#majordemonblockpartyy

[according2thelore]

I have two words for you re. mommy dean and those two words are: nursing handjob

CILLAAAAAAA <33333333 my longest yeah boy ever

(adding cut for lactation) (also smut) (happy monday)

i'm not sure if you meant sam giving dean a handjob while he's nursing or dean giving sam a handjob while he's nursing so i wrote BOTH! I LOVE YOU!

i. sam giving dean a handjob while he's nursing

sam loves dean like this. he fucking adores the way dean's eyes glaze over, the way they cross slightly or roll back in his head, the way he can't keep his mouth closed, wet, hot breaths against sam's forehead, fingers petting and punishing in turn as they grasp his hair.

sam's hand is wrapped tight around his big brother's cock, fingers clumsy and fumbling; he can hardly take it himself, mouth full of dean's milk, deep swallow, lips around dean's nipple, small bites and nips against the heavy skin of his tit. he's humping dean's shin, wet head of his own dick slipping and catching against the wet spot in his boxers, dragging heavily against the sharp jut of his tibia.

dean is so fucking wet everywhere--his tits leaking under sam's tongue, his dick dripping in sam's hand, his sweat sticking to sam's skin, his ass fucking sopping wet slick, soaking into the mattress.

he's completely gone, no one present behind his eyes, just his mouth faintly moving in a refrain, sammy sammy sammy sammy, as sam looks up at him through his lashes.

dean says he doesn't pray. sam disagrees.

sam's starving. he's never been more fucking greedy. he's a rabid dog let loose in a room of doped-up rabbits. he leaves dean's nipple briefly, tongue-first to dean's neck, where a drop of sweat gently rolls over his adam's apple. dean mewls, blinking slowly, and dean's back on earth as sam pulls away. sam presses the smear of sweat up against his hard palate, rubs it behind his teeth, salty and cool.

dean's hand unclenches slowly from sam's hair, and a thumb comes down gently to brush over sam's brow, the line of his nose. sam slows his rhythm against dean's cock even more, thumb right underneath the swollen head on the upstroke.

dean keens, hand reaching down to his own tit and missing. fingers finally find the peaked, tan nipple of the breast sam hasn't drunk from tonight, and holds it up for sam's hungry tongue. sam's hand greedily grabs the tit around dean's hand, squeezing it just this-side of too hard, and dean wails as sam parts his lips and takes him into his mouth again.

sam's always loved this--dean's milk is like nothing else in the world. after they first started doing this, sam lost his mind a little doing research. he knows that his and dean's bodies have a reciprocal relationship. dean's body makes his milk based on the chemical composition of sam's saliva, gives him what sam needs. sam came so hard after drinking from dean while sam had a cold and the milk was thicker, that he actually did black out, the orgasm coming from so deep inside him that he was dazed when he blinked awake a few seconds later.

sam adores taking care of dean like this, adores making dean's body feel good, adores making dean feel good. dean needs him, needs his mouth, needs his hands and his fingers.

sam feels high--a high unlike anything else he's tried--as he speeds up his stroke on dean's dick. dean's back fully now, green eyes blown and glassy but blinking down at sam adoringly, like sam is the center of dean's entire world. sam whines, breathing heavily from his nose as he creates a suction around dean's nipple, sucking deeply. dean's milk is slightly sweet, and sam's eyes flutter as he starts to feel it in his stomach.

he doesn't need any lube for his hand, the slick dean's leaking is so copious that sam just needs to gently tap the bed, rub at that spot right behind his balls, and his fingers come away wet.

"sammy," dean slurs, voice hitching up in pitch, and his toes curl. sam's fist is flying against dean's dick, and dean's head snaps back, something close to a scream as he starts to come. sam's hips are practically slamming against dean's shin now, sparks of pain being swallowed by pleasure.

sam's whimpers around dean's nipple, letting go to lick sloppily around it as dean comes in earnest. his dick bursts in sam's hand, wet strings of come coating his fingers. sam keeps pumping until the point where dean starts to twitch away from him, then gathers as much come as he can in his hand and starts jacking himself off furiously, eyes slammed closed as he breathes open mouthed against dean's neck, other hand holding one of dean's now-empty tits.

he comes to the smell of happy, sated omega, purring gently and nosing into sam's sweat-stringy hair.

sam, too, knows how to pray.

ii. dean giving sam a handjob while sam is nursing

dean was born to do one thing, and that is to take care of sammy.

his body's broken the fucking biologic barriers to make it happen, producing milk through sheer stubborn compulsive need to make sure his baby brother is taken care of.

they had a pregnancy scare a while back, but dean is decidedly baby free as his little brother noses at his tit. he's been leaking through his bindings all day, and he's not desperate enough yet to actually use the nursing bra sam keeps insisting he wears.

well, maybe not decidedly baby free. dean's got one baby.

sam goes practically non-verbal whenever he nurses, eyes fluttering closed and exhaling heavily like he used to do around his bottles. his hands clench at dean greedily, fingers around his waist hard enough to leave bruises. sometimes he'll touch dean, in what dean thinks is supposed to be reciprocity: you scratch my back, i'll scratch yours.

