Hello and greetings to my humble little corner on this website. You can call me Rose or Aimee, which ever floats your boat better.
I'm a practicing witch that dabble in many things, too many at this point to count but that's mostly due me following the flow of where it's bringing me and so on.
With that in mind, that is one of the major points of my blog (more so in rebloging things that can be useful later on.) while other things that can be found around her are the waste majority of fandoms that I'm also part of.
Speaking of fandoms, currently I'm heavily into SPN and in particular, DeanSam/SamDean as such you will encounter things I write for them seeing as they currently are my hyperfixation.
So this is your standard rent lowering and dni criteria in warning:
🥀 I'm a DD enjoyer, therefore my ships will reflect that. My current Hyperfixation is Wincest ie Sam/Dean. No i don't care for either of them with Mary or John, if anything that will just cause me to block you. Same goes for any Abusive!Dean talk and turning him into a creep for various reasons. I particularly loath that one.
Slandering characters in general instead of viewing them as complex multidimensional ones and overbearingly too much wife!Sam, will also very much result in a block.
My honest opinion will always be that both, Sam and Dean are complex characters with even more nuanced traumas that shape them in different ways. It also means that both of them are flawed, which is what makes them incredibly human. The same way I think that Dean would rather erase himself from life than actually, on purpose, and maliciously hurt Sam, thanks.
🥀 I might talk about my mental health issues, those will always come with a TW/CW and hidden under a "Read More."
🥀 Antis, Terfs, Zionist, Misogynists, Minors. homophobes, transphobes etc. Will all be blocked without hesitation. You start shit? I block. Easy as that.
The Winchester Family Dynamics - Why Wincest is a Consensual Relationship Built on a Platform of Skewed familial Love
One of the interesting arguments about the origins of wincest within a story is nature vs. nurture: Were they destined to it, or were they brought up like that? Soulmates or screwed-up psyche? I have no definite answer. Canon supplied us with both possibilities to the brothers’ emotional attachment: Soulmates, fate, Lucifer and Michael. Cupid brought John and Mary together so Sam and Dean will be born. On the other hand, we have John being the drill sergeant, the djinn showing how NOT close Sam and Dean are if Mary is alive, etc. We actually are left without a definitive answer. Maybe it’s both.
But here I would like to discuss the NURTURE aspect, and be a psychologist for a dime, and let myself meta it out. Troubling issues ahead, so please keep in mind.
I’ve recently stumbled upon an article in 4 parts about Emotional Incest by Libby Anne (2012), while searching for some other meta I wanted to re-read. Libby Anne basically demonstrates her analysis and arguments via examining the Christian Patriarchy and the Vision Forum.
To summarize, here are some excerpts (for the sake of the argument) be patient AND READ IT, so you’ll understand what the hell am I writing about. After most of the excerpt there will be written the corresponding Winchester Family Individuals, as in [X—affects—>Y], so you will be able to follow my line of thought. Now, lets go with it:
“Emotional incest” is a tricky term because it sounds as though it implies a sexual relationship when it doesn’t. Some scholars use the term “covert incest” instead, but that doesn’t really help because it retains the word “incest.” Other scholars have used the term “enmeshment,” “co-dependency,” and “emotional abuse” is another related concept as well. For the sake of this short series of posts, I will use the term “emotional incest” because I think that if you can get past the “ick” factor of the word incest, this construction is actually very descriptive.“ [Basic Definition)
…Emotional incest involves an unhealthy relationship between parent and child in which the child serves as a sort of emotional “spouse” to the parent…
[John–>Dean] [Also, Mary–>Dean]
…Covert incest occurs when a child plays the role of a surrogate husband or wife to a lonely, needy parent. The parents’ need for companionship is met through the child. The child is bound to the parent by excessive feelings of responsibility for the welfare of the parent. The demand for loyalty to the lonely, needy parent overwhelms the child and becomes the major organizing experience in the child’s development…
[John–>Dean]
…Covert emotional incest begins when a person perceives and responds to a family member as a replacement or substitute for a partner…
[John–>Dean][Dean–>Sam]
