#pre stanford era

[girlboysam]

anthems for a seventeen year old girl

pre-stanford sam moodboard

[tongjingnian2point0]

Drive Into the Colors of You

I finally finished the animation I mentioned

Here are some gifs. I was about to upload the video but tumblr said it's too big and :/

anyway, come to YouTube & watch it! Tell me how you like it ;)

[ghostgirl-22]

Devour Me

18+ !NSFW!

Day 19: Biting (one day I’ll actually post on the same day of the prompt 😭)

Pair: Artrick (before Tashi)

———————————————-

Patrick calls it marking his territory but honestly it’s likely Art doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He’s so orally fixated, always chewing gum, biting his nails, licking, sucking, tasting…keeping something in his mouth.

Patrick watches everything that goes in his mouth. He wants to put a few more things in there.

He’s orally fixated too… in the way that he can’t help fixating on Art's mouth.

He used to think it was annoying that Art would get stuck on the making out phase until he realized that for him, this was the main event. Art would climb all over him, lost in it. Getting hard just licking into Patrick’s mouth, wet and sloppy—barely kissing, just exploring. Tongue on his chin and lips. Sucking the skin of Patrick’s throat between his teeth and nibbling. Biting and sucking anywhere skin was exposed. Both of them, moaning. Humping the bed, humping each other. Taking turns coming again and again which would only make Art bite harder. Leaving Patrick sweaty and gasping with marks and welts and bruises all over his body.

Art would whisper sorry and Patrick would just tangle his fingers into Art's hair and keep him close till he made an excuse to get up.

It didn’t even stop there. Patrick would finger the bites, the bruises, alone in the shower or late, late at night when Art was fast asleep snoring in the bed next to him. He’d press into them. Especially the fresh ones to feel the delicious, delicate pain of it, making it all worse. Hoping they’d become permanent, little tattoos of Art’s longing all over him. He'd get so hard he’d almost blow it without touching.

It’s likely Art doesn’t even realize he’s doing it but Patrick can still imagine Art’s marking him on purpose, making sure everyone knows what Patrick already knows. Patrick is always going to be his.

[thatbloodjunkie]

Sammy in Stanford

Jared padalecki in Christmas Cottage - 2009

Cr to owner.

[jonnyconstantine]

young sam & dean wearing john's jackets

[hexedwinchester]

In my head, this is pre-Stanford Sam going out to buy supplies in Dean's car, wearing his leather jacket because Dean can't as he broke his leg on a hunt. Oh btw, that's him laughing at his brother's annoyed but helpless expression on his way out 🤣🤣

[jinkieswouldyoulookatthis]

OMG, so at the recommendation of a post I reblogged earlier, I dug back down into the midst of the fanfics, filtering for sam/dean wincest and sorting by kudos, but picking a six month span of time right around when I first started watching Supernatural and while I'd previously read the first fic that came up, the second one I hadn't read but it was by an author whose other works I'm very familiar with, so I opened it up and OH MY GOD it was exactly what I'd wanted to read today! Pre-Stanford, first time, top notch characterization, so fucking hot... GAH!!!

[fandom-hoarder]

Playlist finalized. Was gonna wait til the fic was done, but this won't really spoil anything because it's more for vibes than plot.

I was thinking about making a cover, but I was fighting with canva, and tbh I like the preview albums and didn't want to worry about noting credit on spotify.

Pics (my reblogs for link integrity): [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

[coca-colas-truck-driver]

[spn2006]

thinking about the years that sam was at stanford and it was just dean and john alone together, for really the first time in dean’s entire life. do you ever wonder how quiet the car rides must’ve been? how restless dean was, sleeping for the first time in a room with no sam. how many times do you think john almost bought extra supplies for sammy at whatever run down drug store he ran into, just as a force of habit. do you think the two of them ever grieved, knowing their sweet boy was still alive but practically dead to them. and what about the arguments they must’ve had, when the absence of sam got so overwhelming and they had to blame someone and had nothing else to do but shout at each other—but never loud enough for sam to hear.

