#weecest? technically??

[animangalover-writes]

So I had a dream about wincest(being obsessed with each other as always lol)

I was half asleep when I wrote this so bear with me

So I had this dream where some monster essentially got to sam and manipulated his world into his like ideal world. And his ideal world was him being a kid again with Dean taking care of him, just them in this little house. The same perfect day played over and over again, like a time loop. And somewhere outside this house is the real Dean, caught a time loop of his own, as he continously breaks into this little house to try to get to Sam and free him. But this monster always gets to him first and catches him off guard. It's like he doesn't remember the last time he was in the house, like it always feels like the first time setting foot in it, because the creature uses the same move over and over to kill him(but like, he doesn't really die, its more like this world is its own little pocket dimension and every time dean dies he wakes up outside of it again). And ever time, kid Sam hears something, but the monster/kid Dean tells him it's ok and they ignore it.

By the way, the monster in my dream is basically like this black-grey sentient goop(think Venom) that can morph itself into anyone it wants, and is hanging in weird strands all around the house that Sam doesn't notice. But dean does, and even though he tries to avoid stepping in it, it always catches his foot and essentially Webs his hands and gun in place, disarming him, then slams him against a glass mirror or a wall hard enough that it kills him.

Anyway, somewhere outside of this loop, Dean is vaguely aware that this monster always catches him with the same move, and the only reason he dies every time is because the surprise attack makes him too unsteady to shoot it, and catches him at a point where his footing is off, so he's easy to take down. But every time he enters the house again, he forgets what he learned, and it takes him down all over again. He admits to someone unseen that the reason it takes him down so easily/catches him off guard is because he's alone, aka Sam's not there to help him.

At some point, Sam starts becoming more aware that something is off, and that things are too perfect.

This is where the dream gets kind of fuzzy, but essentially Sam becomes aware enough and, still as a kid, sees adult dean walking through the house and calls out to him, confused. This time, Dean sees Sam and looks utterly relieved and says "Sammy..." like he's so happy to have found him. But this distraction causes the monster to catch him off guard again. It catches his foot and grabs his hands in its weird goo, but Sam is here now, and he sees this creature for the first time. So he yells out to Dean to move a certain way that gives him enough leverage to shoot the creature(this was mentioned as something dean always knew would help but always forgot when in the house).

Meanwhile, the monster actively tries to get into Sam's mind again and tell him, as young Dean, that everything will be ok so long as he let's him kill this intruder who's trying to hurt them. Finally it stops working on Sam and he becomes his real age again.

Some fight happens in between that I didn't really get to see, but the outcome was this: they managed to hurt the creature by working together, now that Dean wasn't alone, he doesn't die and actually gets some good shots in. At some point, Sam rushes the thing and the only reason it doesn't hurt him is because it grew some sort of attachment to him during the whole thing, and so he's the only one that it would let kill it(feels like a metaphor for Sam and Dean's real codependent obsessive relationship).

Anyway I don't remember much after this so that's basically all I have, so yeah.(also ignore any typos, I didn't edit this. I just woke up)

[flowers-in-your-basement]

The main reason that wincest appeals so much to me is the idea of a perfect person for someone. Sam is made for dean as much as Dean is made for sam. They have been through the worst things that a human can endure without going mad and the only thing that has kept them alive is their love. They take care of eachother. They've known eachother since before they can remember, their lives will begin and end with eachother. Even in death, their heaven is all eachother. They are everything a person could need in someone, a caretaker and a lover and a brother and someone to take care of too.

[underthebednotebook]

I love the weecest idea of Sam having the puppiest of crushes on Dean but Dean being in love with John.

John just testing Dean on random lore (how else do you think he knows all that shit off the top of his head) and the boy just puffing his chest with pride when he gets it right. Dean acting like going on a hunt with Dad is the most imperative time because this is the time where Dad's attention is entirely on Dean and what might happen to him so Dad didn't have to worry about Sammy, Dean's got him--surely that will leave him enough time to worry about his first baby boy instead. And if Dean gets a bit hurt or a bit scratched or bit or mangled or strangled, who cares! John would be right at his side yelling for him and Dean feels like he could just pass out happily with all the attention.

But Dad is not the one stitching Dean up. Dad isn't the one seeing all the blood dripping down Dean's chest. Dad doesn't hold Dean's hand and asks him to be careful please please be careful because there is one person that they always leave behind that is so afraid his big brother won't come home the next time. Sam knows Dean would willingly throw himself into the fire for John but Dean's devotion is going to get him killed but Sam is just a nine year old kid what the hell can he do?!

So he does the only thing he can do. After a particularly nasty hunt, a hunt where Dean obviously comes back more battered than Dad, Sam gets on his tip toes and pats Dean's head.

"You did good, Dean."

His hand is rubbing back and forth on blood matted hair but Dean's eyes tell Sam that it feels like a crown was bestowed upon his big brother's head. The boy just can't help but grin and gather up Sammy in a hug, spinning him around and chuckling to himself because how weird was the feeling of actually being happy to come back alive and not taking pride in how many scars you've gotten that day?

"I did good, didn't I Sammy?"

Sam can't help but chastise his brother for moving so hazardously when he is injured but he catches his father's eyes from his peripheral vision and an almost sick happiness fills him when he sees John turn away first. John wasn't the only one who could give praise. Their father cared for them both but he was itching to get Dean into the fight sooner rather than later. And if Sammy couldn't join the hunt yet...then he would play the role of 'fragile thing stuck in a lonely tower' and thank his Knight properly.

At ten, he pats Dean's head after every hunt and tells him he did a good job

At twelve, he is receiving Dean with warm towels and the best first aid they could afford at only under five dollars.

At fourteen, he is pressing Dean's hands to his face so that his fingers wouldn't be glued to the gun in the winter's cold.

At sixteen, he is pressing his lips to Dean's bloody knuckles and lets his tongue trace against the cuts all in the name of disinfection.

But a puppy crush is just that, a crush. What Sam felt for Dean was just fierce protection. Sam still wanted out of this life, he still wanted to become his own man, he wanted Dean to want the same and if he didn't then he would just have to move on alone to the next day--except the next day was harder to get to when a pair of arms were wrapped around him so tight and his name was being whispered so reverently that it was getting harder to get out of bed in the mornings.

What Sam didn't know is that Dean loved his Dad fiercely and John was more than willing to take and entertain that love. John loved the same, devoted himself the same, if his son felt what he may have felt for Mary then that was a way to keep his boy safe as well as prepared for the evil in the world. In John's fucked up world, love was now a tool. In Sammy's world, love was a gift and he kept giving Dean the gift of his love over and over and over.

And that much love could turn anyone into an addict.

So what happens to addict when you take the drug away?

[flowersintheimpala69]

Unfortunately, i don't rlly read smut fics for the sake of smut (like i usually do it for an added angst element) so these may not be as pwp as you wanted. these recs may be boring and unfulfilling but i still wanted to offer up my meager scraps!! hope these recs don't all suck<3

summary:

Dean bites his lip, hesitating for a moment before continuing. Sam was open with him, so now it’s his turn. “Besides, I like taking care of you. Wish you’d let me do it more often, if I’m being honest.”