but dean needs this today. they had a close-call a few days ago, and dean hasn't gotten the opportunity to lay his boy out yet, and his heavy, swollen breasts have been aching to the point of throbbing at almost every opportunity.

as soon as dean works his shirt off, and unbinds his nipples, sam is diving tongue first into dean's chest, like he's missed it, too. dean finally takes the rest of the bandages off, throwing it in one long band to the floor. dean exhales in a hiss as sam's first few sucks ease off the pressure that's been building up.

dean brushes sam's long bangs away from his forehead, exposing the curved line of his brows and furrowed brow and doe-long lashes. dean lets himself touch sam when they're like this, a thumb teasing along the line of his nose, a pinky pressing into the mole under his chin, next to his nose, above his brow. he presses thumbs between sam's brows and moves them away from each other, and sam obediently unfurrows his brow, face going slack as his mouth works.

dean's going to take care of his boy, today.

his hands trail down to sam's belt, undoing it gently. sam starts whining immediately, long long body scrunching up to give dean better access. dean knows that to get sam out of his jeans would be to dislodge his mouth, and dean needs him just as much as sam needs him.

so instead he lifts the waistband of sam's boxers up and over his dick, tucking it under his balls. sam's already chubbed up, and the heat of him hits dean's fingers in a fucking wave. dean can't see sam's waist, but knows his boy so well that he doesn't even have to think about going in blind.

he's pretty sure if you lined up a hundred dicks and he had to find sam's by touch alone, he could do it. hell, by smell alone.

he goes for sam's heavy sack first, gently rolling it in his palm. sam whimpers, hips jerking towards dean, and dean smooths down his hair, cooing sympathetically.

slowly, dean works his way up to the shaft. sam's a leaker, always has been, and just from dean's hands on his testicles and his tit in his mouth, precome is sitting prettily at the tip. dean hums appreciatively, thumb smoothing the few drops across the head.

dean starts to jerk him, using sam's precome to ease the slide as sam gulps him hungrily, moving to the other nipple blindly when he's finished with the other.

he makes sure to pay extra attention to sam's fat knot, already swelling gently, and the spot right underneath the head, which drives sam wild.

"gonna take care'a you, baby boy" dean promises, low right next to sam's hair. sam cries out, hips canting frantically into dean's hand. "i know what you need, sammy, don't i? always. big brother always takes care'a you."

sam tries to nod, mewling, eyelids fluttering open just enough for dean to see the rolling points of his irises. his baby's milk-drunk, knot-drunk, dean-drunk, and dean's entire pelvis pulses, from his hole to his dick.

"so good for me," dean babbles, "so good." his hand on sam is getting faster, punishing, just like sammy likes it. "you're being so good for mommy, baby."

dean has no idea where it comes from, and flushes cold down to his toes in embarrassment, but sam--sam's lips snap open, eyes shooting wide. milk spills around his tongue, and his hips slam into dean's so hard that their bones grind together. he makes a noise like he's been fucking shot, humping dean's hand like a piston.

"dean," he whimpers, hands jumping to dean's waist and hauling him close, then, a choked keen, "mommy, mommy"

he comes like a fire hydrant exploding, hips stilling the split second before he shoots thick ropes of come across dean's thighs, his knees, his hand. his knot inflates against dean's fingers--holy fucking shit--and dean humps up against sam's stomach once, twice, before slick gushes between his thighs.

the orgasm takes him by surprise, each nerve ending fucking exploding. he blinks sparks out of his eyes and the first thing he feels is sam's kneading hands against his thighs, then the slow, measured suction of lips against his right nipple.

dean is still panting when his tit twinges, and sam's mouth comes away dry. his hand is still wrapped around sam's thick, throbbing knot. he's only ever knotted dean's hand when they first started this all those months ago. never since.

but now, with dean's milk supply exhausted, sam gently grinds his hips in a circle, and dean has to reach another hand down to cradle it with both hands to keep it in his grip. sam lets out a fluttering little groan, mouth licking around dean's nipples in pleased little movements.

dean's dizzy, almost nauseous with the knowledge that this thing between them has been changed forever. they've never said the 'm' word out loud before.

sam sighs, nuzzles into dean's neck, mouth open against his neck, so close to the mating gland that it makes dean tetchy, a jolt of sharp temperature that dean can't differentiate between excitement or fear.

dean's on autopilot, and scratches gently at the short hairs at the nape of sam's neck. "what do you say, sammy?" he murmurs.

sam's knot twitches in his hand, but he sounds so mellow and soft when he speaks that dean has to concentrate to hear it.