[bitchface24-7]

Imagine this… Dean visits Sam at Stanford behind Johns back

(fuck you john 👊😒)

When Sam got kicked out with a busted lip, a pre-packed duffle bag, and tears in his eyes, he didn’t expect Dean to follow him. He didn’t expect Dean to offer to drive him to the nearest bus-stop to get to Stanford in one piece. He didn’t expect the overwhelming hug Dean gave him before he left (No chick-flick moments, Sammy! He remembers Dean saying all the time. Dean’s a bit of a hypocrite)

He doesn’t expect to see tears watering his big brothers vision before he leaves. He doesn’t expect Dean to still be at the bus-stop as the bus rolls away; leaning against baby and waving demurely. Sam didn’t expect most things that night. But above all else;

Sam didn’t expect to find a slip of paper sneakily shoved into his hoodie pocket, it’s a phone number he doesn’t recognize.

It’s for a burner phone Dad has no idea existed.

——————

Life at Stanford is everything Sam ever dreamed of! It’s relaxing, calming, interesting… boring.

Don’t get Sam wrong, he loves it here! He loves the atmosphere, how everyone here wants to be here. He loves the library, his classes (he doesn’t get some of his pre-requisites though. Why is he taking an art course as a pre-law student? Whatever…) and the friends he’s made here.

Brady his roommate is a bit of a slob, prefers parties over studying, and is a bit of a mischief maker. But he makes it up to Sam, he’s a surprisingly good cook. Jess became his best friend on the second day of classes. She’s the best. She’s funny, witty, outgoing, and really pretty. She’s got green eyes, freckles, and this beautiful smile (no she doesn’t look like anyone Sam knows. Shut up.)

There’s a few others but Sam isn’t as close with them. All in all, it’s been pretty good here. But, he’s still bored. He never thought he’d say this, but he misses the adrenaline of the hunts. He misses researching into unknown lore and going undercover (relatively unsuccessfully) with his brother. He misses the bickering, the inside-jokes, the snarkiness, and garbage eating habits. He misses Dean.

He’s been calling Dean quite a bit on the hidden burner number he gave him all those months ago. It’s a good substitute; but not enough. He misses Dean’s smile, his laugh, his presence, his smell. It’s especially gotten bad knowing Dad fucked off to do his own hunts, leaving Dean to fend for himself. Sam doesn’t like knowing that Dean is hunting solo, he’s not there to help if something happens.

So imagine Sam’s surprise when there’s a knock on his dorm room door. Not just any knock; it’s a secret one. One made up in the dead of night almost a decade ago now so Sam knows it’s safe. He knows who’s knocking.

It’s Dean.

Sam bolts up off his twin bed and rushes to the door. It’s a good thing Brady isn’t here; Sam’s not in the mood to explain himself. Sam whips the door open and feels the air escape his lungs in a swift blow. It’s Dean. He’s here. It’s Dean.

Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean. De—

Before his brother even has a chance to greet him, Sam throws himself into Deans arms, hunching himself so he’s smaller than usual, and shoving his face into Deans neck; rejuvenating himself on his brothers scent. It’s a mixture of leather, oil, old spice deodorant, and something distinctly Dean that has Sam sighing in content.

Dean just chuckles, which sends a shiver down Sam’s spine, “Miss me that much?” Sam can hear the smirk in Dean’s tone. Sam rolls his eyes, “Jerk.”

Instantaneously Dean replies with a small, “Bitch.” Sam drags Dean into the inside of his dorm room, thank god it’s relatively clean. Sam might’ve just offed himself if it was a pigsty when Dean came to surprise visit him.

“What’re you doing here?” Sam asks, awe and reverence clear in his tone. Dean must’ve not heard that since he grimaced a bit, anxiously fidgeting with the amulet Sam gave him all those Christmas’ ago, “What? I can’t see my baby brother?”

Sam rolls his eyes and shoots Dean bitch face number 46, “Y’know what I mean Dean. Is there a hunt of some kind or…” the implication sits heavily in the air. Did you come just to see me?

Deans jaw clenches before responding, “I just wanted to see you. Catch up a bit.” Sam can’t help but beam a broad grin towards his older brother, he can feel his dimples popping. Dean’s cheeks flushed the tiniest bit as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Well…” Sam starts, his voice cracking a bit in his flustered state. Dean quirks an eyebrow, a smug smirk growing on his pretty pink lips. Before he can tease Sam, Sam quickly continues his sentence, “I can show you around the campus. If you’d like…”

Deans smirk turns into a smile at the suggestion, “Wanna show me off to all your college buddies? Damn Sammy, didn’t know you were the possessive type.” Sam clenches his jaw and can almost physically feel his eyes darken at the suggestion, “Well… we are cut from the same cloth Dean.”