…This form of incest described as a relationship where a parent turns a child into a partner or confidante that is inappropriate to the child’s age and life experience. Or to put it another way, when a child is manipulated into the role of a surrogate wife or husband by a needy parent. While some refer to this as covert incest, others refer to it as emotional incest…
[John–>Dean]
…Emotional incest takes place when the emotional relationship between a parent and a child becomes like that between two spouses, except that given the immaturity of the child the relationship is one-sided and the parent feeds off the child emotionally while the child ends up feeling responsible for the well-being of the parent…[John–>dean] [Mary–>Dean]
…Sometimes emotional incest is extremely severe and debilitating, and other times it’s more moderate and can almost go unnoticed. Regardless of its intensity, though, emotional incest is harmful and unhealthy…
…At the most basic level, it happens when a parent’s emotional needs are not being met and the parent responds by looking to the child to fulfill those needs…
…are expected to completely lose themselves in their father, and to literally not have a desire outside of what he wants for them. His vision is to be their vision, his thoughts their thoughts, his desires their desires, his passions their passions…
[John–>Dean]
…Families that are dysfunctional, abusive, troubled, and broken are especially prone to emotional incest. There’s the single mother (or abused wife) who ends up seeking to find in one of her children the emotional fulfillment she would normally find in a spouse…
[John–>Dean][Mary–>Dean]
…The emotional cost of father-daughter (as in: parent-child) emotional incest includes stress and anxiety disorders, mental and physical illness, identity disorders and underdeveloped and confused sense of identity and depression…
[John–>Dean]
…It should(n’t) be surprising that emotional incest should correlate with the amount of dysfunction in a family. I suspect it also correlates with lack of strong outside support networks…
…frequently transmute their desires for equal partnership and respect from their husbands into an emotionally incestuous relationship with their sons…
[Mary–>Dean][Dean–>Sam]
… when you reduce the marital relationship into a master-subordinate equation, the affection, respect and mutual enjoyment get pushed out somewhere else…
[John–>Mary–>Dean][John–>Dean–>Sam]
…When emotional incest occurs, for a child to get out of the situation she – or he – has to essentially break up with her parent... Of course, for this analogy to truly work you have to remember that the relationship that was broken off was not one between two equal adults…
[John–>dean]
Not only it struck very close to home for me, it reminded me the Winchester Family Dynamics, and I truly think that John, Dean and subsequently Sam, were all affected by it. BUT.
How it all began? What actually triggered it? I will just flat out say my theory: John and Mary. They were in love? Great. Did they function well? Nope. Mary maybe wanted an ordinary life, but the fact was that she wasn’t brought up as “normal”. John, although “sweet”, as described by Mary, seems somewhat emotionally distant. As much of what we saw of them, they BOTH seem to make that mistake: They are BOTH emotionally distant from each other, while seeking that warmth. Mary was keeping secrets, newly-wed, her family just slaughtered before her eyes, no familiar network, friends or colleagues, John was post-war and somewhat shy, maybe even confused - with partial memory erasure. They definitely had a problem in communication.
Enter little Dean. We see in the heaven episode how he “knew what to do”, what to say to Mary to comfort her. She, on the other hand, stood there till he came to her, and hugged her (and told her that he will never leave her) instead of brushing the argument away and going for a minute to a different room or anything like that. (As a side note, I recognize this behavior from my own mother, except that I was an emotionally distant child AND adult, so she actually HAD to beg for comfort from me, and threw tantrums when I stared at her, she would say “why don’t you care about me???”, and what Dean had shown in that scene is exactly how I would react to avoid such little tantrums. His eyes are dead, it’s like a counterattack, a job to do. He was 3 years old. At least I was 8-10 by then).
After Mary’s death, John is lost, devastated. We know how that one goes. As a side note, again, I love John Winchester. He is a great character, I wish we had more episodes with him. I never questioned his love for his sons. I respect a lot of his decisions. With that said, I condemn many of his decision as well.
He did turn to Dean for comfort, of sorts, he did place him as the surrogate mother to Sammy, a surrogate wife to himself. Yes, we all heard about that. But the scary thought, really, is that following the logic of what has been written above - John learned this behavior from Mary.