"thank you."

~~~

ANYWAYYYY. thank you for this my beloved <3 thank you also for being so patient--the mommy muse hadn't hit me quite right yet.

i hope your week is lovely!! <3

-lizzy

[according2thelore]

I keep thinking about an "adam raised alongside salmon dean" au, but with like... more childhood delinquency and teenaged serial killers energy.

like, okay so this might be niche, but you know the bit in nightmare before christmas, where the three creepy little children are sent off to kidnap santa claus? and they're in this little tête-à-tête, like "I wanna do it!" "Let's draw straws!" "[He] said we should work together!" "Three of a kind!" "Birds of a feather!" "Now and forever!"

anyways! wouldn't that energy be so delicious with the brothers (whole and half) winchester? adam complaining that he wants to be the one to pick a victim this time, you always let sammy pick, dean; it's my turn! dean suggesting his baby brothers play rock-paper-scissors to decide who gets to pick the drunken clubgoer who won't be going home tonight. sam arguing that he's had way more practice than adam, that's why dean lets me pick, pipsqueak. adam shooting back that, dad said we're s'pposed to be a team out here!

anyways. sam and dean (and adam) as the sweet-faced boys haloed under streetlamps with knives in their pockets and ill intent in their hearts. *dreamy sigh*

!!!!! darling cilla !!!! i want to start by saying i'm soooo sorry for how late this is--i wanted to make sure i had enough time and space to do this justice because holy shittttttt

[cw for descriptions of gore, brief animal violence (as in, against animals), and murder below the cut; this is a serial killer!AU please skip this one if you're not interested!]

yes, yes, yes, to everything!!!

sam, dean, and adam who cut deep gashes in their palms when adam is only six, sam is eleven, and dean is fifteen. adam tears up, but wants to be part of sam and dean's weird orbit so badly that he smears his blood with dean's, the ragged edges of their wounds catching as they make a vow.

birds of a feather, but the birds are falcons. not vultures--there's nothing scavenging about them. they hunt.

sam, dean, and adam who get in contests to see who can shoot the most cans off the fence the fastest, who delight in the way bottles shatter outwards, dean who recalls how heads look the same.

adam who gets in a fight at school in the third grade and sam and dean come back to the motel late that night, a bowie knife covered in blood in the backseat, eyes sparking, and adam almost cries because they didn't let him come.

adam who is always in charge of being the distraction when they need something, standing at the gas station counter and counting change or bursting into tears or asking to borrow the phone while sam and dean snag beers outta six-packs and chips and slim jims. adam is always tasked with taking the nicotine, small little hands grabbing a handful of lucky strike boxes when the attendant leaves to get more change.

adam who gets into theatre because 1) he wants to be like sam and 2) he can burst into full-fledged, short-of-breath sobs at the drop of a hat. he knows precisely how to fake a broken limb or a limp or a head injury by the time he's nine.

adam who gets a call from sam at two in the morning to bring the car to a specific field in the middle of nowhere. adam hadn't even realized they'd left. he hops behind the wheel, age thirteen, and drives out to this field, where a high school party is in the process of being broken up. adam pulls the car up and immediately spots his brothers. dean's hands are covered in blood. sam's nose is broken.

thought he could fuck with sammy, is the only thing dean says, and adam ducks away from the strong, horrified stares of the throngs of people leaving. they drive back in silence. only thing adam says as they pull in is, bring me next time. it'll save your nose.

they give each other falcon tattoos, stick-and-pokes that they don't disinfect between, because they're brothers--their blood is meant to be in each other's veins.

adam who talks about sam and dean like they're a religion. like he's talking about jesus and mother mary, counting his own split knuckles like rosary beads.

adam who is fascinated by anatomy, who stares at dead werewolves and deer and rabbits until dean tucks him underneath his arm, maneuvering his face into his coat and telling him it's okay.

sam who walks "in" on adam poking an already-dead fox in the woods, parting it's open hide with a stick. adam stumbles through explanations, but sam just nods and nudges him away and asks him what he learned.

dean who stumbles upon the same thing when he comes to get adam for dinner and flips out, hauling adam away and demanding to know if adam killed it. adam didn't, but dean treats him as if he does. he hears sam and dean talking about him in hushed tones in the bed over that night, dean saying they've fucked him up, he's a fucking gacey, and sam gently corrects if anything, he'd be a kemper, and dean snaps that he's not being helpful. sam asks if it's any more fucked up that what they're doing, then what they've done, and then he doesn't hear anymore words for a while.

the next week, sam goes hunting for rabbits and brings adam back one so they can talk over the structures, how the heart connects to the lungs and feel over the thick ropes of intestines. they bring it back for dean to cook, who asks if he's raising goddamn cavemen, to which sam says ooga booga, to which dean smacks them both up the head and cooks it.