Dean just stares a bit at Sam before briefly licking his lips and looking away, “Alright! Take me on a tour Sasquatch.” Sam rolls his eyes and drags Dean out of his room. He’s gonna take him on the best goddamn tour this school has ever seen!

——————

Deans missed Sam. He’s missed all his snooty looks and snarky one liners. He’s missed his smile and his laugh. He’s missed his whiny tone whenever Dean embarrasses him (forever his little brother) so seeing Sam now is like whiplash of the severest degree.

Sam grew up. Sam got hot.

Dean knows he shouldn’t be thinking about his 18 year old brother that way. It’s wrong. It’s filthy. Sam probably knows about Deans fucked up thoughts and that’s why he left. But… Sam was ecstatic to see Dean. Running up and hugging him like he was 8 years old again.

Sam may act like a kid; but he sure as shit doesn’t look like one. He’s tall, taller than Dean now. He’s filled out. No longer tall like a pole and as thin as one too; no Sammy’s packed on quite a bit of muscle. His face has lost any baby-fat that was once on it. All high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, pretty nose, plump pink lips, and fox-like eyes. Dean feels like a creep checking out his brother but… fuck Sammy’s gorgeous.

He’s the best goddamn view in this whole campus.

Dean is barely paying attention to what Sam is saying, he feels a bit bad. It’s almost like he’s in Charlie Brown. He doesn’t hear any of the words Sam is saying, he’s just appreciating Sam and his prettiness.

It’s isn’t until Sam mentions the cafeteria does he get Deans full attention.

“Cafeteria?” Dean questions, a small sparkle in his eye. He drove about 3 hours to get here, he’s fucking starving. Sammy laughs boisterously, swinging an arm around to land on Deans shoulders as he tucks him close to his side. It’s shouldn’t get Dean hot under the collar. It does.

“Yup. All the goodies, like a smaller version of the food courts you see at the mall. There’s some food options, multiple coffee options, It’s pretty sweet. It’s all sponsored by the university. And since I got in on a full-ride scholarship; it’s essentially all free. For me at least.”

Dean feels like he’s drooling. Thank god for Sammy and his massive brain! Before Dean can even question where this glorious cafeteria is, Sam’s dragging him. Deans been allowing Sam to do that a lot recently, huh?

They eventually get to the cafeteria and get all their food. Dean obviously gets a burger loaded with all the good stuff, fries, and a massive fountain drink. Sam gets a salad, a coffee, and reluctantly adds a small thing of fries and grilled chicken to his order; Dean’s nagging of “real food” finally won.

Sam just gives the cashier at the kiosk his student ID badge, she scans it, and they’re free to sit in the cafeteria. Dean almost feels famous.

Dean was expecting to pig out with his brother. He wasn’t expecting to pig out with Sam’s friends.

——————

Sam almost chokes on a mouthful of salad when he sees Brady and Jess casually walking over to where Sam and Dean are sitting to eat with them. Before he can say anything, Jess breaks the silence for them.

“Hey, I’m Jess! This is Brady. Who’re you?” She sweetly asks Dean. Dean just raises he eyebrows and swallows a bite of his burger. “I’m Dean. I came to visit Sammy.”

“Sammy?” Brady questions, a small laugh in his tone, “Sam nearly ripped my face off when I called him that once.” Jess nudges Brady in the ribs and he bends over slightly in pain.

Dean purses his lips and smugly looks over to Sam who’s flushed as red as a strawberry. He’s picking at his salad now and mutters, “Only Dean can call me that.” Jess giggles and ushers Brady to sit down, they sit a bit away from the two pretty men to ensure there’s enough room on the table for all their stuff.

“So Dean,” Jess starts before taking a sip of her iced coffee, “How long have you known Sam?”

