Sam stands in a small gas station bathroom, her dirty white sundress hugging her curves in all the wrong places. The dress is too short for her long legs, exposing more of her skin than she's comfortable with. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and sees the reflection of Dean hovering behind her.
He reaches out and brushes her hair aside, his fingers lingering on her bare shoulder. She winces, her discomfort growing as she feels his breath on her neck. It's warm outside, even warmer in the stuffy bathroom, her skin slick and sticky.
Sam tries to move away from Dean, but he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him. His touch is rough, possessive even, as he whispers in her ear.
“You know you look good in this dress, don’t you?” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
Sam sighs, resigned to let Dean do as he pleases. "I'm growing out of it. Need to get something that fits."
Dean chuckles, his grip on her waist tightening. "I don't know, I think it fits just fine," he says, his eyes roaming over her body in the mirror. "Besides, I kind of like it when your clothes are a little too tight."
Sam squirms in Dean's hold, growing more uncomfortable. She fidgets, hands tugging at the hem of her dress like that'll fix anything. "We should go, De. Dad's waiting."
Dean tightens his grip on her, his fingers digging into her skin. "Dad can wait a few more minutes," he says, his voice dark. "I'm not done with you yet."
Sam’s heart pounds in her chest as she tries to squirm free from Dean's grasp, but he's too strong. He pushes her up against the mirror between the sinks , trapping her there.
Sam whimpers, face pressed against the cold glass. It feels grimy against her skin, unclean. "Dean-"
Dean presses his body against hers, pinning her. "Shut up," he growls, his voice low and commanding.
Sam can feel his breath on the back of her neck, his fingers gripping her wrists forcefully. She tries to struggle, but it’s pointless. Dean is too strong, too stubborn. She’s trapped.
It's not the first time Dean's done this, and it most certainly won't be the last. In a way, his words rang true. From the day Dean pulled her from the fire, she belong to him. She was his to care for, his to protect, his to own.
Despite the danger, there's a small, twisted part of her that finds comfort in the possessiveness. Dean's obsession with her has always been intense and consuming, but it’s the only thing she's ever known.
He leans in closer, his lips brushing against her ear.
"You’re mine," he whispers again, his voice low and dangerous. "You always have been, and you always will be. Understood?"
Sam nods, shutting her eyes when Dean lifts the back of her dress. She shivers, part desire part dread, not quite sure if it's butterflies or anxiety she's feeling in her stomach.
Dean's eyes roam over her body, his fingers tracing the exposed skin with a slow, deliberate touch. He snaps the band of her underwear where it meets thigh, tugging it. He leans in, his breath hot against her ear.
"You look so beautiful like this," he whispers, his voice filled with a dark, impossible need. "All mine."
His touch is possessive, almost violent as he turns her around so he can look her in the face.
Sam's pliant in Dean's hold, a doll for him to pose, to play with. Her head falls back against the mirror, eyes half open.
Dean smiles at the sight of her, his eyes dark and hungry. "That's a good girl," he says, his voice low and rough.
He runs his fingers over her bare skin, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He leans in closer, his lips only a breath away from hers.
"Say it," he orders. "Say that you're mine."
Briefly, Sam thinks it sounds almost desperate, like he's trying to hold on to something slipping away. And isn't that a thought, Sam getting away.
"Yours, Dean. Always yours."
Dean’s grip on her tightens, satisfied. "That's right," he growls. "You're mine. And don’t you ever forget it."
He leans in, his lips descending on hers in a rough, possessive kiss. His hands roam over her body, claiming her as his own with each touch.
Sam whimpers, her breath being stolen from her. Then again, was it ever even hers?
There's no escape, no way to resist Dean's possessive desire. He owns her, body and soul, and she knows it. Even still, she thinks she might try.
thinking about disinterested sex. Thinking about it with Jimmy and Grian specifically. It's a new kind of humiliation, a new kind of shame when you can't keep the person you're actively fucking interested enough to pay attention to you. A new method of bullying, the way Grian grabs his phone when it buzzes and ignores Jimmy's frustrated noises because Mumbo just posted on Instagram, or Scar's new Hermitcraft episode is out, or Gem just DMed him, and that's far more important than the guy who's dick is inside him. Maybe Grian takes the time to ramble about his next build idea instead, use Jimmy as a sounding board since he's clearly useless otherwise. Grian has so many better things to do but he's here anyways, doing Jimmy a favor by letting him use his hole because he's just such a good friend, right? The least Jimmy can do is let him entertain himself while he waits.