dean who teaches adam the why--why to aim silver here on a werewolf but there on a shifter, why you have to use accelerant on human bones or they won't burn on a regular fire. adam takes it in hungrily.

it escalates.

all three of their tastes gets more violent. adam becomes a teenager.

sam and adam start trapping animals alive so they can dissect them. adam finds out that sam and dean didn't actually kill his bully all those years ago, just roughed him up a little, and adam wishes aloud they had. sam and dean exchange a hungry look, that says they do, too.

hunts get bloodier. adam licks his thumb, wipes dean's face with it, and sticks it back in his mouth, not realizing what he's done until dean's blood is iron-hot in his mouth. sam rips a werewolf open with his knife, clavicle to taint, so adam can get a look.

monsters don't cut it anymore.

if adam wants to learn, really learn, he needs to see people. he needs it. sam, dean, and adam in a circle outside a bar, jostling with people in a college town, throwing rock-paper-scissors to see who gets to lure one of the drunk, stumbling people away.

on principle, dean picks their first few, to show sam and adam how it's done. sam watches dean with starving, greedy eyes, mouth watering as dean works. he almost doesn't care for the violence itself, just the way it makes him feel afterwards. adam is practically taking notes.

he does the riskiest selections, to prove himself to his older brothers, that they were right to include him. one time, he beats a man over the head with a piece of rebar in an alley, hauling him off to behind the dumpsters, and then uses him to lure his friend out, too.

they stick with people who deserve it. mostly. sometimes, people just ask for it--leaving their group of friends and stumbling down an alley, stepping just out of a pool of light to smoke, passing past one of them and giving them a wink or a smile.

dean likes the ones that fight back, because it gives his brothers some good training, keeps them sharp. adam likes the ones who live a bit longer with their insides hanging out. gives him more info.

adam and sam who vie for dean's approval, his love. they jostle over who gets to pick next.

come on, babyface, sam croons, you don't fool anyone. i've got way more practice, i can get in and out like that with a snap. adam scowls, nudging his chest with his shoulder. fuck off, he says, i got the last one, didn't i?

that's why it's my turn.

dean, adam whines, little brother eyes in full force as he looks up at dean. that's not fair, i barely got to touch the last guy--you and sam handled it. i wanna go.

dean grins, sharp. he tousles adam's hair, tucks some of it behind his ear. he flips the hunting knife out of the sheath in his waistband, flips it and catches the blade, passing it handle-first to sam.

you heard him, sammy, he winks. kid wants priority today. get him someone pretty, will ya?

sam beams.

just grrr bark bark--sam, adam, and dean all lingering in the shadows, barely speaking like a back of rabid dogs, wiping blood from each other's mouths and passing knives and rags back and forth, who run out of duct-tape every other week, who are high on adrenaline between sam doing homework and adam in class and dean working shifts at under-the-counter-jobs, who are sweet as pie to waitresses and witnesses and teachers, all big-grins and normal teasing and earnest eyes Until They're Not.

sam, adam, and dean, who always smell a bit like iron, like gunpowder, like blood. sam, adam, and dean who are bound by blood and spit and tears, none of it their own. they're a well-oiled machine, so smooth it's like watching one brain work in three bodies.

adam who grins and tugs on some businessman's sleeve, shyly looking up from under his lashes and says he's only fifteen, but you'll be gentle, right?, and pulls him outside, where sam and dean lean against the building, waiting, completely different except for their carnivorous grins and glinting, steely eyes.

anyway!!! yes yes yes yes yes!! thank you so so much for this lovely ask and for the thoughts that have been taking up my brainspace, lol!! hope the rest of your week is lovely <33 mwah mwah mwah

-lizzy

[link back to other adam!AU posts if anyone is interested!]

[according2thelore]

re: mommy dean monday... teenaged omega dean whose tits get juuuust a little swollen right before/during his heat and sammy who likes nothing better than to lay in bed with him under way too many covers until they're both a slick, sweaty mess and suckle his big brother's chest 😍

CILLAAAAAAA

yes. fuck yes. hell yeah, even. let's fucking discuss oh my god.

dean's tits always get swollen in the week before his heat. it's humiliating, and uncomfortable, because every single shirt he owns abrades the tender skin to the point of rawness.

he goes without a shirt as much as he can stand, begging off of school (or skipping out, since they'll only be in this shithole town for a week more, at best).

his tits are red and his nipples are more puffy than usual, and the skin is hot to the touch. it's worse during the heat proper, because then they throb, aching and pink and tender.

dean hates it.

sam fucking loves it.

dean doesn't know he does it, but when sam was younger and he'd press himself into the gap between the door and door jamb, eyes glued to dean's writhing body during his heat, sam noticed that dean had to present.

