Mar 8, 2012
All the drabbles and things have made me feel like every week is Wincest Week.
I love it.
seen from Singapore
seen from Sweden
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Indonesia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
All the drabbles and things have made me feel like every week is Wincest Week.
I love it.
Love, Kiss, Happy ending ! (Pourquoi Dean a fait sa bitch, en plus ? C’était pas de la faute de Sammeh ! :C)
i don't know dude! I just love angry!Dean I guess... Poor Sammy. Wait. Here.
"Hey, s'alright boy! wasn't hungry anyway." He could feel his brother's hand brushing his hair gently and looked at him with a shy smile.
"You're always hungry Dean."
"Leave it Sam, just come here." And he felt Dean's soft lips on his, kissing him slowly and chastely, then less chastely, and then he had a hand on his dick, rubbing him through the jeans fabric. "Mmm, De-."
"Tonight you're my pie baby."
And it was the creepiest and the sweetest thing Sam had ever heard.
So, Roadhouse, pie, combustion ! Have fun with that ! Je suis sure que tu vas nous faire les choses bien x)
YES MARINE. Omg, d'you think I could make angst out of this? Cause hell, that'd be fun.
"- Jesus, Bill..." Sam was glancing at the burned pie the bartender just took out of the oven. It actually looked like those pankakes Bobby used to make sometimes, when one of the boys was sick.
Only it smelled worse.
"- Yeaaah I know man, sorry about that. It seems I forgot it a bit."
Damn it.
"- Just... just give it to me. It'll do."
It won't though. Dean was gonna kill him when he got home with that.
___
"What is that?" Dean's voice was deep and calm. Was no good.
"Your pie." Sam replied, half groaning.
"Sorry?"
"Your pie Dean. Bill made it burn, he says sorry." Sam looked at a spot on his shoe and slipped his hand in his pockets.
He could see Dean moving forward and he heard the food box drop in the basket by the door. He still didn't look up.
He hated disapoint his brother, even about a stupid thing like friggin' pie.
don't make a sound.
..."to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.” ― Richard Siken, Crush
Every minute of Sam's life, his happy place has been Dean. Nothing special, just Dean, smiling, happy, loving.
He tries to go back to that happy place now, but all that's there is pain, blood and anguish.
Because Dean's not coming back. Ever. And it's all Sam's fault. He should be the one in Hell, not Dean.
Nothing helps. Not drink, not killing, not sex. Nothing.
For Sam, there's nothing left but pain. But not for long.
The last few drops of pain are rolling down his fingertips, holding hopelessly onto the last remainder of Dean he has left - the amulet. Holding onto that, onto Dean, onto life on Earth, where there's nothing for him and he's never been a part of anyway.
To the state, he's just one more lonely man, driven to it by loss, pain and grief.
Sam feels none of those things.
He feels nothing, just peace, finally being back with Dean, where he belongs.
GUNPLAY PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF BOWLEGS
LINDSAY DAMMIT FJDSFNKDSJFJKSDBFJDSFKJDBSJKFBDS
There was no doubt about it anymore. After all the years of watching and studying and hooded eyes watching their every move, Sam had finally come to realize something; he had a serious thing for Dean's hands.
The younger Winchester brother wouldn't have necessarily called it a kink... it was more of an obsession, really. Ever since he'd felt his big brothers fingers curl around his hips, he'd wanted anything and everything having to do with the hands they belonged to. Sam would catch getting especially interested them when Dean spent meticulous minutes cleaning the shotguns and chrome Beretta's they used almost on a daily basis.
Dean cleaned guns the way he did everything else - with complete precision and focus. His brow was always furrowed in concentration, jade orbs honed in on the object of his attention as his hands dragged and moved over the barrels of the guns.
Watching with heavily hooded eyes, Sam unconsciously shifted closer to his brother and let out a breath, studying the moving bones of Dean's knuckles and the way his calloused fingers squeezed and pressed in just the right places over the weapons until no part was left untouched.
And during all this time, Sam could think of only one thing.
Touch me like you touch your guns, Dean.
nope i don't think i'm going to make it through the rest of wincest week
too many feels man too many feels