Jimmy gets off on it, obviously. And then Grian degrades him about how quickly he came, and how bad his manners are for not making Grian finish first :))
I know posting about wincest sexual dynamics is a dangerous game, but I think they both need to get fucked until they can’t talk. They’ve been through so much, let them turn their brains off and feel good for a while
Meanwhile, the other brother gets to satisfy a borderline sadistic power fantasy or two (they both have those fantasies, don’t lie to me)
So yeah, Sam and Dean taking turns taking care of each other. I need more of that
You ever think about how relieved Dean was in Devil's Trap when he realised that Sam wasn't as obsessed over the YED as John was? That he wasn't going to go down the same self destructive path their father did to avenge the woman he loved? That he wasn't going to throw his life away for a demon?
Then he dies and comes back and finds out that Sam has been isolating himself, trying to sell his soul, drowning in alcohol, teaming up with Ruby and hiding things from people around him all for the sake of getting Lilith's head on a pike. To avenge his brother.
Did it ever dawn to him that he became the catalyst to what he was trying to stop?
Difference between the dynamics of girl sam and og Dean vs girl Dean and ig sam?
Dean would be very controlling and possessive over Girl!Sam. He already sees Sam as "his" in the show, I can only imagine how much worse it'd be if Sam was a girl. The loss (and initial lack thereof) of Sam's bodily autonomy would hit 100 times harder.
Girl!Dean would still be controlling over Sam but I imagine it'd be in the way mothers tend to be over their son's. John would have dumped even more of Mary's duties onto Dean, enough so that I think Dean would feel even more obligated to take care of Sam.
picturing pre stanford deansam messing around and dean accidentally pulling on a hickey he’d just given sam and sam full-body-jolting into him bright red from ear to ear. hurts, he says. pauses. feels good. do that again. then dean’s pressing his thumb into the bruised skin and tugging hard and sam makes a noise so miserably turned on with his face pressed into dean’s collar that dean feels it in his dick
I can't with the "Dean would never do that with Sam bc it's too gay" argument. That's his baby brother (who he quite literally died for). He'd try anything for Sam at least once.
I’m getting closer and closer to not enjoying fics where Dean sucks his brother off because he would simply NOT be doing all that. That’s edging too close to irreversibly and submissively gay territory for him. Does he shove Sam’s head down between his legs and push his mouth against the zipper of his jeans? Absolutely. But he loves every chance to feminize his little brother and Dean sees blowjobs as inherently submissive. Just like his little brother should be. Like, I’ve read multiple fics today where Dean’s the one going down in his brother first and that’s incomprehensible to me. Where are my relevant narrative themes in these blowjob scenes? It would be Sam going down on Dean first, let’s be honest with ourselves, and Dean has to psyche himself up to even think about returning the favor. Why must these blowjobs be so narratively non compelling, I can’t enjoy a fun little pwp without the weight of canon behind it
i find it so funny when supernatural fans are so abjectly anti wincest to the point where they refuse to acknowledge the actual incestous plot points and undertones that are intentionally written into the show. like ive said this before but dean and sam being consistently paralleled to mary and john is intentional. Dean being portrayed as Johns care taker growing up after marys death and essentially as his wife is intentional. think father by the front bottoms. Sam and deans toxically codependent relationship is intentionally warped they are not meant to be two really close brothers. They are two people trapped in an environment they were raised in that brought them no comfort or joy and they are stuck with eachother as the only consistent thing in their lives. Demon deans is intentionally creepy to sam bc he is deans worst version of himself, and dean — having spent most of his life looking after sam — needs to continue and this is shown through his controlling and manipulative behaviour. the main theme of the show is that family is hell. One of the key stereotypes of dysfunctional families in southern America is incest. obviously iys gonna be in the show..
request for dog!dean dubcon wincest (“magic made them do it” flavoured). 3k, bottom!sam
set in early s2 because i can’t for the life of me write s9 i tried sorry! that season just ain’t for me, so i kind of imagined this leading up to playthings!