He walks over to where Sam is sitting on the bed, still gripping the little stuffed animal tightly. Dean reaches over and smoothes down the front of Sam’s hair gently. For a minute, he worries if he’s gone too far, said too much.

this fic is literally my all-time fav. i reread it every week. there's a (smut-less) part one that you technically can skip over but it's also rlly good ngl. anyways! this one does sort of have a plot-filled beginning but i swear to god the smut is so good. ageplay but in a way I've never really seen represented and i ate it up. emotional overtones so they're not just fucking nasty so if u want just a pwp probs skip this but i stg this fic is so so good.

summary:

Sam never should have questioned Dean's masculinity, but how was he to know it would end with him in a pair of panties?

yea. this is the good stuff. panty kink sam is as good as crack in my book. basically sam loses a wager to dean and has to wear panties and he likes it a little too much. a smidge of size kink.

summary:

Turns out the only thing more uncomfortable than sitting through class with a half-woody and a pair of panties wedged up your ass is doing it while your panties are soaking wet from your brother's mouth.

(Sam is 14).

another panty wearing sam what can i say I'm a simple woman. i enjoy reading abt that large-ass man with little lacy cotton stretched over his huge cock. anyways. weecest fuck nasty. it's riveting.

summary:

“You get to have this, Dean.” The brush of Sam’s mouth against his own is the sweetest ache. Lips catch and drag and Sam whispers into his mouth, “You get to have this. If you want this, I’m giving it to you. Let me give this to you.” Dean wants to say yes. He wants to say please and I love you and thank you. For the trust, the devotion, the care. It’s not something that has ever needed to be verbalised but god, in this moment Dean wants nothing more than to tell this boy just how much he loves him. “Yeah. Yeah, Sam — I want this.” The words taste like the sweetest freedom and a thousand more years of damnation but Sam’s tongue soothes the burn of them. Long fingers cradle the back of his head tenderly, so tenderly, like he’s something precious to be taken care of, and Dean’s chest feels fit to bursting with how much he loves this kid.

this is my fav daddy kink samdean + praise kink, the smut itself is amazing but the emotional build up is also very very well written just very yummy yummy

summary: A study on normality or lackthereof in the relationship between Sam and Dean Winchester.

wasn't sure if i should put this one here cuz it's def fucked up and def smutty but idk if it's in the way you meant? it's def really really good and one of the best explorations of weecest I've ever read but also really heavy. tw for like rlly rlly underage and child on child sexual abuse. sorry if this is out of left field!

thats all i rlly got sorry!! i should honestly read and bookmark more nasty pwp, yk, expand my horizons. anyways hope at least one of these piques ur interest!

in the mood for some fucked up, smutty samdean. any recs out there?

[fandom-hoarder]

Feeling Small

[Have some sleepy weechesters/weecest fluff?]

Sam wakes with a start, the details of his nightmare quickly melting away, leaving only the residue of anxiety and fear and blood; his heart racing; pulse pounding in his ears, with only the vaguest notions as to why. He’s turning towards Dean before he realizes it, searching for the familiar comfort of his brother as he’s always been able to. Only belatedly does he remember they’re in separate beds. It’s been awhile since he’s had a nightmare like this, and Sam’s recent growth spurts have pretty much necessitated more mattress space for both of them. The realization of it now sinks in Sam’s stomach like a stone.

Sam focuses his gaze in the direction of Dean’s bed, waiting for his eyes to pick out his brother’s form. Dean is turned away from him on his side, facing the door to their motel room like a sentinel. Sam can’t really see details in the grainy gray of the twilight hour, but he can tell that the blanket is pulled over Dean’s shoulder. He knows Dean is shirtless underneath it, because he went to bed when he was still overly warm from his shower. No doubt Dean’s hand is near the gun under his pillow.

Sam longs to close the distance between them and burrow into Dean, but he hesitates. He’s almost seventeen and logically he knows it’s weird to still be seeking his brother’s reassurance just because he had a nightmare. Dean would probably allow it right now, but he wouldn’t let Sam hear the end of it in the morning. Besides, it’s been a good six months since they’ve started sleeping in separate beds on a more regular basis, and Dean might just be out of the habit enough by now to pull his gun on Sam in a partially-woken state.

The only sounds in the room are Dean’s soft almost-snores and the slightly rattley drone of the heater unit. No grizzly-like snores from dad, so Sam doesn’t even have to look at the cot in the corner to know if he’s come back yet. He realizes then that he’s been holding his breath, and lets it out slowly and shakily, trying to re-regulate it without gasping, subsequent breaths a muffled staccato.

“ Sammy,” Dean grumbles sleepily, apparently sensing Sam’s distress.

It startles Sam into taking a deep breath, and it’s like the rush of oxygen breaks through his petrifying doubt. Suddenly he’s out of his bed and crossing to Dean’s, lifting Dean’s blankets and sliding in behind him. Dean stays still despite the bed’s shifting as Sam settles in, pulling the blanket back up over their shoulders. Despite Dean’s shirtless state, his skin is warm. Sam squeezes himself close to Dean’s back, arms pulled in against his chest and Dean’s back, legs folding in behind Dean’s in an attempt to make himself smaller.  Sam leans in and presses his forehead between Dean’s shoulder blades, breathing in the comforting scents of Dean’s soap and deodorant and sleep warmth.

The familiar smell and closeness soon has Sam matching his breathing to Dean’s, body calming down from his high alert state. But as he calms, he starts to ache at the slightly awkward position he’s put himself in; trying to still be the little spoon from the big spoon position. He could easily put his arm around his brother’s body to get more of the contact he craves right now, but that would shatter the illusion he wants to preserve that Dean is still larger than life compared to him; that he can engulf Sam in his big-brotherly protection and Sam will know everything is okay—will be okay.

Sam’s not as small as he used to be compared to Dean—they’re practically the same height now, though Dean still has more muscle and confidence in his body compared to Sam’s awkward lankiness—and as much as he likes to tease Dean about it most of the time, sometimes the thought will hit Sam suddenly that he’ll never be smaller than Dean like that again. It makes his heart ache with a regret he can’t quite put into words.

Now is one of those times. He’s hyperaware of every uncomfortably too big point of contact: his bony elbows against the small of Dean’s back; his knobby knees at a not-quite-natural cant behind Dean’s so they don’t dig in; his feet carefully tucked together; his whole body tense from noticing and holding the position.

He doesn’t realize his breaths have gotten unsteady again until he feels Dean’s fingers digging soothingly into his hair, against his scalp, despite the slightly awkward angle. Sam sobs out an unintended moan at the bittersweet feeling the gesture brings, and then Dean’s sighing and grabbing the edge of the blankets so he can turn around beneath them.

Dean’s arms scoop around Sam and he hooks a foot around Sam’s right ankle to rearrange him easily, pulling Sam so his head is tucked against Dean’s shoulder and chin, skinny leg held between Dean’s strong thighs so Sam is half-sprawled against him, balled up fist opening as it rests against Dean’s chest, feeling Dean’s heart beat steadily beneath the palm. The movement has Sam reeling from how small he suddenly feels in Dean’s arms, the bittersweet nostalgia he’d just been experiencing suddenly replaced with relief and a swell of overwhelming affection. He closes his eyes in something close to bliss.