Dean just quirks an eyebrow at her. Did Sam not tell them about him? Fine. If he’s embarrassed by Dean, Dean’s gonna embarrass Sam right back! Dean looks over to Sam who looks like he wants to be anywhere else but here.

“His whole life. I’ve known him since he was a baby and I was four. I’ve been by his side for every milestone.”

Jess beams a grin at the two of them and lightly claps her hands together, “That’s so sweet! You got any baby pics of Sam?” Dean smirks at her mischievous grin as Sam groans and slides down his seat, hands covering his face. Brady just laughs and continues to eat.

“Sorry sweetheart, they’re in my other jacket.” Dean jokes as he eats a fry. Jess over-dramatically sighs, “Damn it. Maybe next time?” She jokes. Dean just smiles and nods his head once. Dean likes Jess.

Sam shoots both of them bitch face number 5 before continuing to eat. Every once in a while Jess and Brady shoot each other a look; as if silently communicating. Dean doesn’t really care that much, he’s with Sam. That’s all that matters.

——————

Jess has never, in the year her and Sam have been at Stanford, seen this look on Sam’s face before. He’s all doe-eyed and blushy towards the handsome man that introduced himself as Dean. She’s never seen such a star-struck expression on her friend before. It’s nauseatingly cute.

Sam’s got phenomenal taste.

Jess just continues to watch the two of them as she wonders to herself, “How long have these two been dating?”

Judging by the shared looks, inside jokes, dopey expressions, and an unmeasurable amount of love thrown by the two of them. Jess wouldn’t be surprised if they’re childhood sweethearts.

It’s only when Dean loudly laughs at a joke Sam said do the pieces click together.

“Hold on. You’re phone guy!” Jess exclaims excitedly. Dean just looks over to Jess, Brady stops eating, and Sam looks like he wants to kill himself.

“Phone guy?” Dean gruffly questions, looking over to Sam for some clarification but just gets met with a horrified face.

Jess continues on, ignoring Sam’s pleading look, “You’re the guy Sam spends hours talking on the phone with. You’ve got a personalized ringtone and everything so he never misses one of your calls. It’s kinda cute actually.”

Dean just smiles and says, “Is that so?” Sam really looks like he wants to throw himself off a cliff.

Before anymore teasing can occur, Sam picks up both his and Deans garbage, tossing it out as quickly as he can before dragging Dean away from his two friends with a burning face.

All he can hear is Jess’ and Brady’s laughter as he scampers away with his brother. “It was nice meeting you Dean!” Jess yells, a broad grin on her pretty face as she waves the two men goodbye. “You too Jess!” Dean yells back just as loudly.

Sam is going to kill himself.

——————

Brady looks at Jess and says one sentence, “They’re totally fucking.”

Without missing a beat, Jess replies “ Oh a million percent. I recommend you don’t go back to your dorm for the next few hours.”

Brady sighs and continues to eat, “Definitely.”

——————

Back at Sam’s dorm is a cacophony of laughter from Dean and pleading from Sam.

“Dean please shut up. It’s not that funny!” Sam whines. Dean just laughs even harder, “Phone guy? Are you kidding me?! This is the best day ever!”

Sam eventually gets fed up at the laughter and tackles his brother to his twin sized bed. Wrestling him to get him to shut up. Although Dean is shorter than Sam now, he’s still stronger; eventually pinning Sam down beneath him.

The two just pant heavily as the tension grows thicker and thicker as the seconds pass on. Eventually, Dean breaks the silence.

“Why haven’t you mentioned me to any of your friends?” Sam gulps at the dark look Dean throws his way. What does he even say in response to that?

Because they’ll know how much of a freak I am?

I love you too much for it to just be considered brotherly.

I’m scared.

Sam just gapes like a fish for a few seconds before demurely looking off to the side, his eyes filled with tears, “You’ll think I’m a freak.”

At that proclamation, Dean rears back a bit and immediately tries to get that solemn expression off his baby brothers face, “No I wouldn’t.” At Sam’s shake of his head, Dean firmly repeats his statement, “I wouldn’t.”

Sam bites his lip, debating if he should tell the truth. Dean always knows when Sam lies so… what’s the point? Time to ruin the best thing Sam’s ever had in his life.

“I love you.” Sam quietly stated. The room is so quiet you can hear a pin drop.