AO3
Sam’s already reaching for his gun first thing, before his eyes are even open, but there's already someone here, above him, pinning his hand under the pillow, where his fingers fail to close on the gun.
The hot breath on his neck makes him shiver. “Getting slow there, Sammy.”
“Shit—Dean? What the hell? Get off me.” He throws his weight back, but Dean pins him down again.
“Nuh uh.”
Sam freezes. Something’s different. Shapeshifter? Demon? Some other freaking monster category only their Dad could probably face.
Except.
The smell of booze gives it away.
“You’re drunk?”
“You know, ever since you were a brat you smelled different,” Dean says, in his drunk-voice. It should be too familiar for Sam, but there’s just—something different. “Ever since you learned your way to the nearest convenience store back wherever we were staying, lost your shyness talking to the cashier. You went there, discovered a sickenly sweet scented soap, you remember that?”
“I remember you giving me shit for it.” Sam swallows, too conscious of the dryness of his mouth.
“Like you were trying to distance yourself from me and Dad even back then. You were running away from us even before your balls dropped.”
“Dude.” Sam pushes himself back again and this time, Dean's grip eases. Just enough for Sam to be partially on his back, his shoulder still brushing against his brother's chest, but now he can get a look at Dean. Looking at him closely. Too close. Curious and intense kind of gaze. Head just a little tilted.
Fuck.
“You're still under the spell.”
It was a little bit Sam’s fault.
Well. Sam did find them the case, yeah. But Dean was the one who walked right up in that skin-walker trap. It would be too much to ask of him to just ignore the exotic stripper walking out of the bar with a long furry tail following behind. Dean smirked. Wonder where that's attached.
He sure found out.
Three days was how long Dean was riding shotgun as a dog. Not a big scary dog, no. Not a shepherd, a bully, or some rottweiler, but this medium sized shaggy and grey dog with bright green eyes. The kind you could easily find in a shelter. “How cute!” was typically the response they got from a few people. Dean was so frustrated, Sam had to tone down his neutering jokes.
“I’ve been under a spell alright,” Dean whispers. His eyes travel down the side of Sam’s body, scanning him slowly.
Sam finds himself whispering too, “Dean, what the hell is going on?”
“I can tell you everything that went down in this room in the past week,” Dean says. Sam makes a face. “Yeah, it's gross. Someone threw up in my bed, they changed the sheets, they didn't even bother flipping the mattress. There's bird shit dried up under that carpet. Someone spilled some cheap ass wine on the table. The sink has seen some shit.” He brushes his nose, just barely, against Sam’s bicep squeezed against him.
Since turning back human, the smells were pretty much the biggest complaint out of Dean’s mouth, like every other minute. He was walking around rubbing his nose, whining about it, driving Sam up the wall but he thought—well, that’s Dean being Dean. Annoying just like he can be.
“It's ok. Hey, it's ok. We can move, you know. Find ourselves a clean room for once. We can afford it. At least until we figure out how to—”
“It's not gonna do any good.” Dean seems focused on whatever he spot in Sam’s shoulder. “It's not gonna do any good, Sammy.”
Sam swallows. He’s stiff all over, but can’t get himself to move, not even a little, not under the attention of Dean’s eyes.
“You’re the nerdy one. Maybe you would have words for this. But me? I can’t really make you understand what your scent is like for me.” He leans down, sniffing Sam’s shoulder, just above his armpit. “What it does to me.”
Sam’s mouth is sand dry. His voice comes out low and husky. “What are you talking about? Why are you this talkative?"
Dean’s eyes trace back to Sam’s face, a sort of smile on his lips, but not quite. “Guess I’m a loud dog.”
Of course.
Last night, right before they figured out how to get Dean back in his human body, they stopped at this out of town bar, so Dean could take a piss at the side of the road, and Sam could get them something to eat.
“Hey, buddy, no dogs inside,” the woman behind the bar said.
“Uh, yeah, sorry, it’s—” Sam looked back at Dean, who was staring straight at him, unamused at best, not at all moving back to the door. “It’s an emotional support dog? He’s quiet.”
Dean’s snort was pretty much the same in human and dog form.
After making his order for takeout and sneaking Dean a beer, Sam got lost in Dad’s journal. There had to be something he let pass. Skin-walkers were not as rare as you would like, Dad had to find some in his time. The thing is, even the hunters he talked to who did hunt skin-walkers were never turned into animals themselves.