The arm underneath Sam curls up and Dean’s fingers return to their job of carding through Sam’s hair, his other arm loosely resting against Sam’s waist. Dean’s breath raises faint goosebumps across Sam’s neck and shoulders as he whispers, “Nightmare?”

The nod Sam gives makes Dean’s fingernails scrape against his scalp, and the goosebumps get worse.

“Wanna talk about it?” Dean’s voice is still a whisper, but it feels loud in the quiet room as it rumbles through Dean’s chest, so close to where Sam’s head is resting.

Sam shakes his head in the negative, and Dean’s fingers tighten in Sam’s hair momentarily; disapprovingly.

“Can’t remember it,” Sam mumbles to clarify, his lips barely ghosting over the skin of Dean’s clavicle as he does. A feeling of guilt rushes through him, like he’s lying because of his word choice. He knows from experience he could if he tried. He doesn’t want to.

But past experience tells him Dean doesn’t want him to, either, and he reminds himself of that as he suppresses the feeling. Dean’s fingers continue their path through Sam’s hair, and soon he’s lulled into a doze just this side of sleep. Close enough that he can’t really control it when his mouth opens up and spills out words he meant to keep in his head.

“I miss this.”

“Miss what?” Dean asks, and Sam is too sleep-drugged to notice if Dean’s tone is a little more awake than it should be; a little sharper and more aware than Sam would expect when Dean is being this tactile and affectionate.

“Feeling small,” Sam replies, unfiltered.

Dean’s arms tense around him, fingers pausing their ministrations, and Sam whines in sleepy disapproval. There’s barely a delay before Sam feels Dean’s arms squeeze him closer; feels the pads of Dean’s fingers skate against his lower back as Dean drags his hand up it to splay right in the middle, as if testing the size of his hand against the breadth of Sam. In the nebulous headspace Sam’s in, on the cusp of dreams, Dean’s hand feels so big and strong against him, his whole back warm with the weight of it.

Dean’s thumb starts a soothing stroke where it rests along Sam’s spine, just against the well-worn edge of his shirt collar, and the peach fuzz hairs there raise at the touch.

“You’ll always be my baby brother,” Dean says into Sam’s hair, breath hot against the top of his ear.

Sam is two full breaths away from passing all the way out, but his fingers spasm almost involuntarily for purchase against Dean’s shirtless chest. His fingers find the head of Dean’s amulet, and hook around it, holding on as he finally succumbs to sleep.

[writinginthesecrettrees]

Currently thinking about Sam begging Dean to fuck him. Dean wants to be a good brother, tries so hard, promises “stay a virgin ‘til you’re 18, Sammy, if you do that I’ll fuck you as much as you want.” He hopes that Sam will forget about it by then, that or give in to hormones and find someone more normal and get over this shared perversion.

He watches, though – watches Sam ignore every flirtation aimed towards him, watches Sam grow up and up and more beautiful with each day. Watches Sam keep his purity intact, though his eyes go dark and angry every time Dean takes off with someone else. When Sam’s birthday passes with no mention of their promise, Dean’s relieved and disappointed that Sam has maybe forgotten.

It’s months after Sam’s birthday when he slams Dean against a motel wall. “You promised,” Sam says and that’s it, Dean’s lost his battle with temptation. They fuck and make love and fuck some more, and Dean hates himself for corrupting Sam but he’s in heaven nonetheless.

Hell is a morning with Sam gone, leaving an acceptance letter from a fancy school in California in his place.

[twochildreninamoteldemo]

I technically wrote pov outsider weird-undercurrent weechester/weecest for a writing class and I don't know how I feel about that. It's just like. Two boys, codependent, a protective older one. My professor said he couldn't tell if they were brothers or if there was something romantic there (but that specifying wasn't necessary it was just interesting) and I take that as a huge compliment 😌😌😌

There's a difference between sharing your writing with fandom where everyone knows who these characters are versus showing it to normies who have to come to their own conclusions and this was quite affirming:D

Still it's only a draft, but I hope to post it on ao3 at some point

[nevergettingoverwincest]

Like That - Weecest Fic

My fic for the @wincestreversebang​ inspired by the awesome art of @alexiescherryslurpy​ - See the art HERE or on AO3 Rated E, underage Fic and art on AO3

 Dean was propped against the wall in the shade under the tattered awning in front of the office.  Heat rolled off the cracked concrete of the parking lot, but at least the Wyoming wind blew dry and gritty during the hottest part of the afternoon. The motel was quiet. It was a weekday afternoon, people were either gone or lying low from the August weather.  Technically Dean was watching the desk for Kelly Ann while she fed the baby. She would make him and Sam dinner in exchange, in the little manager’s apartment behind the office. Dean had managed to get a job at Gillette’s single, run-down movie theater but stale popcorn was less useful to bring home than leftover gas station hotdogs.

 At the end of the breezeway, Mrs. Lawson, who was living in room 115 since her husband was “a real piece of work when he drinks,” was hanging washing on a portable drying rack in the sun. Dean made a mental note to ask her for some laundry detergent. He and Sam were down to their last clean pair of socks between them, and the less said about their underwear, the better.

 Cars roared by on I-90, a constant, distant rumble - tourists headed toward Yellowstone, or Bighorn, or Sundance. Gillette was too close to the parks to stop, and too far from everything else. Most importantly it was far enough from whatever top secret hunt Dad was on that he’d felt comfortable ditching them, but a day’s drive to Bobby’s “if something happens.” Dean wasn’t sure what would have to happen to make Bobby welcome them back, after the last fight he and dad’d had, but he’d just said “yessir.”

 School would be starting for Sam in a month, but that was a long way away. They’d be somewhere else by then. They’d already been in Gillette for three weeks, which was a week longer than Dad’s usual hunt timeline, but they’d gotten a voicemail from him a couple of days ago, so at least he was alive.

 Across the parking lot a door slammed and the lanky figure of Dean’s brother loped toward him, shimmering with heat haze, bare feet shoved into his battered sneakers. His hair was long enough that it was curling at the ends, fluffing out untidily around his head. He hadn’t reached Dean when another door opened and Sam was intercepted.

 “Hi, Sam.” Delaney Davis was about Sam’s age, blonde, pretty enough for a fifteen year old, and always stank of her stepdad’s dope.

 “Hey.” Dean could hear them over the highway noise.

 “Whachya doing?” As far as Dean could tell, in a short but storied life of living out of hotels, Delaney was doing a good job keeping her head above water for a teenager whose parents were definitely dealing heroin. She’d be a decent fuck and a better friend, if Sam could pull his foot out of his mouth for five minutes.

 “Not much. I was just reading.”

 Delaney fiddled with the end of her ponytail. “Some friends and I are going swimming at the lake this weekend. Saturday. Do you want to come?”

 “Sure. Yeah.” Sam shuffled his feet. “Can Dean come?” Dean dropped his head back against the cinder block wall.