it's compulsive, even when he's by himself, fucking himself on some drugstore-knot that they picked up a few states ago. dean has to do it on his stomach, ass high in the air, lithe arms bending uncomfortably behind him to shove it in with a few fingers, moaning and writhing and begging. rubbing his sensitive little tits on the bedsheets.

it's not enough stimulation, otherwise. dean has to have his little titties rubbed, or he whines frustrated, writhing in agony as he pounds his little hole wide-sloppy.

sam is happy to oblige. he's so fucking happy to oblige.

he loves dean like this the best: hidden away under their rough, near-plastic motel coverlet, itchy and oppressive and heavy, so no one--not even the fucking air--touches him.

he's all sam's in the dark cavern of their bed, hot and getting hotter, sweat-slick skin and even slicker thighs, cheeks high in colour and eyes glassy.

he fingers dean open slowly, opening underneath his fingers like a fucking dream--velvet insides and so wet that it drips slowly down sam's fingers, soaks into dean's thighs, sam fingers turning pruny, so deep into the mattress that old bastards will pop a fucking knot within three feet of this bed for decades to come.

dean is everything, under the sheets. his scent is so fucking potent that sam is high--head swimming, sinuses full, mouth open and panting just so he can have dean in every part of him, soaking into his fucking pores. dean's leg jerks outside of their blanket, involuntary, when sam presses a thumb against his perineum, hard, and the shock of cold air whips dean's scent away. sam slams down the offending edge of blanket, and bites down on dean's sensitive neck in punishment. dean mewls and jerks and shakes underneath him, little cock sitting up against his belly, smearing precome against his sweat-slick stomach, but untouched.

sam loves getting him so worked up that dean will beg him to touch his tits, his sensitive tits so swollen and heavy, so deep into his heat that he presses them to sam's skin, begging him to fuck, sammy, c'mon, man, i need--

but they truly both like it best like this: sam's mouth, on his tits. sam loves to nurse at him for hours, kneading one little tit in his hand while he tongues the other nipple into his mouth, and suckles.

dean winds one shaking hand into his sweaty hair, so damp and warm that dean could wring it out, holding him tight to his chest. dean coos at him--so fucked-out and heat-stupid that he probably doesn't even notice--little platitudes and encouragements, c'mon baby take what you need sammy please god baby boy need you my good boy. and sam humps the bed, so full and throbbing in his boxers that it hardly takes anything at all, sheets soaked with dean's slick and their combined sweat.

dean tastes like sweat and skin and heat, and sam's tripping on pheromones, tongue lazy and swollen in his mouth as he tries to wring milk from a stone, moses and the rock. dean keens and begs and whimpers like sam is ramming into his swollen, throbbing prostate as soon as sam's tongue gets within an inch of his tits.

sam bites the little nub in his mouth, rolling it between teeth, before soothing apology with his tongue, suckling gently like a babe nursing. he does so until dean's head thrashes, and sam moves to the other tit, fingers immediately coming up to pluck at and dig a fingernail into the edge of dean's abused nipple.

sam's head is fuzzy, eyes rolling and unfocused, as dean tells him he's so good, so precious, good boy sammy, please sammy more, sam hiking dean's legs over his waist, twisting so dean's arms wrap completely around sam's shoulders, pet over his head, fluttering uselessly over his back.

dean comes like a geyser, locking up all over and slamming sam's face right up against his skin, until sam can't breathe but can still suck, dean's cock twitching between them and spilling even more come between their plastered bodies, completely untouched.

dean loves it, and sam needs it--big brother petting through his hair and a scent that replaced the space where "mom/safety/home" was supposed to be. sam's making him feel good. dean comes under his fingers, under his hands, under his mouth.

they love it best like this, high on each other and so slick and warm and safe that coming up for air afterwards feels like a different world, cool air on their skin and light and smells that don't come directly from each other's pores.

sam always feels sated and sluggish afterwards, like dean's body has broken its laws and filled sam's stomach. but dean always feels a little hollow afterwards, inexplicably bereft when he wipes at sam's mouth and finds only saliva and dean's own slick. he wants stupid, impossible, pussy-ass shit, wants to take care of sam in some primal way. a way that mom only got for six months.

dean never told anyone, but he tried to get baby sammy to latch for months before and after mom died, wanted to make his body into something useful, something good. maybe that's why he loves it when he's heat-drunk and sloppy-slick-loose: he wants to be inside sam, feeding him, making him whole.

they do this every heat cycle like clockwork, sam's fingers in dean's hole, mouth opening him up slow and gaping and greedy. then sam on his chest, making dean's eyes roll back, toes curling, shaking apart as sam nurses, biting hard then soothing soft, suckling at his swollen little tits like he needs it.

until one day, one heat in some nowhere cabin a few miles outside of boone, a few days into sam begging dean to please let me, dean, please, mouth finally latching, and he jolts. his mouth comes away wet.