“I love you too?” Dean says. Of course he loves him. It’s Sammy.

Sam rolls his eyes at his brothers obliviousness and shoots him a look, “No Dean. I love you.”

Deans eyebrows furrow before his eyes widen and his mouth drops open a bit. He can’t mean. No. No way. No way does his Sammy love him the same way Dean does. Sammy is pure. He’s perfect. He isn’t fucked up like Dean is.

As Dean sits in Sam’s lap in astonishment, Sam feels his eyes water. This was a mistake, he shouldn’t have said anything. As Sam moves to push Dean off, he gets the surprise of a lifetime.

Dean kisses him.

Full on gives Sam one of the most passionate kisses he’s ever experienced.

When the two eventually pull away from one another, they connect foreheads and pant together. Sam looks desperately at Dean. Don’t get my hopes up. Not here. Not now.

Dean eventually fulfills every wish and dream Sam’s had since he was 14 years old. He says the damming words back.

“I love you too.” Before kissing Sam again.

Sam didn’t expect much of anything when his Dad kicked him out and he went to Stanford. He especially didn’t expect this.

But Sam couldn’t be happier.

[tongjingnian2point0]

Sammy's first secret.

(The first one that mattered anyway.)

the animation

[ghostgirl-22]

Pretend that you love me

18+ !NSFW!

Day 9: Roleplay

A/N: sorry for the delay…life’s been busy

———————————————————————

It starts like this. Patrick on his knees in Art’s bed staring at him, jewel colored eyes darting back and forth rapidly. He’s too close. They’re too tipsy.

“Pretend I’m her.”

“Patrick, that makes…no sense.”

“Why? It’s not like we’re gonna fuck. Just gimme the set up. You came over we’re watching Scary Movie—“

“Not Scary Movie. A scary movie,” Art hiccups.

“Whatever, she’s invited you over. Her bunkmate is gone for the weekend. You’re watching a scary movie. Now what?”

Art can smell the vodka soda on his breath. Which makes him think about Justin. Stupid Justin. The richest kid in their year. Justin who Art wishes Patrick wouldn’t spend so much time with but who always gives Patrick whatever he wants. Even free contraband in the form of half a bottle of vodka and even a dollar and a quarter to buy a coke from the vending machine. They drank more vodka than coke. Justin’s cooler than Art and acts like he’s Patricks best friend. And no, Art’s not jealous. He just hates to feel left out. But whatever, Patrick is his bunkmate. It’s not like he’ll be able to ditch him.

Art? Anybody home? Don’t throw up, I'm all out of excuses if Mr. VanDorn gets suspicious about why your sick again.” Patrick says.

“ ’m not gonna throw up,” Art says, blinking slowly.

“Well? Come on. Remember when I helped you jerk off.” Patrick says it so casually, grinning. “I can help you with this too.”

“That’s different,” Art says rubbing his eyes. He’s so dizzy. Patrick is so close. Art remembers jerking off with him at the same time before either of them had girlfriends. He remembers Patrick grabbing him and helping him once when they were on summer vacation and he spent 2 weeks at Arts house. Art definitely had his eyes closed the whole time. Definitely.

Art hiccups again.

“You drank too much,” Patrick grins. “You’re fucking plastered.”

“I drank the same as you,” Art says.

“I know��� and you’re a fucking light weight.”

Art’s so tired of him being so much better than him at everything. Everything.

“Fine pretend to be her.”

Patrick smirks and settles right next to him on the bed. The beds so small there’s barely any distance between them.

“Thanks for coming over baby,” Patrick says in a high pitched voice that sounds nothing like Stacey’s.

Art snorts. “Dont do it like that. You’re gonna make me laugh.”

“How do you want me to do it?”

“Normal, just… just… your regular voice.”

“Okay pretend I’m your hot blonde girlfriend.” Patrick says softly.

“You think she’s hotter than Ashley?” Art hiccups. He doesn’t know why he cares whether or not Patrick thinks she’s hot at all.

“Why would I think that? Ashley’s my girlfriend.”

“Even though you’re fucking Britney.”

“Shh that was one time and the goal is to get you laid not talk about me. Focus sweetheart.”