 “Sure,” Delaney said, and laughed.

 Later, alone with Sam in the dingy, musty-smelling office, Dean said, “Sam when a girl asks you on a date, you don’t ask if you can invite your brother along.”

 Sam made a face. “It wasn’t a date. Her friends will be there. And you and I were going to watch that new Zorro movie Saturday. I didn’t want to ditch you.”

 A thrum of affection for his baby brother pulsed through Dean’s chest. Sam’s teenage moodiness seemed to be getting worse, not better, but sometimes he’d turn so sweet and earnest Dean got whiplash.

 Slinging an arm around Sam’s neck, Dean wrestled him into a headlock, ignoring the fact that he might not be able to for much longer. Sam had grown, offensively, an inch and a half taller than Dean this year, but he was still beanpole skinny, and Dean managed to pin him between his armpit and the counter. The bell chimed gently as Sam’s flailing elbow hit it. “We can watch Zorro any night, it’s running for another week.” He scuffed his knuckles through Sam’s silky-soft hair. “Let’s go get wet with some girls instead.”

 “It’s not like that,” Sam said, muffled into his armpit.

 “Sam, Sam, Sam.” Dean patted his head. “When a girl asks you to go night swimming, it’s always like that.”

Keep Reading on AO3

[cowboyified]

Below are some WIPs I’m releasing into the wild. They were all written at different times over the past two years so any mistakes/cliches you can blame on past June, I don’t know them. 

Go, be free.

This first one I think is the one I’m most fond of. I had such a vision for it; bottlecaps in trees, river swimming, making out against the fridge, all that good stuff you get with weecest. 

The summer Sam is seventeen they stay in one place for long enough Dean starts referring to it as ‘home’. 

It’s an old farmhouse, miles from any other structure, bar an outhouse and hay shed. There’s a porch running the length of the front and back, the wooden boards pulled up from their nails, wavy with the weather. Weatherboard paint peeling, wallpaper inside torn and missing in most places. 

They’re squatting, technically. The property owned by a family saved by hunters once, friends of friends of Bobby’s, too distraught by what they’d witnessed to raise their kids on cursed land. Dean had told Sam that Dad had been told by Bobby that had been told by Pastor Jim that it was chupacabras. A whole pack of ‘em, feeding off the lambs in the back paddock, tried to take a bite out of the baby girl and Sam had said, “As if man, those things are tiny, I’ve seen pictures, you could kick one and it would limp away like a fucking chihuaha, you scared of chihuahas, huh, Dean?” But Sam still hikes his sheet up under his chin when he hears scuffling under their window between sleep. 

There’s remnants of the house’s past inhabitants still scattered around the place. Sam had stood and slid two inches on the wheels of a tiny replica car that had been jammed under the couch the second day they arrived, piffed it at his brother’s head, who’d caught it, exclaimed that it was Camero, dude, treat her with some respect and had sat it on top of the fridge. 

The bookshelf in the corner of their shared bedroom holds mostly dust and tattered occult books stolen from libraries from all over the country, left by hunters who have found what they’ve needed and moved on. There are a few of the worst Stephen King novels shoved haphazardly on the top shelf and Sam finds something funny in that, the irony in enjoying bad horror when the real deal lurks behind the screen door. 

Dean gives him a look when Sam pulls down and cracks open a copy of The Tommyknockers, snorts, “Haven’t you read that one already?” and Sam says, tucking himself into bed, “Yeah, it fucking sucks, King was royally off his head while writing it, that’s why it’s so good.” Sam finishes three quarters of it in one sitting while listening to Dean’s quiet snores from the other side of the room. 

It’s a ten minute drive to the closest town, an off the highway, invisible to the outside world, kind of one-street community. No reason to take the exit if you don’t already know it’s there, one store, one gas station, one bar in an old brick post office building, unfitting, the carpet pulled up at the corners but home to the best fries Sam has ever had in his life. 

Sam follows Dean out to the courtyard, neither of them are legally old enough to drink but there’s nothing else to do but to get respectably drunk in a place like this, anyone that has lived long enough in the true country is some kind of functioning alcoholic, so Dean orders a beer and isn’t asked for ID. In a town small enough for everyone to know every intricate detail in the threads of dirty laundry, they are foreigners. No one knows where they’re from or where they’re going and Sam knows that Dean likes it that way.

It’s never been a secret that Sam prefers to feel like he has a part in everyday normalcy. Dean thrives under anonymity, gets a kick out of it because it makes him feel dangerous. He had stopped accompanying Sam to school two states ago, a silent agreement with their father when Dean had come home early and helped John cut splits into the tips of bullets instead. Like hell I’m signing up for compulsory extra curricular activities. What’s the point in making friends with people whose biggest concerns are the answers to whatever bullshit test and who fucked who last Friday? 

Finding comfort in a nine-to-five kind of community is a flaw Sam’s been burdened to deal with. 

It’s early afternoon, the courtyard is empty and the table they chose rocks on its legs every time Dean slides his drink over for Sam to share. It’s bitter and Sam hasn’t had enough beer in his life to know if it’s supposed to be like that or if it has just soured from the long journey it took to get from the brewery to their glass. He drinks it and doesn’t grimace because his brother is looking at him through the rays of warm country sun. 

“Tastes like piss, huh,” Dean says, leaning forward out of the light so Sam can see him clearly again. He takes back the glass. 

“S’not that bad,” Sam replies, rubbing the leftover condensation into his hand, doesn’t look at Dean, finds it hard these days, twists in his gut all wrong. Sam knows why. 

His brother hums, “There’s gotta be something else to do around here.”

Sam thinks, Dad’s left the car, we can go wherever we want, but doesn’t say it because his brother is loyal to a disastrous fault. 

That’s a recurring thought. Sam in the shotgun seat, his brother behind the wheel, driving away. Just away, to someplace else and they’d be okay because they’d have each other and all Sam ever needs is his brother, like water. But John will be back in two weeks, term starts again in a month and he needs his father to sign the enrollment forms. Two more years. 

“You see the old dredge outside of town?” Sam asks, remembers passing it when they arrived, all twisted, rusting metal, the bones of it against the setting sun.

“What did I tell you about respecting your elders?”

“You told me that they all smell like porridge and are easily susceptible to sleight of hand. No, Dean, Dredge,” Sam stresses. “Big rusty old machine that pulls minerals out of water.”

“Looking to strike big, Sammy?”

“Yeah, you see, my family is poor, brother at home too dumb to get a job. Our father went to get milk and never came back,” Sam sniffs for effect. “I can’t go home empty handed again, sir.” 

“Ah, a real sob story,” Dean nods in understanding, tips his head back and finishes the beer. “Let’s get out there then, sonny. We shan't let that simpleton, downright fool of a brother go hungry.” Dean jabs Sam in the ribs when he stands, hard enough for him to gasp, gets Sam’s head under his arm before he can recover. Sam claws embarrassingly at his brother’s torso, face pressed warm into the side of Dean’s waist. 

“I will pray for us young Samuel, for I too, dream of riches,” his brother is exclaiming, tripping them out and onto the street. “I only ask that we share whatever bounty dredged as I saw the most exquisite pony a few miles back and I simply must have it.”