~~~

FUCK CILLA i loved this ask thank you so much i am kissing you on the mouth oh my GODDDDDD. everyone say thank you cilla <33333

-lizzy

[according2thelore]

absolutely at your leisure, but this ⬇️⬇️⬇️ paragraph from your glorious reply to my last mommy dean monday ask is living rent free and trashing the mental apartment it's squatting in so uhhhhh any follow-up will be, by me, devoured immediately. LOVE your commitment to omega!mommy!dean 🤩💕 xx cilla

"until one day, one heat in some nowhere cabin a few miles outside of boone, a few days into sam begging dean to please let me, dean, please, mouth finally latching, and he jolts. his mouth comes away wet."

FUCKING HOT 🥵🔥 sammy u naughty (knotty) little fuck, did you knock your brother up???! the people are clamoring to know!

hiiiii darling cilla!!!

(the post in question) AHHH!!! adding a cut for nsf/t/w! this is the only warning for lactation you'll get 🤨 look out

i'll admit, i originally wrote it as dean's body literally producing milk because of need--a baby is nearby and wants milk?? done! dean's body is hardwired to respond to sam's needs, and sam's sweaty, mewling, begging little lips at his tits is too much. our baby needs milk?? DONE.

dean's body literally tricking itself into thinking there's a baby around, so sammy's always got some on tap. getting squirmy when dean's upset with him, an apology coming with a tug on the hem of dean's shirt; big, sad eyes.

or an apology from dean, tits heavy and swollen with milk, aching so badly it hurts, taking his shirt off, unbinding his chest, and beckoning sam onto the bed. they can't stay mad at each other after that, sam's eyes getting droopy, sighing out of his nose, dean taking care of everything sam needs, even hunger. it scratches the most basic itch in the back of dean's brain and sometimes it's not even sexual, just a slow reacquaintance.

BUTTT oh gosh what if dean DOES end up pregnant; knotty little sam rutting against dean's stomach, tit in his mouth, begging dean please, please, please; sweat soaking through his hair and dean can practically feel the roll and catch of sam's knot at the bottom of his dick against dean's thigh, so swollen and heavy already from just a little friction and dean's nipple in his mouth.

dean tries to soothe him with hands through his hair, with a hand down sam's pants, the swollen, fat head of his dick so wet that it practically weeps in dean's hand, and dean just knows that when he comes, it'll pool all over his stomach, that sammy'll rub it in, nose through it, and dean'll have to wash it off in the morning, dried and flaking, while sam bites protestingly at the meat of his shoulder.

sam's balls are heavy, so heavy, when dean trails a hand down, like he hasn't come for a week instead of dean jerking him off sweet and slow that same morning, sam keening and whining and tearing up, begging.

like he's doing now.

sam's next rut against his thigh has more strength, and dean is scooted an inch back. fuck. it's so easy to forget when sam acts like an abandoned pup how powerful his baby brother is, how if sam wanted to he could snap dean's back like a spaghetti noodle. his baby brother's still a young alpha; but way, way too old to be this clingy.

he abandons dean's nipple as he starts humping dean in earnest, sloppily grinding against dean's heat. he loses all sense like this, when it's just him and dean. brainless little knot. dean's already not firing on all cylinders already; something about the way sammy needs him so badly makes him knot-drunk and stupid.

so maybe that's why he doesn't protest when sammy finally slips dean's boxers over his ass, dick bullying his way inside his hot, slick hole--dripping already from coming twice after sammy bit down not too far from his mating gland near an hour ago.

maybe that's why when sam comes inside, dean throws his head back in a wordless scream, eyes rolling in the back of his head and doesn't stir for another half hour.

when sam's mouth comes away wet months later, the damn kid lights up like a billboard sign, all neon and sparks and colour, frantically nosing along dean's neck, across his swollen tits, down to the core of him.

sam bubbles over, couldn't look apologetic if he tried, fingers sinking into dean's cunt and mouth on his tits again, smiling so hard that he can't hardly close his mouth around a nipple.

dean's brain is spinning, stomach sinking like a stone. fuck. dean hasn't been fucking anyone else, of course it's sam's. sam leaks sperm like a faucet and dean couldn't explain the teethmarks around his tits even if he wanted to have sex somewhere else.

they can't raise a kid, dean's certain of it. but his blood still sings as he smells sam's joy, feels the heat of him, as sam drinks from dean deep, soothing an itch in the back of his brain he hadn't even known he had.

sam drinks like it can save him, paws at dean nervously like he wants to devour him but isn't quite sure if dean'll let him.

slow down, dean rasps, hand in sam's hair. gonna tear my tit off. sam licks his skin apologetically, but doesn't slow. all yours. dean mutters, smoothing over an eyebrow with his thumb. sam jerks back so he can see dean's face, and his smile is beatific.

thank you so much for being so patient 😭😭 i hope you enjoyed this! i've been a literal mess these past two months, as you might've gleaned from my maudlin post a bit back. but i love u and i love mommy dean monday posts, and TRUST i have your other ask 🙏 i hope the rest of your week is absolutely spectacular!! <3

-lizzy

[according2thelore]

It's still wincest wednesday in my neck of the woods, so here's what's been chewing up my brain all day (full house of wincest, ahoy!):

They have to be.... selective with how and when they play this game. They have to be planning to leave -- not on a hunt; for good -- within the day. Dad prefers if their bags are already packed and in the car; Dean argues that an empty room screams of entrapment, that they need his pile of dirty clothes and Sam's broken-spined paperback splayed out on the bedside table to sell it. (Sam could give a shit if they're packed or not; this is his absolute favorite, the one thing he's asked for his past two birthdays.)

Sometimes Sam gets to play the bait, but usually he lets Dean do it. He's had more practice, and besides... Sam doesn't mind one bit if he has the spend the first part hidden in a closet or bathroom, so long as there's a door to crack open. (Sam likes to watch.)