Would killing the creature be enough to turn Dean back? Even if that meant disrupting his peace. Yeah, without Dean’s constant chatter, Sam was finding the quiet quite addictive, but he sure wouldn't dare say it out loud. Not until he was pretty pissed off. But even without talking, Dean could find ways of getting on Sam’s nerves, of course he could.
But growling was new.
When Sam turned around there was a man, probably in his 30s, approaching them from the side. He stopped mid step, a beer in hand, and eyes on Dean who was watching him, growling louder with every little movement of the man getting closer.
“Aren’t service animals supposed to be trained?”
Sam gave an embarrassed laugh, nudging Dean with his foot, but he did not budge.
“He is, guess he just doesn’t trust you just yet.”
“I come in peace, buddy, I swear,” the man said, raising his hands in the air. That just made Dean stand up taller on his paws, just as he lowered his head and showed teeth.
“Dude,” Sam whispered.
The man took a step back. “Guess that’s a raincheck for buying you a beer.”
“Oh, uh…”
“Maybe I could get your number? Call you up when it’s nap time?”
It was the first time Dean fully barked. Up until then he had his little fun. He liked sneaking up behind Sam, barking up in his ear, but right there showed how much he was holding back.
“Hey, that’s not a quiet dog! Loud dogs not allowed, not even emotional supportive or whatever,” the woman behind the bar yelled.
“Yeah, sorry! Dean, let’s go.”
Not even glancing back, Dean kept his stance between Sam and the guy.
“You should have that dog properly trained,” the man said, pissed, eyes focused on Dean. “With a possessive aggression that bad he can eventually come to bite even you. You might have to muzzle him. Or worse.”
Well, that was the wrong thing to say.
Dean jumped at the guy, who stumbled back, but couldn't get out of the way fast enough. He yelled when Dean closed his teeth on the dude’s arm, the beer falling off his hand.
Sam followed behind his brother, grabbing Dean however he could. “Dean! What the—”
After, Dean back in his human body, Sam questioned him, because what the fuck? Was that dude dangerous? Was he some creature Sam could not sense? Dean growled just like he did at that man. “I could smell what he wanted. That disgusting perv.”
Dean inhales next to Sam’s cheek, slowly taking it all in. All Sam has to offer, even if he doesn’t know what that is.
“Dean,” Sam whispers, breathing slowly, avoiding any sudden movements. Like squaring up with an unknown dog. Careful.
“You’re scared,” Dean states, but doesn’t move at all, except his lack of movement is not from a place of reluctance.
Sam exhales, a faint laugh. “Yeah, man, you’re creeping me out.”
If, deep down, there was some desired effect Sam was hoping with that choice of words, he gets the opposite.
Dean rolls both of them so Sam is now fully on his back, and he’s hovering above. Sam’s hand, now far from his gun, gets between them, his palm pushing against Dean’s chest, but Dean slides it away, holding Sam's wrist down on the mattress. Before any words come out of his mouth, Sam’s knees are being nudged to the side, while Dean settles between them.
“Wait until you hear how to break the curse,” his brother’s voice is hoarse, even if nonchalant, and the tip of his nose travels up Sam’s temple.
“Yeah, here I thought we already did that.”
“No, it wouldn't be that easy. That bitch made sure.”
“You talked to the witch?”
Dean only hums next to Sam’s ear.
“So how—”
“There's something wrong with you, Sam.”
Sam barely notices how much he's fighting his brother’s grip until this moment. But now, he goes still, eyes wide. “What?”
“Yeah.” Dean releases him, supporting his elbows on either side of Sam’s head. He's so close, even in the dark it's impossible to miss his wide pupils. He’s also hard. “I can sense it now. It’s deep, it’s well buried, under all this sweet smell.”
Sam inhales, closing his eyes tight. “Don’t worry, Sammy. Imma take care of it. I always do, don’t I?” Opening his eyes slowly, Sam looks up at the ceiling, Dean’s nose still inhaling every little piece of him, his hips moving slowly between his legs.
“How do we break it?” He whispers.
Like he needs verbal confirmation.
Sam gets in a drunken haze himself for a while there. Dean strips him, runs his hands, then his nose, all over the skin that gets exposed to the warm air of the room, but Sam himself can only focus on the neon sign created by his mind, right in the center of his vision.
