drilling in until he truly couldn't go any further, pulling him to meet his hips in each thrust to hear the guttural groan that fell from his baby brother's lips.
To say he was obsessed with Sam's ass was an understatement, he was addicted. The little sobs and babble of words fueled him on. Only he could do this to Sam, no one else could have him, make him into the mess he is. He owned Sam.
At some point, Sam's struggles and fighting began to cease, just laying limp. He had no fight left in him, choking on his own tears with groans climbing up his throat. There was never a spark of pleasure, it was like someone was ripping apart his insides. The zipper of Dean's jeans digging into his skin with every thrust, he wouldn't be surprised if he was bleeding from it alone. The raw rubbing of cloth against the back of his thighs was bordering painful.
He waited, waited after every thrust, every groan from Dean that he would stop, that this would be the last, that he would pull out and acknowledge him, apologize, anything, he'd accept anything if he would just stop.
But it didn't, it dragged for what felt like hours. He didn't even notice when Dean was done, filling him up raw with his cum, groaning "fuck" mindlessly as his hips stuttered inside of him. The white mess leaked out of him, mixing with the blood to create a pink as it dribbled down his thighs.
And he's never felt so numb, so used, so discarded as Dean simply pulled up his jeans like it was just another night. Like he didn't care.
But, like a kicked puppy, Sam called out for him in a rough and broken voice. "De-an."
After all, Dean was all he had. All he wanted. All he needed.
Mind exploring more about John's???? Just a little? Or a lot
Well you see
I like the idea that John has always been nasty with his boys, especially Sam. He's away a lot and men have needs. Imagination doesn't cut it sometimes so John got a secondhand Polaroid camera from a pawn shop and gifted it to little Sammy one night.
Dean was out doing whatever teenage boys do (getting his cock sucked and imagining it's his little brother)
So it was just John and Sam.
John got Sammy into his lap and asked for kisses and things move further as they always do and soon Sammy is laid out on his back on the motel bed, John's thick ropes of cum splashed on his chest and tummy, as well as Sam's own pitiful, watery load dripping down his thigh.
John snaps a picture. How could he not? Sammy looks like such a debauched little angel.
Dean doesn't know John has that picture. He knows what John does to Sammy, John does it to him too.
Sammy gets a wave of deja vu a few months later when Dean snaps almost the exact same photo, only it's a different ugly motel sheet pattern that Sam is sprawled out on.
one of my absolute favorite concepts in sam and dean with a sister.
i like the idea of her being younger than both sam and dean, however my favorite dynamic is her being 2 years younger than dean and 2 years older than sam.
so she can be both a younger and older sibling, dean still has the responsibility of taking care of the other two, and sam is still the annoying little brother.
and when it comes to wincest... her being able to sub for dean and dom for sammy... dean being in charge of both of them,, but her being able to baby sam and turn him into a pathetic teary mess,
i went to ao3 to find some wincest works and found out that young samdean was pretty popular. at first i was like whaaat nooo sam is only 13 i will not read it(i did) then i said ok i’ll do it but i’ll pretend sam is older(i didn’t cuz young sam was fantastic) and now i only read works with teenchesters..
small sammy is my weakness and i guess i’m a little fucked up but so happy
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