And Sam thinks - with his flushed cheek hard against Dean’s skin through the thin sweaty fabric of his shirt, heart beating too fast against his ribs in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion - you can have it all. 

---

Sam’s brother’s perpetual state of being is ten miles over the speed limit; this can be applied to almost every aspect of him. Dean goes and goes and rarely stops. They’re pushing double that out of town, north of their property, into the forever stretch of flat land and Sam loses himself in it. That idea of away, of going and going and that Dean could take him because he’s an expert in the field. 

The Impala blasts Born To Be Wild and Sam imagines the lyrics spreading out over the dry grass. He rolls the window down and throws his head out, trying his best to keep his eyes open against the road’s wind. The sun beats down, warmth soaking through and into his bones and Sam laughs as the cattle turn to catch a glimpse of them soaring. 

Dean pulls him in, tugs at the back of his shirt, says something along the lines of, what are you, a dog? Should get you a shock collar for all the times you’re a little bitch, but Sam can’t hear him over the roaring of the open window and the look of transparent glee on Dean’s face, it’s loud and assaulting and Sam has to turn away because seeing Dean like that wobbles him dangerously from the nonchalant facade he has going on in relation to how he feels about his brother. But mostly his face hurts from smiling too wide.

Used as a warm up last year. Boyking!Sam

He thinks he’s in Louisiana, maybe. That he got here in the tray of a pickup and that he couldn’t feel the wind in his hair like maybe he should. The driver had stopped for a piss-break and Sam had snapped his neck without his hands.

He rubs them together now, tries to feel guilty but there’s nothing to feel guilty about because his hands are clean; he doesn’t have to use them anymore. 

Sam thinks he’s in Louisiana because he stepped out of the truck and into a wet kind of heat. There’s a church with thick greenery growing over the roof and white wood that’s been mold-blackened by the humidity. He laughs to the darkness because it's very funny to him that he’s driven himself subconsciously to a place of grace. 

He skips up the steps, two at a time, gleefully. The smell of the bayou and rotting wood has put him in a good mood. The lock snaps when he blinks, the chain unraveling and snaking into a coil at his feet. The doors open for him and maybe he did that with his mind too, or maybe they were just expecting him. 

The church has been used recently, its interior better kept than the outside, bibles tucked neatly in the backs of pews, ribbons tied into plaits. The white of the moon falls in blankets through the windows, shadows of leaves moving over the floor like rippling water and the bust of Mother Mary prays for him at the altar. 

Sam spreads his arms and addresses her, says to the room at large, “Shall I repent for my sins, oh Lord?” and it echoes, gives him goosebumps, a current under his skin. He has an audience here because God is omnipresent, this is a place of worship and Sam has always been good at that. 

A church in Louisiana, standing before a plaster of his mother’s namesake in a church for a God he used to think could have some defying factor in a destiny that was always going to be concrete. It’s funny, blatantly. Sam puts his hands gently to Mary’s cold face, kisses her on her lips before crushing her head, spraying ceramic. 

Sam stands behind the lectern, hands red with his own blood now, sticking the pages of the Good Book. He’s read it before anyway. 

“Am I to be forgiven?” 

Last is a casefic I had planned out in 2019. I didn’t get very far into the actual writing part of it, but I still think the setting is cool, less so the plot I had in mind. 

Just outside of Bridgeport, Connecticut there’s a community built on a sandbar. A small secluded semi-island, connected to the mainland by a mile-long beachfront. A town of forty to fifty now abandoned, vandalised residences.

The police find the bodies of the boys there, bleeding out and into the sand, each other’s skin caught under their fingernails. 

Sam watches as his brother pulls the sheet back from one of the corpses, laying blue on the steel morgue tray. He’s a kid, a boy, not even eighteen. Hairless, lanky, multiple stab wounds puckered around his belly and Sam thinks he does not look peaceful for someone who is meant to be at rest. 

Dean is quieter than usual, his body language stiff. They’ve seen their fair share of dead kids but Sam thinks that this one might look a little too much like an adolescent version of himself. Shaggy brown hair, too long limbs, college on the horizon. Sam blankets the sheet back over the boy’s face and hears his brother exhale in what he thinks might be relief.

The coroner tells them that the other two are the same, besides the youngest one. He’d been blinded, thumbs pushed through his eyes until they popped like grapes. He asks if they want to see him too and Sam says no, thank you, we’ve got what we need.

Which is a whole lot of nothing, but they’ve only just arrived and there’s evidence that doesn’t involve corpses that needs to be checked.

“Pussied out in there huh, Sammy?” Dean says as they’re walking down the funeral home’s front steps, past the manicured roses and trimmed lawn. You see these perfect hedges? We’ll treat your dead mother with the same detailed care!

Sam pulls at his tie and scoffs because he knows he wasn’t the only one uncomfortable standing in the morgue; cases that involve kids always rub them both wrong.

[zmediaoutlet]

my year of fic (2020)

I had a lapse in doing this, because the end of 2019 was just---a haze---but I thought it might be fun to try again on this, my first day off of 2021. Ignoring for a moment the armed sedition and the pandemic and the general feeling like the world’s about to spin upside down, I think it might be a good day. Let me try to feel some joy in writing, so that I might do some more writing this weekend. There’s a chance!

Per the AO3 stats tracker:

Total words written in 2020: 278,664 (Compared to 2019: 201,375 -- definite improvement!) That brings the overall AO3 published total to: 1,160,723. Jesus. I need another hobby, haha.

I’ll try to collect a year masterlist below, but let’s see what happened with stats first.

fic with most hits, which is not the same thing as best: no disguising truths i’ve sold -- y’all are fiends for the dadsex, just admit it. It always gives me a giggle how many hits these ones have with so few people actually interacting. :)

fic with most kudos, which I guess means people admitted they liked it: there will be better days -- which I guess isn’t a surprise, written when it was, but it’s still super gratifying to see that people enjoyed it. This one takes top spot for most of the other categories, too, so I’m going to go for the 2nd-placers on the next few...

fic with (2nd-)most comment threads, which I guess means people wanted to chat about it: In a Cursed Hour, which is a pleasant surprise! This is the very long gen (with sneaky pining!Dean), the first part of which was technically finished this year. I hope I come back to it at some point, because the story is... great, haha. Just super hard to write. Gratifying that people wanted to talk about it!

fic with (2nd-)most bookmarks, which I guess means people want to read it again: see things so much clearer -- aw, now that’s a nice surprise! This kinda felt like channeling old-school weecest, in some ways, so it’s cool that people seem to have enjoyed it.

fic with (2nd)-most subscriptions, which I guess means people are hoping for more: welcome to capitalism -- another nice surprise! I almost forgot about this one: a little ruthless, a little kind. Logical choices in a world that sucks, kind of my favorite genre, haha.

longest fic: what comes after certainty -- ow, ow. This is a---strange one---started in 2019 before the haze, published finally in a bit of ignominy, still not read by the recipient I’m pretty sure because it’s fucking depressing, haha. But I’m kinda proud of it, or at least proud of myself for finishing it, so I guess it’s good that I spent this many words on it.

least popular fic, if we’re going by kudos: transference -- lol, that makes sense -- Umbrella Academy momcest? That said tho, it’s kinda fun and you should read it. Diego’s just the biggest mommy’s boy. Ahem.