It says: There's something wrong with you, Sam.
There it is.
Was he expecting something different? Hoping for something else? He really is just a fucking idiot. It’s just… hearing it from Dean’s own voice is… it tugs his insides in the worst way.
“It’s getting sour,” Dean says above him, lips gently brushing against Sam’s.
“What is?” His voice is so hoarse, his throat so dry, the words almost don't fully form. But Dean hears it.
“Your scent, Sammy. Hey.” Dean backs away a few inches, almost sounding like sober serious-business Dean. “Focus on me.”
So he tries. He looks up at his big brother. The intense eyes. The voice.
Something wrong with you.
Sam cries out, arching on the bed, when Dean’s teeth sink deep into his skin, right where his shoulder meets his neck. Dean pulls his wrist down, and Sam feels his—fuck— his dick, hard and wet, barely out of his pants, and he grabs Dean’s arm. To get him to stop biting or stop moving Sam’s hand on his hard on, Sam doesn’t know. It doesn’t work, either way.
“Dean,” Sam gasps.
“Focus.” Dean lets his neck go, licking the mess he made out of the skin.
What's worse? Dissociating to this dark corner of his mind, a corner that’s been getting bigger every time he checks, or coming to the realization he’s fully naked under his big brother, hand wet with pre-cum, just like Dean’s own fingers, tracing back under Sam’s balls. He has no idea.
Maybe there’s something in Dean’s saliva, some twisted gift from the skin-walker, or maybe it's just him, but something softens inside Sam slowly, he gets sensitive all over even though his neck is burning up from the bite. Even if he doesn't fully focus on what’s going on, at least there's no neon sign when he closes his eyes. Not for now, anyways.
Sam hisses when Dean’s fingers, as rough as any other part of him, press inside, just as Dean’s tongue traces the bite all up to his mouth. Sam opens up the best he can. For Dean’s tongue and fingers.
“You taste like toothpaste, but just like Sammy at the same time,” Dean says, almost amused, backing away, giving Sam enough space to exhale properly. Not enough, actually. He can’t take a full breath, not yet. Not when he’s being filled now with two of Dean’s impatient fingers. He’s slow with them, but even so, the stretch makes Sam tense up, and he plants his feet on the mattress, toes curled, the taste of Dean and beer still in his mouth.
When he finds the courage to search for Dean’s eyes, he finds him watching what he’s doing to Sam down there, that same intense gaze. Then, Dean bends down, his face half disappearing, and there’s just the sound of him taking a deep breath in.
Sam lets his head fall on the pillow again.
How the hell did this happen?
He lets out a startled moan when Dean’s hand closes on his dick, exposed and limp between his legs.
“You don’t have to—”
Sam can barely get the words out before he’s face down on the bed. His neck fires up some more, the pillow rubbing against the sensitive skin where he’s sure there’s a big mark of Dean’s teeth. HIs legs, once again, are nudged to the side, wider this time, and Sam hides his face in the pillow.
Dean licks his way from Sam’s thigh up to his hole, still aching from the intrusion seconds ago. Dean’s hands are not on Sam anymore, he can’t feel anything, except his tongue. Long and hot and fast. He feels it, then. The cold wetness from the nose, the fur around it.
Sam buries his face further in the pillow… can’t really mute the sounds, though. It’s the same obnoxious noise Dean made the last couple of days while drinking water from a bowl, loud and wet, just to get in Sam’s nerves. Right now, he’s succeeding, in more ways than one. Sam has goosebumps, his dick is half hard, his thighs and hole are wet, and he’s twitching inside around Dean’s tongue.
“Dean—” Sam claws his fingers on the pillow, lifting his ass so there’s less friction on his dick. It’s the perfect move for Dean’s tongue to get deeper. “Dean, please. Turn back.”
It doesn't happen right away, and Sam starts to crawl forward to get away from it. Dean's nose, human now, brushes up to Sam's nape.
“I got you,” he grunts.
“You—” Sam moans as Dean's fingers find their way back inside, three of them now. “You could control the turn and decided to walk around as a dog? Fucking—jerk,” he finishes off in another moan, quite pathetically.