Sam loves to get that cryptic omw+1 text from Dean, his cue to scamper into his hidey-hole, make himself unseen. Dean's had his way this time -- half the room is still littered with teenage-boy detritus, meant to look like Dean's been crashing here unsupervised for who knows how long.

Dean's loud when he comes in, always makes a show of banging into doorframes and tables and luggage racks, all so Sam can push his fingertips into Dean's bruises later. Whoever's day Dean has chosen to ruin is always behind-beside-all-over him, and always different -- classmates, sometimes, but more often marks he's picked up in the park, the truck stop bathroom, the side of the road. Men, mostly, but sometimes women. Girls and boys -- one time both at once, Chandler West and Alicia Wichman who sat on either side of him in Algebra.

Sam watches raptor-like, knows all of Dean's moves and where each one will lead, a chess master of this particular board. If this, then that. If they kiss Dean's throat, he'll unbutton his shirt. If they touch his chin, he'll tuck his head all fake-bashful so he can look at wherever Sam's squirreled away through the fringe of his eyelashes.

Dean likes to still be partially dressed, but Sam and Dad both like him bare, so rarely do they compromise. Dean's running the show here in the room, but Dad says his exhibitionist tendencies are likely to land him in trouble someday if he's not careful -- he likes to be looked at, can practically get off just from being petted and told how strong and good and pretty he is.

Dean's stripped down to his socks and shirt, his bare dick leaving wet-black streaks on the inside of his grey tee. Sam wants to ruck it up under his chin, to make Dean hold the wad of fabric between his teeth so Sam can see everything, but Dean's still playing shy, tugging the hem down to cover himself. The man of the hour -- gas station clerk, Sam realizes; the one who's sold them cigarettes and candy bars after school more days than not for the past month -- reaches underneath to get himself a good solid handful of Dean, moans load and unselfconscious right against Dean's neck.

He's muttering something about "could tell from the first time you came in" and "standing outside, smoking like you couldn't stand not to have something in that mouth for more'n a minute, fuck" and Sam's over it, he's done; he reaches for his phone and fires off a text to Dad: playtime's over

It's what Dad had said, the first and only time he'd actually caught Dean (and Sam) by surprise; nine and thirteen, Sam's junk stuffed in Dean's mouth and Dean with three of Sam's Astroglide-slick fingers already inside. (He'd been practicing, he told Sam, in the shower. Sometimes after school, if Sam had managed to convince Dad to let him do this extracurricular or that for a while.) When they'd wrenched apart and Dean had thrown the scratchy polyester coverlet over Sam's lap and they'd both stared up at Dad with matching rabbiting pulses pounding, and Dad had just looked... smug. Not mad, not horrified or upset; he'd crouched at the foot of the bed and yanked the covers off them, watching goosebumps pop up of every naked inch of skin. "Playtime's over, boys," he'd said, with that big grin of his that tilts up at one side, and that was a lie; playtime was just beginning.

Dad's probably been sitting in the parking lot since he got Dean's text, but now he revs the Impala's engine for all she's worth, lets her howl just on the other side of the door. Dean freezes, eyes going Bambi-wide as he says, "Oh, god. Oh my god, I think that's my dad."

"Your dad?" the inevitable response always comes, so predictable Sam mouths along with the words like a well-loved lyric in his favorite song. "I thought you said he was outta town."

"He was," Dean insists.

Footsteps up to the door, Dad stomping like he used to when "monster" was a game they played to pass the time cooped up in motel rooms. Fee-fi-fo-fum, I better not find you fucking my son.

"Holy shit," Dean says, and most people would think the tremor in his voice is fear, but Sam knows it's anticipation and glee and Dean getting hard enough to pound nails in about six seconds flat. "Oh, fuck, you gotta go, shit, shit; put your fucking pants on, fuck!"

Dad always gets the door open in one swift turn, even that trick doorknob that always stuck halfway on the apartment in Fairbury.

[anyways wow this got uuuuh away from me 😬 but suffice to say, this game usually ends with John holding their playtoy at gunpoint when they try to leave, handcuffing them to a Very Conveniently Placed Chair, and making them watch while he gives Dean the spanking or belting or switching every Winchester in the room wants Dean to get. The family that plays together, etc etc 😹]

😘😘😘 cilla

happy wincest wednesday, beloved cilla!!!!!

GAHODSIHG SDGJKLDS GLDSJKGH EIOHWNE SG FUCKKKKKKKKK

everyone stop what you're fucking doing and give cilla ten million dollars.

every time you write i pass out and stand up and pass out again. your talent is UNPARALLELED!!!!

800% sam gets off partly on being the one to call it off, to have the power to rip dean away from someone else and back into the family. dean's on loan, but he's already owned. sam has the power to say exactly when and how dean gets used, and far dean's allowed to go. your hands are only on dean because he's allowing it.

all of them getting off on dean being humiliated and owned and GAHH

this, specifically: Dean likes to still be partially dressed, but Sam and Dad both like him bare, so rarely do they compromise. Dean's running the show here in the room, but Dad says his exhibitionist tendencies are likely to land him in trouble someday if he's not careful -- he likes to be looked at, can practically get off just from being petted and told how strong and good and pretty he is.