The best thing writing-wise about this year was stretching into stuff I wouldn’t normally write, thanks to the charity drives. Maybe I’ll try to do that again this year; I’m sure something horrific will happen that will need some monetary support.

In the meantime, here are all of the fics I wrote this year, in order that they were written. Probably Sam/Dean unless otherwise specified. Imagine retrospective montage music:

January

none. no surprise here.

February

the hollow summer - E. Boy King Sam, AU.

March

‘he has a kiss stuck in his mouth’ - M. Pining!Dean, Stanford era.

no disguising truths i’ve sold - E. John/Deanna, pre-series.

“I almost died” - T. Jared/Jensen, firefighter!Jared fluff.

‘sam waking dean up with his mouth’ - E, somnophilia, married!sex.

relay - E, D/s play.

April

extreme pollen warning - E, sex pollen, established relationship.

whatever we were before - E, Dragon Age AU, mage!Sam/warrior!Dean.

‘cokehead!Alex’ - T. Alex/JDM; part one.

pragmatics - E. Established wincest, past Dean/others. Prostitution.

May

teamwork (makes the dream work) - Alex/Jared/Jensen. cokehead!verse pt 2.

to dream of the next - E. First time, pining!Sam.

In a Cursed Hour: Protesting Fate Supreme - T. Men of Letters AU, ch.6.

June

FFFB 1 - M. Gabriel/Rowena, meeting through the years.

FFFB 2 - E. A/B/O, first time.

FFFB 3 - E. Jensen/Jeff, voyeur!Jared, Non-AU.

FFFB 4 - M. Cloud/Sephiroth, mindfuck.

FFFB 5 - M. Amos/Alex, pantykink.

FFFB 6 - E. Dubcon shading to noncon, pining!Dean.

FFFB 7 - M. Hannibal/Will, first kiss.

FFFB 8 - E. Post-Michael possession, piercings, body mods.

FFFB 9 - M. Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, AU.

FFFB 10 - M. Dean/Bobby, Stanford era.

FFFB 11 - E. Mommy!kink, bunker era.

FFFB 12 - M. Gen, Sam’s wall, mild self-harm.

FFFB 13 - M. Sam Wilson & Bucky Barnes, racial discussion.

FFFB 14 - M. s2, Sam’s cast.

FFFB 15 - E. Jared/Jensen, established relationship, CBT.

FFFB 16 - E. weecest, first time.

FFFB 17 - M. Sam/Dean/Jack.

FFFB 18 - M. Amnesia.

FFFB 19 - E. BDSM, sub!Dean, dildos.

FFFB 20 - E. A/B/O, demon!Dean, noncon.

FFFB 21 - T. Established relationship, Stanford discussion.

FFFB 22 - E. Dubcon, time travel, soulless!Sam/young!Dean, prostitution.

FFFB 23 - M. Implied Dean/John, jealous!Sam.

FFFB 24 - E. ‘The End’!verse, Lucifer!Sam/Dean, noncon.

FFFB 25 - E. Tentacles, body horror, oviposition.

FFFB 26 - E. Belly bulge!kink.

July

none. apparently I needed a break.

August

have a cigar - E. Sam’s powers, slight D/s.

welcome to capitalism - E. Jared/Jensen, prostitution.

September

the wealth gap - E. ‘capitalism’ pt 2; Jared/Jensen, prostitution.

what comes after certainty - M. Mutual pining, amnesia.

reunion theory - E. Cloud/Sephiroth, Cloud/Hojo. Body horror, torture, mpreg. Fic for fire relief 1.

the honeytrap - E. Jared/Jensen, mob!AU. FFFR 2.

scotch courage - M. Sam/Kevin, hair play. FFFR 3.

he will tear your city down - E. Damen/Laurent, slight D/s. FFFR 4.

cyrano - E. Jensen/Antony Starr, established J2. D/s, consensual infidelity. FFFR 5.

two runners on base - E. Dean/Deacon, established relationship, BDSM, DP. FFFR 6.

what’s to stop me, pretty baby - E. Noncon, MoC!Dean. FFFR 7.

the need to choose - E. A/B/O, pregnant!Dean. FFFR 8.

transference - E. Diego Hargreeves/Grace, mommy kink. FFFR 9.

vertex - E. John/Dean, Stanford era, pining!Dean. FFFR 10.

faith without works is dead - M. Sam’s powers, violence, dubcon. FFFR 11.

be subject to each other - E. Photography, facial. FFFR 12.

October

you know i’m gonna be like him - M. Past Dean/John, child abuse. FFFR 13.

unbalance - E. A/B/O, Jared/Jensen, prostitute!Jared. FFFR 14.

buccaneer - E. Crowley/Deanna, demon!Dean, always-a-girl!Dean. FFFR 15.

make much of time - E. Sam/Dean/Jack, virginity kink. FFFR 16.

see things so much clearer - E. Pre-series, first time, diaries. FFFR 17.

won’t let you let me down so easily - E. Sam/Brady, Sam/others, Stanford era, mind control, gangbang, noncon. FFFR 18.

the beams of our house are cedar - E. Bunker era, panties, feminization. FFFR 19.

November

negotiation tactics - E. Homelander/Soldier Boy, D/s, superpower sex.

finale coda - M. Heaven.

15.19 coda - T. Jack as god.

there will be better days - E. Heaven, first time.

December

a leaden anchor - E. Post-Playthings.

That’s it. I haven’t had a single writing thought in my head since that last one. Here’s hoping it comes back in 2021!

[redhourglass]

Important note for fanfic writers!

If y’all are wanting to tag people in your writing, but don’t know who to tag and are too shy to ask, TAG ME.

I’m always looking for more fanfic to read and I also need to work on leaving comments/liking/reblogging the stuff I read so it’ll be sort of an I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine kind of deal, okay?

SO THIS IS ME TELLING YOU YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION TO TAG ME IN STUFF.

You can technically tag me in anything I guess, but I’ll be super ecstatic if it’s Marvel or SPN. Those are my drug right now.

NOTE: Some ships (weecest/wincest especially) are not always my cup of tea, but I am willing to read them, like really truly if y’all want me to. No harm in asking if you want, but I mean I don’t really mind. I’m pretty chill as long as you’re not trying to force ships down my throat. For the most part on those, I’ll probably just talk constructively about the writing itself and not necessarily the story/content, you know what I mean? 

SO TAG ME IN STUFF. I DON’T MEAN TO SOUND AGGRESSIVE, BUT, LIKE, YOU SHY LITTLE BUGS CAN TAG ME IN YOUR STUFF.

Also, if I don’t at least ‘like’ your post within 24 hours of tagging me, yell at me via ask or direct call-out post lol. I promise I’m not ignoring you on purpose or to be mean. I’m just prone to laziness, general procrastination, and I get distracted super easily. I promise I’ll read it and leave a comment or whatever as soon as I can, but it might take me a few days or so depending on what my busy life decides to throw at me.