With no supporting network of friends or family, probably being followed by demons all around, in paranoiac atmosphere, John locked his little family in this tiny circle for protection. He made dean his second, and Sam was the little treasure to be guarded.
Now, keep in mind that Dean grows. He becomes this weird teenager, with no familial network, friends or roots. All he sees is Sam and John. In that order. Why? Because John said so. Dean represses all emotions, as we know. But to what extent? I would argue that it wasn’t always so bulletproof, thick armor of I-Don’t-Feel. I think Dean did, at some point, feel what he lacks, and I’ll quote - equal partnership and respect, affection, mutual enjoyment, and he would turn to HIS SON: Sam.
But here is the thing: As opposed to Dean’s relationship with John, that is ONE-SIDED, and not between two equal (adults), with Sam it IS.
So, while Sam sees Dean as this big everything, Dean shares with Sam as if he would with a partner. Instead of reaching out for emotional comfort from an outside party, Dean establishes this relationship with Sam, but since Sam is only 4 years younger, the effect is different: It has the quality of two equal teens/pre-teens. The fact that Dean would have talked to Sam as he would with an adult probably also played a part - Sam would feel much more encouraged to reciprocate and to not fear being disregarded, but it would probably also confuse him: With hormones bouncing around, and the probable themes of a teenage conversation their relationship would start getting romantic undertones (…a person perceives and responds to a family member as a replacement or substitute for a partner).
No wonder Sam left to Stanford. He was probably the most confused young man in the entire universe, not knowing what’s left and what’s right, seeking his own path in the world, that wasn’t bound to Dean and John.
But the facts are, that what he did - Stanford, Jessica - it was EXACTLY what happened to Mary - it would’ve broken in the long run. He already was lying to Jessica. He kept secrets. He was emotionally distant (I do read that from the Pilot, in retrospective). Back with Dean he can be open about everything, if he lets himself. When there are no secrets between them, they are like two constants - two celestial bodies orbiting gently around each other. unfortunately, that’s not what happens on the screen. Instead, we get all the violence and grief, the angst and lying, OH THE CONSTANT LYING. GUH.
In any case, when Dean comes back into Sam’s life, Sam falls into pattern deliberately. Yes, Dean uses some manipulative talk (”I can’t do it alone”, and so on), but it doesn’t mean it’s not true. Dean misses a limb.
And John’s disappearance was the last straw.
But the fact that John is out of the picture, equalizes Sam’s and Dean’s relationship even more: it loosens the “Father–>Sons/Brothers, or Big Brother/Mother–>Little Brother/Son” patterns and gains a new quality: Partnership. Which correlates with the way Dean, by the logic of this meta, acted out their relationship for some time now, and which Sam reciprocated. And in this moment something shifts: Sam sees Dean in a new light, and vice versa.
My point is, that in some twisted way, the chain reaction depicted above, facilitated a firm, albeit skewed, platform for the consensual relationship between Sam and Dean as adults, equal and self personified. Is it a sexual one? I don’t know. That is what fanfiction is for. Is it based on emotional comfort? Yes. Definitely.
We could argue that Sam had no other choice, and that would be half true. The thing is, he had choices, but they were limited from the get go. Dean is part of it, but so is John. And Mary. That’s the meaning of chain-reaction.
It’s somewhat of a tragedy, a train-wreck, of broken people, inheriting their hurt to their children, 2-3 generations in a row.
This specific relationship has deep roots, so deep, we could argue that Sam and Dean got married the first time Dean decided to talk to little Sammy about anything remotely adult-like BUT for his own benefit.
In that moment, he started sharing with him like equal, but also mimicking his father in terms of comfort-seeking (emotionally-wise). But sense he and Sam were on pretty much common ground (age-wise, and familial-wise), the relationship didn’t stuck as one-sided parasitic thing, but evolved into an actual spouse-like relationship, sense Sam was able to ANSWER Dean’s emotional need without crippling his own emotional reserve. On the contrary, he sought emotional comfort from Dean, as he would from an equal, and got it.