“You’re the sweetheart,” Art mutters, feeling silly right after he says it. He’s too tipsy. He’s gonna mess this up. “What would you do if it were you?” Art asks, trying to take the pressure off.

Patrick puts an arm around him, fingers in his hair. “You look beautiful,” he says gently.

Art looks at him ready to laugh but Patrick doesn’t look away, he’s soft, his glittering eyes the only thing betraying how much the alcohol is affecting him.

“Pretty girl. You’re all mine, huh?” Patrick says, so soft.

Art feels himself flushing, Patrick doesn’t seem bothered at all, maybe he’s just that drunk. He leans in and even kisses Art on the mouth. Art is still for a moment, like his brain isnt properly comprehending what’s happening. He’s kissing Patrick, his lips are so soft. He can feel him breathing. He’s kissing Patrick and it makes no sense in his addled brain. But his body is going full steam ahead. He opens his mouth and kisses back. There’s no sound just ambient noise in the hallway and other dorm rooms and Patrick’s breathing.

The kissing feels so good. The way it feels when he’s making out with Stacey. He even feels his balls tightening up, his cock starting to swell as Patrick cradles his head and neck. Art wonders if Patrick realizes what he’s doing or if it’s all the alcohol. Art’s body is so lit up he can feel everything. He feels Patrick pushing him down on the mattress and he relaxes into it. Never breaking the kiss.

Patrick moves on top of him deepening the kiss. It no longer feels like it did when they started, it doesn’t feel anything like how he’s ever been kissed before. It’s something… intense… dominating. Like Patrick is claiming him with his mouth, tongue sliding in and out like…

“Fuck,” Art pulls back panting. He’s on his back, Patrick between his legs, he’s achingly hard from the kissing alone. He knows Patrick can feel him because he can feel Patrick. Patrick drops his head, looking down at Art’s chest. Art has the strong urge to put his fingers in Patrick’s hair, reassure him, but something makes him stop.

“I uh— I think I get it,” Art says, forcing a stupid laugh. His body is screaming. He’s a live wire. All nerves. He can still feel Patrick. He needs to get away or he’s gonna do something stupid and destroy their friendship.

He pushes off of the bed to run in the bathroom…acting like he’s gonna throw up or something but instead he just locks the door and leans against it. He starts touching himself. He bites his tongue so hard to keep from moaning that he can taste blood. He slides down to the floor, breathless and shaking when he’s done. It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had. He’s so fucked. He takes his time to catch his breath and come to terms with whatever this might mean…

He’s got a girlfriend. Patrick’s got a girlfriend. He enjoys making out with her very much and he really… really wants to lose his virginity to her tomorrow. He doesn’t want to think too hard. And thankfully he was raised by a British mother who wouldn’t say anything if she saw an elephant in her friends lap because “it’s not polite.”

He cleans up and goes back in the room, dreading what he’ll find. But Patrick’s back to being Patrick. He’s watching ESPN and scrolling Facebook on his laptop like nothing happened, thankfully in his own bed.

Art gets in own bed and they go back to normal so easily it’s weird that Art was ever worried.

Everything’s normal. So normal. Except maybe the little ache he gets in his chest now everytime Patrick smiles at him.

[samdeancrimespree]

there’s something about wincest in the pre-slash era (whenever that is) where i think the dynamic is: one of them does not have sex with men. doesn’t think of them that way, because it feels too dangerous, too easy to slip into those fantasies he keeps locked away. and the other one fucks guys, but only ones who are eerily similar, carbon copies to his brother. the type of resemblance that would turn most siblings off. and the roles could go either way, for either of them. just… the dynamics of the different types of desperate “unrequited” feelings and the way they try to get away from them.

like. dean getting drunk and making out with some tall, long haired guy at a bar. nasty desperate hands down the back of the guys jeans, stifling a sigh that his ass isn’t quite round enough to be sam’s. he has blue eyes, not brown, but dean isn’t looking at his face anyway. fucking not-sam rough in the back of the impala, moaning baby and cutting off before brother, saying sam’s name when he cums, trying not to stare at the army figure in the ashtray. hating himself for it, swearing off it, but always crawling back, chasing the high like an addict. feeling deep in his soul that sam was right to leave, that he’s better off without his sick freak of a brother.