[bonnietohisclyde]

LITTLE MUSE FACTS. (Ha little)

Tagged by from @nevermeanttofall

instructions: fill out the questions about your muse, repost, and tag as many people you want.

1. what does your muse smell like?

Teen: (Canon)Coffee and cheap shampoo, in most cases, cheap motels and cheap laundry detergent.  However, he can also smell like a touch of whiskey and blood, depending on his situations at the time.  (Chatzy) In one verse he smells like coffee and clean sheets.  But let’s be real.  At the end of the day, he smells clean and human.  Nothing really special except for that touch of fresh out of the shower smell that lingers sometimes.

SPN Age: Whiskey, alcohol and motel rooms.  Clothes from bags and laundromats, dirt and blood and fight.  (canon) As for Renatus?  Soap and that touch of aftershave, coffee and recent meals, gunpowder and a stifled office.

Older: Whiskey and wood, a small bit of sweat and the woods outside.

2. how often does your muse bath/shower? any habits?

Teen: (canon) Once every few days, more often when his family isn’t around taking the shower up. He tends to use whatever shampoo he can find, but he’s started to get pickier about what he uses, especially as he finds more identity with his hair.  (Chatzy) Too much.  At least once or sometimes twice a day, but he hasn’t taken a shower alone for a while. The last alone shower was when Sam was out of town, but otherwise, he’s gotten so used to sex in the shower that it’s inevitable that no shower, even when Sam is gone, is without some sort of thrill.

SPN Age: (canon and etc) Whenever he can.  He doesn’t mind getting dirty on the road, but it can wear you down.  Cleaning up brings a better feeling, so if he gets time, he likes them, and likes getting Dean to take them, after all- they are stuck in a closed car together a lot.  He’s also collected some decent shampoos and soaps over time, but he keeps them back at the bunker if they have it, or hidden away in one of his bags, so Dean doesn’t use it all.  (Renatus) It depends where he is.  At home, depending on the family size, he tries to do it once a day, usually in the morning before he head out to the office.  That doesn’t always happen though.  He tends to try to keep his own soap and shampoo in the cabinet from the kids.

Older: Twice a day, most days.  After all, running a bar, especially with a bum leg, isn’t exactly something easy on your system.  Once in the morning when he gets up, once after the bar closes to get a lot of the smells off for awhile.

3. does your muse have any tattoos or piercing?

Teen: None.  

SPN Age: Anti possession tattoo.  (Renatus) None.

Older: Anti- Possession tattoo

4. any body movement quirks ( ex. knee shakes )?

Teen: (canon) he’s known to fidget a little, likes to keep his hands busy with books or something, leaning back, laying on things as he works on things, sometimes foot tapping, automatic crossing of arms.  (Chatzy) he has a lot of the others, but has gained new nervous habits.  He tends to curl up, crossing his legs, wrapping his arms around himself, when uneasy or unsure of himself.  Wears oversized shirts and then messes with their sleeves, or the clothes of someone he’s leaning on.

SPN Age: (canon) He tends to lean on things, mess with pens now and then, books, phones.  It depends on his mood.  If there is something in reach and he’s thinking, he’ll mess with it a little if he doesn’t have a computer to tap at while he does so. Otherwise he tends to try to hide his height in some ways, letting shoulders slouch, head drop, especially when trying to be nonintimidating. (Renatus) He has the height thing, a lot of other canon tics, but he also tends to mess with his ring when a little nervous.

Older: He has picked up much more aggressive body language since Dean’s death.  He tends to mess with glasses when they’re near, he taps his glasses that he keeps handy sometimes, stretches out his knee even when he doesn’t need to testing where it is.  He’s also picked up the habit of hitting his leg with just enough force to cause a tiny bit of pain, looking like he’s just tapping out a tune or something sometimes, if his knee isn’t hurting, to keep other things away.

5. what do they sleep in?

Teen: (canon)If dad’s home, his pajama pants and a big t-shirt that was handed down.  But if he’s home alone, it’s often just in pj pants.  But if it’s weecest, and it’s just Dean, he’s often naked.. (chatzy) If he’s home alone, it’s often in his pajama pants, or one of Sam’s shirts.  It’s not too much different if Sam’s home, other than he might be naked- but it’s in Sam’s bed a lot of the time if he’s there, so-  

SPN Age: (canon) Pajama pants.  Occasionally, if he’s too exhausted after a shower, he’ll just collapse in bed naked. (Renatus) Similar to canon, except in the verses with Leo and the kids, he always sleeps with clothes on, because kids.

Older: Pajama pants and a shirt.  You never know what’s going to happen.

6. what’s their favorite piece of clothing?

Teen: (canon) He doesn’t really have many.  He tends to like wearing some of Dean’s hoodies and such that he steals, rather than is given, because they are a little big and hide how skinny they can get. Otherwise, he’s never really too attached. (chatzy) He’s got a few things he’s managed to get attached too. His favorites will still always be stealing Sam’s (or Dean’s when he’s around him in sexy ways) shirts, and will even wear them around the apartment building over his own clothes sometimes. Otherwise he has a few nerdy shirts he’s wearing the hell out of, and he’s kind of attached to his new shoes and some of this jeans more than he’ll admit.  He just likes having clothes of his own that are new and that he picked out.

SPN Age: (canon) He’s got a few shirts he likes wearing again and again.  There’s one shirt he knows looks good on him, but he tends to get attached to coats and shoes more than he does actual clothes. (Renatus) He has a few ties that he likes to wear that were gifts from the kids and Leo in the usual verses.  Otherwise, he has ties that he thinks look good with him in general, and he likes pajama pants at home, and has a particularly comfortable pair.

Older: None, really. He just throws on what he has and makes sure he doesn’t look like he walked out of a dark closet. Technically, he has his ring, but that’s hidden a lot of the time.

7. what do they do when they wake up?

Teen: (canon)Depends. If he’s in a weecest verse, typically he gets up a little earlier to get into his own bed if dad is aroudn, and then after that he’s pretty groggy.  If not, or they aren’t around, he’ll get up shortly before school and just throw himself together and get out and about.  Or he’ll eat cereal and watch tv for awhile before he even dares to start his research or homework.  (chatzy) He spends a lot of time waking up, no matter who is there.  Just stares at the ceiling or gets up a little then lays back down, and then gets up a little, and repeat until he finally shuffles off to get coffee.

SPN Age: (canon) He’ll grab his coffee or water, and then go for a run if they’re in the right area. Otherwise, either at the bunker or not, coffee is always involved, followed by research if they’re on a case with breakfast, or breakfast and searching for a case.  If there are no cases, it’s just mainly hanging around and catching up on the world, maybe watching the news or checking in online. (Renatus)He’s really pretty damn similar to canon.  Only he jogs whenever he can, and then he has to go into work. On days off, he helps Leo with the kids in those verses, otherwise, where he’s single, he spends his days off practically working.