Question is, what to do with it, how to live with it, and so on. If it works for them, who are ANYBODY to say otherwise?
Sometime around season eleven, Sam and Dean stop differentiating whose phone is whose.
They’ve both got too many phones to begin with, burners for a billion different purposes they barely remember, and at this point the people who call them generally don’t care which one of them picks up. Everyone they know knows both of them; everyone who wants their help wants both of them; all their friends are just that, their friends, held in common. So Sam carries a phone or two, and so does Dean, and they pick at the old, fading tape on the back with their names written in sharpie until it flakes away entirely.
And everyone gets used to not knowing which one they’re calling—what does it matter, anyway? The two of them hardly talk on the phone any way but together on speaker. Differentiating them is a waste of time—they’re always side-by-side, these days, and no one, least of all them, really considers how that could be a bad thing anymore.
dean calling sam “sweetheart” when they’re little kids in a way that’s pretty normal for young kids, it’s what mom called dean when he was little and now sammys little. but then it’s dean calling sam “sweetheart” way past when it’s normal, sam’s like 12 years old and it’s so casual dean, I’m hungry can I have a snack? from the backseat sure, sweetheart. as dean passes back the jerky. john puts a stop to it. tells them their both too old for that and to knock it off. dean nods out a yessir. and looks away. sammy feels his face get bright red as he slumps down into the seat and he does not cry.
It might be a little late, but better late than never, or so they say.
i drew something for sam's birthday. It's not much, but it's honest work. (doodles without depth or meaning, once again)
Hes situated in Dean's lap. His own thighs are on either side of Dean's and theyre on the shitty motel bed. Just an hour ago dean had walked in with a cheap bottle of bottom shelf whiskey, bought with his new fake id. John wasn't expected back for a few more days, so dean said yes.
But now, as dean tilts the bottle to his lips, Sam cant help but wonder how long its been. When he goes cross eyed looking at the whiskey he can see its almost empty- a few swigs of amber settle at the bottom. But he just cant quite connect the dots all the way.
Dean likes him like that
Likes it when his genius baby brother is reduced to a pliant mass in his lap. When he cant do anything but stare at dean with his big glazed eyes and be hand fed liquor.
The closest thing sam can do is realize that hes hard as a rock. And dean might be too, but hes not sure. That would mean looking away to check and he doesn't wanna do that.
instead, he takes another gulp and lets it burn down his throat. And when dean mutters out a, good boy Sammy, his brain fires. It makes his hips buck and a whimper fall from his lips.
Dean knows this is wrong, but when he meets his hips to sams and more pretty noises fall, he just cant stop.
Sam feels like he’s going into heat, and Dean’s making it worse, with his… everything.
🔗 read on ao3 or read here ⬇️
Sam wasn’t exactly sure when it started. Or what started it.
He’d liked to have thought it was pretty gradual, all just a part of growing up, being a teenager. He wasn’t quite so little anymore, but sometimes it still felt like it was just yesterday when he was feeling all grossed out getting the birds-and-bees talk.
He noticed feelings being- heightened. Maybe he’d be more quick to snap, to shout, or to cry whenever things went sour. That was normal enough, he figured.
But another part of it certainly wasn’t. The Dean of it all.
Lately, he’d begun noticing… things. The way Dean smiled at girls, that little twinkle in his eye as he put his arm around them, his ears twitching up towards him as he wished Dean would talk to him like that. The beginnings of muscles that he could’ve sworn used to not be there. The way he couldn’t really take his eyes off Dean’s chest whenever he took off his shirt. Dean was- he’d grown up. He was a man. And Sam still felt like a boy most of the time - that was, except around Dean. It was like in his mind, he’d gone from just his older brother to Dean fucking Winchester. Dean fucking Winchester, who he wanted to do very non-brotherly things with. As if he couldn’t feel like any more of a freak.
He kept it really quiet - or at least tried to. Told himself not to stare for too long or get jealous of the girls Dean would hit on. But sometimes, he just couldn’t fucking take it.