sam being into girls with short hair, accidentally hitting on lesbians because he struggles to be attracted to anything not wearing a crew cut, flannel and work boots. he’s sick, he knows, that’s part of why he had to leave. frosh week drunk, he lets a guy flirt with him, because he’s just tall enough, just different enough, that sam can give himself plausible deniability. his lips are too thin, he’s too gentle, he smells like axe and fake leather, but sam needs something, and this is all he can get. it’s going fine, until the guy— too late now to ask his name— goes for sam’s belt and sam feels like he’s going to puke. the wrongness of it comes over him all at once, like a fever or a hex. clarity pierces his drunken state: not dean’s hands, not dean’s voice, not dean, wrong. at least it gives him an excuse to back out, a good reason to lock himself in the bathroom and sit on the floor, trying to determine if the dry heaving is cheap beer or grief.

girls are— safe. long hair, soft hands, sweet and gentle and nowhere close to 6’1. this way, there’s nothing reminding sam of the absence, nothing pushing against the barrier he’s made around what he really wants. he can be normal.

he knows it’s dean after the first strike, knows his footsteps and his breath and the outline of his shoulders, even now, even in the dark. but sam doesn’t stop fighting, because he’ll have to stop touching dean, and sam can allow himself this one thing, after so long. dean’s leather jacket on sam’s bare arms is making him dizzy, and sam lets dean take him down, the beginning and end of sam’s understanding of desire. a reminder, familiar like dean’s rough palms on his wrists, his weight pinning sam, his shit-eating grin and drawled easy, tiger; sam has never been normal.

[voided-selfships]

“Don’t forget why we’re here. Why you’re here with me. Be lucky you were even able to come with."

[Taglist]

@comfycozycirrus @ghost--girlfriend @kylilah @arothroughtheheart-selfship @lovebandit42069 @love-birds-stuff @permafrown @cherry-bomb-ships @tropicalgothships

[artdcnaldson]

i also think like,… in virgin!au… you’ve been best friends with the boys for a while. since you were 12 or 13 maybe. you’ve always been…. pretty comfortable with them. comfortable being goofy.. being silly.. etc. but like. sex never really came up. besides like patrick going on about his trysts and just being a perv. it’s fine!! it’s funny!! you just roll your eyes!!! but now you feel so #shy around them. like you’ve never felt before

Godddd just imagining the summer before you college— Patrick’s at his absolute most horny he’s ever been, slutting himself out for any guy and girl he can get.

You’re staying with his family for the summer, and they really like you because you’re a total good girl, and they’ve known you for years so they know that you have strong morals and standards and maybe you’re going to rub off on Patrick and be a good influence on him. They think the same thing about Art, even though he’s been corrupted plenty by Patrick.

But Patrick goes out, leaves you and Art to the wolves in his large mansion/estate/summer home/whatever. Art could go too, could go find someone random to get his dick wet, but he thinks you look so sweet in a bikini by the pool glistening with droplets of water, listening to music blaring off of a speaker you’d packed for the trip. Art gets off on rubbing in suntan lotion on your shoulders and back, in slipping his fingers just beneath the waistband of your bikini bottoms to rub the sunscreen there too. You stretch, or change positions on the lounger and he has to run and jump into the pool, wishing it was colder.

Patrick gets off on coming back, freshly fucked, glowing like a man reborn. He talks about everything he did— how he stretched them out on his fingers, how they felt against his tongue, the lewd sounds they made. When he tells you about the lifeguard at the country club, the one going to Yale who he reduced to two syllables— daddy, over and over and over and over— you feel a strange flip in your tummy, a weird mix of embarrassment and jealousy and need. Patrick relishes in the shy dip of your head, when you stop making eye contact.

It’s why he convinces Art to come with him one night— that they can share the girl a mile down the road, the one with the pink Volkswagen Beetle. When they come home from telling that story, you act scandalized, disgusted. But they know you’re into it. That you can try to hide it and act all innocent and shy, but you’re rocking against your heels as you’re sitting with your legs crossed, seeking pressure and friction against your clit. Maybe you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

And they know you’re a virgin— untouched, innocent, and all those cute words people use to describe it. They’re just waiting until you admit it so they can swoop in and offer to help. That’s what friends are for after all.