Older: He typically gets up, takes his pain medication that is in his room, takes a shower, gets coffee and his medication for the hallucinations while he’s in the kitchen. Leo often has breakfast, and he works on getting the bar ready to open for the day.

8. how do they sleep? position?

Teen: (canon) Lightly, he’s always a little on edge unless Dean’s there.  He tends to sleep on his side, unless it’s a hot night.  (chatzy) He’s a heavier sleeper in this one, though it’s taken time to adjust to where he feels safe enough to sleep heavier, and it’s only when he knows there’s someone around, or he’s at home in the apartment.  He’s started sleeping on his back, unless he’s curled up to someone.

SPN Age: (canon) Depends on how exhausted.  Typically on his back, but when really tired, he’s known to sleep on his side or however he lays down.  (Renatus)Whatever way he can get comfortable,a nd depending on if people are there or not, it adjusts.  

Older: Either on his back, or on his side so he can rest his bad knee up on a pillow.

9. what do their hands feel like?

Teen: (canon) rough, slim, light and quick, but nothing like what they would be like in the future. (chatzy) Softer as time goes by and he hasn’t really handled any weaponry or dealt with bags too much.  

SPN Age: (canon) Long and tough, he’s dealt with a lot of things, and it shows. (Renatus) Similar to canon, only instead of overall rough, he’s got soft spots.  You can tell where the gun fits in his hand, you can feel the notches where there have been breaks in the past.

Older: Rough, very rough. They almost softened up for a while, and the bar kind of helped to do so, but as time went on and he picked up to help hunting to assist on the side, his hands found their way back to the way they were.

10. if you kissed them, what would they usually taste like?

Teen: (canon) Candy, coffee, and salt.   (chatzy) coffee, toothpaste (no taste of food is lingering in his mouth if he can help it). You might be able to taste whatever food Sam had insisted he ate, but it’s not likely unless you got him while he was actually eating it.  Most likely, while at home, a hint of ranch dressing from the vegetables.  Maybe a hint of whiskey from Dean or sam.

SPN Age: (canon) Coffee, whiskey, and whatever diner they’ve been to. (Renatus) coffee, mint, and a touch of toothpaste.

Older: coffee and alcohol.

tagging: @gadaiarneamh, @stardvstdaughter, anyone else who wants to do it

[sammyatstanford]

First kiss?

probably likely since I’ve done this...more than once now

I’d love to write a sastiel first kiss

send me a trope

[fandom-hoarder]

Hey there! I would like to know more about one of your WIPs called Little red riding hood from the Supernatural fandom! Please and thank you! You are awesome by the way! <3

Thank you! <3 ☺️

This one is based on a thought I posted awhile back, of Sam and Dean roleplaying little red riding hood. The document is currently just a collection of scene openers trying to gain steam, collected from notes made in bed at 2am. It’s likely going to have some dubcon elements at the very least. Currently envisioning Sam as 17 for this.

I haven't decided yet what Sam's gender is in this. Currently I'm using he/they pronouns.

Excerpts:

Sam heard the lyrics belting out, slightly crackly, from the oldies station Dean had going on the radio in the kitchen. The smell of bacon and coffee wafted up with the music through the vent that looked down onto the kitchen table. Sam looked at themself in the mirror, biting their lip, and reached for his red hoodie.

 *

 Sam runs through the trees, panting raggedly, trying to think through the path they should be taking and not let panic overtake him. It’s just training. It’s just training.

❤

WIP ask game

[fandom-hoarder]

90 O_O

Lil red riding hood is an eye catcher! <3

I answered about it here, but I'll say a little more! 😀

It's going to be a bit of werewolf kink eventually.

I have this vision of thick woods, the smell of wet leaves and sweat, Sam's heart pounding in his ears, a thrill of fear running hotly through him as the chase overcomes rational thought. Dean, far behind him at first, whistling the 60s song. Switching to singing the lyrics predatorily as he grows closer. Flashes of Sam's red hoodie through the trees.

[Little red riding hood, you sure are looking good-]

And then suddenly--no noise at all. Sam, straining to listen through his own pulse. There's a growl. Dean pounces.

WIP ask game!

Tagged by @lovetheirloves , @raidens-realm , and @wincestismyheart thank you! <3 ☺️

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I'll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it. And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Supernatural active WIPs (currently active in fandom; intend to write)

1. Bobby’s

2. C’mon

3. Dad

4. Dean

5. Dialogue for something

6. I’ll come with you

7. Little red riding hood

8. Sam is fourteen when the dreams start

9. Sam something something_s1 rewatch

10. The room is humid as sam wakes

For the Ultra-Curious: other-fandom WIPs (inactive in fandom; very old wips; future status unknown; I’m only listing a few for the lulz cuz my other fandom wips are… well there’s a ton)

A. A second chance at heaven

B. Dio’s angel, Lucciola

C. Heartache Every Moment

D. It’s raining when she knocks on my door

E. K2

F. Little naru and sasu Halloween

G. My Brother’s Comfort

H. Sasu gets a kitty

I. Teen wolf s3 fix

J. Of Love and Squirmy Squeedlyspooches

No-pressure tags (i can't remember who all has done this already): @writinginthesecrettrees @hathfrozen @posingasme @amill22 @fictionallemons @redmyeyes @all-4-wincest @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @cordellwinchesterwalker @babysoftboyking

And YOU, if you're seeing this and would like to participate!

[fandom-hoarder]

You got anymore of them weecest/under John's nose post?????

Omg I was going to reply last night but I fell asleep 😅 sorry

So!! I know I've seen/reblogged more on tumblr before and tagged them so, but we all know about tumblr's search disfunction even with common tags 😩

If you're cool with watersports/piss kink, Hold It by drvology  (my podfic of it here ) technically counts as under John's nose (this one is what I call vanilla watersports; there's no piss-drinking type stuff here)

[drvology has a TON of stuff on their ao3 and i haven't gone through it all, but there may be more gems to find there]

After a (very quick and dirty) search on ao3 I found:

Backseat by Mistyzeo  - the title is pretty self explanatory

Handjobs at Dawn by Smudge93 (Must be signed in) - handjobs at a diner table!

And mmf they both hit the spot pretty well, but I need MORE and I think you probably know what that will lead to lol (oml please brain let me write something)

In the meantime, have some scenarios!

* Sam and Dean watching tv on the couch in the dark while John's across the room at the kitchenette table working under lamplight. Sam and Dean start playing handjob chicken--just sneaking touches at first--to see how far the other will let them go with dad in the room. It goes pretty far. 👀👀👀👀

* John sitting them BOTH down for The Talk because he's noticed marks on both of them plus a general stench of sex following them like a cloud of boy-smell and he's not sure if they've learned this shit yet in school. He shows them how to put on a condom using a cucumber or something and tells them to practice later so they don't embarrass themselves in the heat of the moment. The boys are blushy and john is oblivious because getting The Talk is awkward af, of course they're blushing

* the classic: John in the next bed, dean fucking slow into sammy with his hand over Sam's mouth. Sam barely contains himself!

* John walks in on them fooling around but they successfully disguise it as roughhousing

* COMBINATION! Combat training in front of John with hidden touches and frottage chicken!! 👁👄👁