He’d go a little stir-crazy being cooped up for hours travelling on the road with Dean. Not because he’d get sick of him - rather, quite the opposite. And sharing a motel room meant that it was pretty difficult to… release the tension. He’d put up with it for a few weeks by this point, but right now, he felt himself growing desperate. Desperate as in, he was sure he’d have the urge to do something really stupid soon.
Sam figured he was probably going through some sort of… heat. Just a thing that happened when young pups started maturing. It was all normal, very normal, he kept telling himself while trying not to dive right out the car window. His eyes were fixed on Dean, who was softly humming along to the car tunes, his grip on the steering wheel making him wish his hands were gripping something else entirely.
Okay, he needed to chill. Not long until they reached the motel and he could just wait for Dean to go for a food run and take care of himself. It’d be fine.
No such thing happened. Dean was quick to flop down on one of the motel beds once they’d arrived and order them some pizza. “I’m fucking beat,” he sighed, reluctantly getting up to sift through his duffel. “Feels like we’ve been driving forever.”
You don’t say, Sam thought, but kept the snarkiness to himself. It wasn’t Dean’s fault his stupid dog body was going through what it was. Well… not entirely, at least.
“You don’t mind if I use the shower first?” Dean asked, throwing a towel over his shoulder. Sam’s eyebrows furrowed, until a light bulb went off in his head. Maybe Dean showering first wasn’t the worst thing.
“Uh- yeah, go ahead,” he stammered, gesturing towards it, waiting until the door closed and sound of water running filled the room. He’d bought himself some time.
He let out a long sigh of relief, eyes darting around the motel room and feeling his ears perk up as he spotted something all-too-familiar staring back at him. Dean’s leather jacket.
Sam wasn’t sure what possessed him to do so, but he felt himself go across the room to the other bed and pick it up tentatively. It felt wrong to even be touching it. This was Dean’s jacket, once his dad’s. Not his. Not even when it called to him like some kind of forbidden fruit.
But then, that’s when it hit him. The scent.
His breath hitched as he picked it up, then curiously, he held it up to his face to breathe it in properly. And it’s like it crashed over all his senses at once, making his eyes roll back a little and his cock twitch in his pants. It was all Dean, Dean, Dean. The aroma of it so potent from here, feeling like they were chest to chest, joined at the goddamn everything.
Never in his life had he been so turned on by the smell of motor oil and whiskey. He let out a low moan, gripping it tighter and pressing his face in it.
I have time, he told himself. Then one of his hands trailed down his body, and he shut his eyes as he began to palm at his clothed cock desperately. Immediately his tail started thumping eagerly against the bed. He’d usually be embarrassed by that, but now, it just made him even more desperate. The idea of Dean making his body react like this, make him crave his scent, want to bury himself and drown in it.
Sam’s hand crept beneath his waistband to stroke himself off properly, and his back arched slightly as he fell forward onto the sheets, facedown in the jacket as he practically humped his fist like a… well. He chuckled slightly, the leather muffling the sound along with his soft moans as he stroked his cock to his older brother’s jacket.
He was getting so into it, so lost in the midst of pleasure that he didn’t seem to register the sound of the water turning off, or even the bathroom door opening very slowly. He did, however, pick up on the footsteps that inched towards him, and he froze as his ears perked up, not daring to turn around.
“Damn. Didn’t know you swung that way.”
Sam quickly let go of the jacket, looking at Dean with wide, startled eyes. His tail hung low as he looked back at him. “I, uh…” He was all but lost for words. What was he supposed to say? That it wasn’t what it looked like? It undoubtedly was, exactly what he looked like. This was it, Dean’s little brother was a jacket-sniffing pervert with dog ears and a tail, he’d have to move away, go live in some faraway state like… Maine or something.
But maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He noticed Dean didn’t look disgusted at all. He wore that familiar teasing smirk, of course, but he looked… intrigued, if anything. Maybe a little… flattered?
“I mean, girls, sure, I thought you’d be into them. Dudes, absolutely, one hundred per cent, no question there. But jackets?” He chuckled lowly, and Sam’s cheeks burned in humiliation as he fought back the urge to whine “Dean, stop,” like a little child. He was pretty sure that would just egg him on more.