Dean's stripped down to his socks and shirt, his bare dick leaving wet-black streaks on the inside of his grey tee. Sam wants to ruck it up under his chin, to make Dean hold the wad of fabric between his teeth so Sam can see everything, but Dean's still playing shy, tugging the hem down to cover himself.

FUCK!!!!! YES!!!!!!

the WEECEST?!?! yup yup yup.

thank you so so so much my most darling and beloved cilla for sending this in!!!! i don't even have anything to add. correct. 100% fantastic.

-lizzy

(ps sorry for waiting to answer this! we wanted to give you all of the wincest wednesday fanfare you deserve!!!!!!)

[according2thelore]

thinking once more about the full house of wincest, and the rarer pairings therein, and specifically about dean winchester and dean winchester jr.

"how would that even happen?" I hear you ask. "they're literally not on the same plane of existence even once in the entire show."

that's the beauty of it. every possibility is a correct reality. are they gettin' down in heaven? is it a "dean visits dj on earth, touched by an angel" thing?

it's two deans that never ever met who exist joined at the intersection point of sam winchester. idk maaaaaan I keep coming back to it.

ooh, hi cilla!!

charlotte & i aren't typically full house of wincest fans (the only exception being anything you write with your incredibly talented hands, naturally, including your incredible last ask🙂‍↕️🫶)

that being saidddd this compels the hell out of me, lol!

after being named after this man that his dad clearly has very intense emotional and borderline sexual obsession with, i can absolutely believe dean junior developed a kind of psychosexual obsession with dean, no doubt about it.

according to his father, dean was funny, and irreverant, and violent, and terrible, and pious, and loyal, and honest, and manipulative, and perfect, and most importantly, dean was The Only Thing.

he was god, and sam held god as he died, and the first thing sam had full control over in his life, he named after this man.

sam used to tell dean junior bedtime stories about this knight in shining armor that always got the girl and the car and the dream and the gold and the victory.

and dean junior's mom and dad didn't talk for a month because sam said his name during sex. sam cries out for dean in his sleep, sam breathlessly begs for dean when he's having panic attacks, but dean junior is clearly not the person he wants.

dean's the shadow that haunts the corner of his bedroom at night and the god that his dad prays to every sunday and the altar that sits untouched in their garage.

sam named junior after dean because he wants dean more than he could ever want junior, and junior started to feel like a replacement, especially as sam would get older and confused. there were moments where he would call for dean, and his face would change when dean junior responded to his name and entered the room, instead.

so whether this happens in person or in heaven after the fact, junior has a lot of simultaneous resentment and hero worship for dean.

dean breaks junior in in all the ways he wouldn't let himself break sam in as they got older.

dean fucks junior hard and fast and breathless. he pins him down with a hand on his throat, iron tight, grin knife-sharp and rhythm punishing. he spits on his hole, and fucks him raw. he only gets sweet if he reminds him too much of sam, tears in his eyes and begging dean to let him come, please dean, please. it's punishment for only being half-sam, for being half-not-dean.

junior chokes on his cock like communion, even when dean holds him down until he can't breathe, salt sputtering up his throat and making his vision spot; dying for his father's god. taking the same penance his father did.

junior leaves scratches on dean's arms, his back, his neck; he tries to crawl into him, tries to fuse them into one Dean. dean's not a god when his skin rips and bleeds under junior's nails, when his sweat coats junior's back, when his hips stutter because junior is just so damn tight.

on junior's part, being fucked by dean is transubstantiation.

on dean's part, junior's got sam's tilted eyes and the same nose and the same habit of biting down on his bottom lip until it bleeds and when dean closes his eyes, he begs just like his father does, voice cracking and panting the exact same. he's sam with dean's name stamped on him, a mix of everything they used to be and everything dean won't ever get to have--that he didn't get the chance to have--so he fucks junior like he's trying to break him.

he bites down hard on the back of junior's neck, his thighs, the base of his neck until he draws blood, and wonders deliriously what percentage of this blood is his. how much of himself is he swallowing down, how much of his DNA does his body recognize as self in his stomach?

junior is barely his own person, just a part of sam that he gave to dean, ownership through name. he's half sam, in parts per volume, and dean has always owned sam, anyway.

fucking junior would be an assertion of dominance over the half of him that's blurry wife. dean puts her baby boy on his back, shoves his face into pillows with his ass in the air and keeps him there with a hand on the back of his neck. he owns every man in her pathetic life. she was wrong to think she could ever own a part of sam, even the ones she helped create.

does he love the kid? absolutely. more than the fucking breath in his lungs. the kid is his. simple as that.

this ended up a lot more psychological than i intended...whoops!

thank you so much for this ask!!!! i'm so sorry it took me so long to respond--my exam schedule has kept me pinned under an indomitable weight, lol! this ask was SO FUN!!!! would love to hear any thoughts you have about this, lol! <3 mwah mwah mwah

-lizzy :)