Dean’s chest vibrates against Sam’s back as he laughs softly. He’s still mostly dressed, and Sam feels all sorts of ways about it. Pissed, relieved. It doesn’t really matter. How could it? He’s still spread out underneath his own brother. He’s still gripping the mattress, trembling and helpless as Dean’s dick brush past his hip to the opening not properly stretched out yet. It makes the burn on his neck just a distant dull ache.
“Holy shit,” Dean whispers, his face right next to Sam’s, his chin on his shoulder. He repeats it, again and again, like his own brand of praying.
Sam doesn’t really have words to spare. He sets his jaw tight, closes his eyes, and groans through clenched teeth. His hand flies to the back, finds Dean’s hip, pushing against it the best he can. “Slow d—” Dean’s hand shuts him up, his palm directly on Sam’s mouth, his fingers pulling at his jaw, turning him to the side, where Dean’s nose is, inhaling once again.
In the dark, Sam could almost pretend it’s not his big brother, if it were not for Dean’s chanting, “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…” Like he needs Sam to know exactly who it is that’s carving the way inside. His own moans are muffled by Dean’s hand.
It’s not easy or comfortable, but Sam takes it just like he’s been taking Dean’s appetite, anger, and whatever else. He not only takes it, but holds on to it. Sam holds on to his brother’s forearm, has to hold on to something, as his body jerks forward and back, to the rhythm Dean sets up for them.
The friction against the bed leaves him rock hard, it’s been so long he had a proper laid. Not since Jess, of course not.
When Dean releases his face, Sam collapses back to the pillow, muffling his noises himself. They’re as hard to hear as Dean’s. As familiar as their voices mixing up is, be in a fight against monsters, be in fights against each other, he never heard it quite like this.
Dean’s hips slow down, his fingers travel up Sam’s nape, getting his sweaty hair out of the way for his tongue, and Sam takes a little bit to notice it.
“Hey,” he says, husky and breathless. “Something… something’s wrong, Dean.”
“It’s ok,” Dean says, just as breathless. “This has to happen.”
Sam’s insides, just getting used to it, just loose enough finally, begin to stretch some more, just a little at first, but soon... Shit. Fuck.
He goes still, just now noticing how much he moved his hips to Dean’s thrusts, how much he squirmed down here, but it’s impossible now. Sam’s about to rip inside, it’s getting so big and Dean keeps moving, small uncoordinated thrusts, like he can’t help it.
Then the heat comes, and there’s not enough room. Dean fills him up so much, Sam can almost taste it. It’s not stopping, not stopping—
“Dean, I can’t…” Sam whines.
“I know you can take it. Why else were you born this big?” Dean caresses his nape, still brushing his face everywhere he can reach. “Just for me, Sammy, just for me. Fuck, you smell even better filled up.”
Sam comes. Hard. He sobs his orgasm into the wet pillow, wet from sweat or tears, he can’t tell. But he does come, even if the stretch is too much to handle. While tied to the only person in the world he still has to protect.
There’s something wrong with you, Sam.
Dean’s hot on his back, whining apologies in his ear, as he gets bigger.
It's the kind of whine dogs do when they’re being put down. Sam knows this because he saw a hunter do it, a decade ago.
Paul was his name. At the time, Sam still thought his dad’s hunter buddies were the kind that tracked down deer in the forest. This man had a couple of hounds with him, but that day, unfortunate for Sam, was the day one of them bit him.
After seeing the dog take a bullet to the chest, he asked “Why did you do that?”
Paul didn’t miss a beat, “You can’t have a dog turn out on you, ever. A dog’s job is loyalty. If he fails that, he’s no good.”
Sam hugged his big jacket closer to his body, looking at the dog lying dead next to Paul. “That makes sense,” he whispered, polite as he always was, not daring to voice the question that immediately followed in his mind.
the first time young Dean tried to make Sam pancakes he messed up and ended up with burnt blobs that Sam immediately named “poop patties.” Dean quickly perfected the art of pancakes but for years, anytime Dean told Sam they were having pancakes he would always say “I hope they’re not poop patties this time” and it was the bane of little chef Dean’s existence
hmmm, kind of want to write a sam-centered fic loosely in the dnd world... like sam who has prophetic visions, devotes his life to the church, only to find out his powers are not tied to his god but something more sinister and destructive... idk just thinking