“It’s- something’s happening to me,” Sam mumbled, his gaze darting across the room to try and avoid Dean’s eyes. Yet still he wasn’t deterred.
“Yeah, I know about that. Those… heats or something,” he said, then he looked at Sam in mock pity. “Poor little puppy’s in heat, is he?”
Sam hated the way his ears perked up at the words, even more so the way his already leaking cock throbbed.
“So horny you had to fuck my jacket?” He tutted, going “tsk, tsk, tsk” as if scolding a child. It should have made Sam feel small, but it didn’t. That fucked-up part of him loved this. Loved every second of it. “That’s gonna ruin it, baby. Make it all dirty.”
“I-I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam stuttered, those doe eyes staring back at Dean guiltily. But Dean simply smiled, climbing over onto the bed to touch Sam’s cheek ever so tenderly.
“Now, puppy, did I say that was a bad thing?” He asked, and Sam shook his head.
“Good boy. Well, don’t stop on my account. Keep going.”
Sam was a little breathless as he stared at Dean, quickly realising he was just as turned on. He could smell it all over him, and his eyes rolled back.
“You- you want me to continue?” Sam asked lowly, watching Dean’s eyes turn dark with lust.
“Uh-huh. Just like I said. Roll over for me, boy,” he commanded dirtily, and Sam obediently got into position. Not even a moment’s hesitation.
He pressed his face back into the jacket once more, not making any effort to hide his moans as he stroked himself off hungrily, hearing Dean gasp behind him and curse softly. “Yeah, that’s it,” he encouraged him, and that spurred him on more. “That’s my boy.”
Sam felt Dean come up behind him, his hands encircle his waist while he fucked his fist, and press his chest up against his back. “Doin’ so good for me, Sammy,” Dean moaned softly into Sam’s ear, pressing kisses down his neck and sucking softly into his skin. “Gonna give my pretty puppy a treat.”
Sam simply whined at the words, ears embarrassingly perked up at the mention. “Treat?”
“Uh-huh,” Dean said, pressing his hips directly into Sam’s ass and letting him feel just how hard he’d made him. “Gonna fuck you while you fuck my jacket. Up, boy.”
Sam whimpered as he reluctantly lifted his hips off the mattress, feeling Dean tug at his lower layers to take them off, leaving him bare and ready for Dean’s taking. He was so turned on he could barely contain himself for all of ten seconds while Dean went off to retrieve the lube.
“Now, now, puppy,” Dean chided, unzipping his jeans and giving his cock a few strokes with a lubed-up hand. “Can’t have me going in you dry. Wouldn’t want to hurt my boy.”
Sam bit his lip, feeling a small tug in his chest at how Dean was so caring, even during something like this. But that thought was gone from his head once he felt Dean’s fingers press inside him, stretching him out all ready for his cock. He groaned softly, face falling back against the leather as Dean grazed his prostate.
“Look at you. Gonna look so pretty on my cock, baby,” Dean praised, then lifted up Sam’s head slightly along with the jacket. For a second he just looked at Dean, puzzled.
“I said you were going to fuck my jacket, and I meant it. Bite down,” he ordered, and Sam had to hold back from coming right then and there. He did as he was told, biting down on the collar of the jacket like he was going to mate it. Perhaps that was the whole point.
“Good boy,” Dean said, and began to line himself up and push inside. And for a few moments, both of them were utterly gone, stunned to silence at the feeling of Dean being inside Sam.
The quiet bliss came to an abrupt end, as Dean started moving, and then- oh.
It was like the animalistic instincts flooded Sam’s body, and he could do nothing but cry out and arch his back against Dean’s movements, moaning so prettily under him and rubbing his cock against the jacket in earnest. He bit down harder into the leather, feeling Dean almost growl above him and fuck into him harder.
“That’s it, that’s it, fuck, look at my pretty puppy,” Dean breathlessly groaned, pulling gently at the strands of Sam’s overgrown hair as they fucked. “Fuckin’ my jacket so prettily, god.”
Sam was just reduced to whimpers and moans, unable to respond to any of Dean’s praise, glorious as it was. Dean’s thrusts shoved him against the jacket harder, and he groaned in pleasure as he rutted his cock into it over and over, watching his pre-come already begin to stain it. He kept going at it harder, wanting to utterly ruin it. Mark it, claim it as his own. His jacket.
“That’s my boy, good boy, Sammy, fuck my jacket,” Dean babbled, his movements growing erratic as both of them drew closer. “Gonna breed you so good, boy. Fill you up with little pups. You’d like that, huh, Sammy? Being full of my kids?”
Sam all but lost it right then and there. He threw his head back against Dean’s chest, moaning loudly as he came hard all over the jacket, coating it in his cum and muffling his face against it, wanting to flood his senses with nothing but the scent of Dean during his orgasm.
Dean groaned loudly at the sight of Sam, sucking hard enough on his neck to mark him up properly as he chased his own release. “Fuck, fuck, Sammy, looked so fuckin’ hot doin’ that. Gonna knot you, baby boy,” Dean panted, holding Sam down roughly as he fucked into him, hard. Before long he was shoving himself up against Sam’s back, pressing as deep into Sam as he could and filling him up with his release. Groaning softly, Dean leaned in to kiss Sam - long and slow and filthy, their hands roaming across each other’s bodies until they were too spent to do more than just pant into each other’s mouths.
Before long, Dean reluctantly pulled out, soothing Sam with a soft kiss to his forehead when he whimpered softly. “So. Heat, huh?” He chuckled softly. “That gonna be a… regular thing with you now?”
Sam grinned. “Probably. Might need to do this pretty often from now on.”
“Well, fuck me,” Dean said smugly, lying back against the sheets blissfully as he smiled back at Sam. “Absolutely no problem with me, puppy.”
jared waking up in the dead of night from a nightmare and immediately calling out 'DEAN'. and vice versa jensen half-asleep forgetting he's not dean and jared isnt sam and they not actually brothers. yeah never getting over that
i love sick codependent sam. wdym you were willing to murder people for the rest of your life, harvest their organs and sew them into your brother? so that he can stay alive and you dont have to live without him
my favorite variation of samdean would have to be him being the most pathetic sub to grace the earth, regardless of if he tops or bottoms. dean has never been with someone so okay with being humiliated, until sam.
the first time they fuck, dean lets sam top — keyword, lets - because he fears sam might be mind-numbingly vanilla (foolish, what vanilla guy fucks his brother?) and that dean will scare him away with anything beyond that.
he is very wrong.
dean thinks there is something psychologically wrong with sam, on a level Beyond the Freudian. because sam defaults to begging for permission to come, hunched over dean in the darkness, salt dripping from his weepy eyes and into dean’s panting mouth. dean still has ahold of his leash, even with sam buried inside of him.
the power dean holds is maddening. he is mildly unamused that this dynamic seems exclusive to the bedroom (or the impala). but he also adores and would not so readily give up seeing the curl in sam’s lips as he snarks at him, the blood on sam’s knuckles when he dares punch back.
still, it’s easy to lull sam into that desirable state after their first time. one where sam is apologetic for the littlest of things, one where he latches onto every vowel falling from dean’s mouth like it is scripture. all dean has to do encircle sam’s wrist and tug, and whisper something sternly enough to be interpreted as disappointment. sam’s knees lose agency and his face falls at the same time his limbs do.
it’s therapeutic, to comfort a guilty sam in bed, to talk him through it. dean is never really punishing sam for anything, but he knows sam feels guilt all the same, and dean derives great contentment from soothing his sobs, forgiving his shortcomings over and over and over until sam thinks it is okay to feel good.
sam biting the inside of his cheek bloody when he's stressed and dean reaching over and squeezing his jaw until he stops. just holding his mouth shut with one hand like a muzzle while he drives. sam tries to jerk away at first but he goes still like a cat grabbed by the scruff. "you done?" dean asks, and laughs when Sam tries to nod. he lets go after a minute
Sam who's cagey and secretive and desperately trying to make sure no one notices the incest vibes radiating off of him and Dean vs Dean who's about to make out with him in public and call him baby brother right after just for kicks.
Dean only ever asks in the darkest corners of the dingiest bars, in the dirtiest nowhere-towns their country has to offer.
It’s fitting, really. It’s a not a question for well-lit, well-adjusted places.
Sam can tell when it’s coming. It’ll be late. They’ll either be fresh on a case or fresh off. Always on their first night in town, when they’re two strangers, drifting in on the breeze, and they could be anybody. Or on their last night, when they’re two people on their way to disappearing, going to start anew, their sins left in the dust behind them.
Tonight, they’ve just closed a case in a semi-abandoned crevice of North Dakota, and the bar is rowdy with roars of drunken laughter, with the gloating and jeering of locals stomping around pool tables and dartboards, boots sticking to the beer-damp floors.
Sam and Dean are stuffed in tiny chairs at a two-person table shoved against one of the walls. Sam hits his shoulder on a yellowing picture frame tilting haphazardly on the fake wood paneling every time he takes a sip of his beer.
Dean’s been eyeing a particular waitress all night, and judging by the number of times she’s come by to check if ‘you boys need anything else?’ with a sultry grin only for Dean, the feeling’s mutual. She stops by one last time, carrying a tray of some other table’s drinks in one hand. “My shift ends in five. You can meet me out back.” Then she walks away, tray held high and hips swishing.
Dean turns to Sam with a low, lazy whistle. “Wow.”
He’s always had a thing for the direct ones.
Dean throws back the rest of his beer and stands, swiping his jacket from the back of his chair. He pulls it on, adjusts the collar and sleeves.
Sam keeps his eyes on the stained-in condensation rings on the table. The musty smell of this place and the dirt-cheap beer are going to his head, even though he’s barely had half a bottle.
Or maybe it’s the fact that he knows what Dean is about to ask him.
Sure enough, Dean circles the table. Stops behind Sam. Clears his throat quietly. His hand grips the back of Sam’s chair, and he leans in close enough that Sam can hear him draw in a soft breath, hear him lick his lips before he speaks.
“So listen, Sammy.” His voice is a low murmur. Sam’s finger draws lines in the condensation on his beer bottle. “Ms. Nice-tits Flat-ass and I are gonna go out and have a little fun. I’m gonna get her naked, take her to bed, show her a few of the things I taught you, back when you were in high school, remember? How to treat a lady 101.”
Sam doesn’t look up, even when Dean’s hands clasp his shoulders and squeeze.
“So we’re gonna go and have a good time, and you’re gonna go sit in that motel room all alone, maybe with your right hand for company, maybe not even that, since you’re such a fucking monk these days. Or…”
Dean’s voice drops down another octave. His mouth is suddenly close enough to brush Sam’s ear.
“Or you and I leave together instead, without a word to that nameless slut. We go back to the motel. And I teach you a few more new things, and we don’t pretend it’s about girls this time.”
Sam swallows, knowing his brother can hear him over the din.
“You know I’ll treat you right,” Dean whispers. “No one knows you better than I do, Sammy.”
Sam’s eyes rest on the table in front of him. “Go have fun, Dean.”
A silence. Plates clatter, glasses clink, drunkards bellow, but it’s all distant and quiet compared to Dean’s long exhale, as it rustles the ends of Sam’s hair.
Then Dean slides his hands down the sides of Sam’s shoulders, and claps his arms sharply. “Alright, Sammy. You let me know when.”
“Okay,” Sam whispers, at barely a breath’s volume. He hopes Dean, straightening up and letting go of him, ducking through the crowd and into the night, didn’t hear.
But it doesn’t really matter either way. With or without Sam’s admission, they both know that on one of these grimy, lonely nights, he’s going to say yes.
non-writers will never understand the mental illness of writing an entire conversation in your head while doing dishes and then forgetting every word the second you open a blank doc
I don't care how controversial your muse or your ship is or if you write the darkest of dark fic out there. I may not want to write it, engage with it, or even see it on my dash, but I'll defend your right to write it.
