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[unsurprisinglyren]

I imagine that when Dean and Sam realise what is between them is more, so much more than they first thought, not brotherly – not exactly, not entirely – there’s an undercurrent, thick as syrup, honied and dripping sweetly, yet so fucking rotted. An undercurrent of oh shit, this goes too deep to explain away as anything else.

Because the core of their relationship is a feasting thing; choked-up with the desire to own, to consume. A ravenous, dangerous addiction to one another.

A controlled descent into wrongness. A calm tailspin. Graceless, shameless, faithless. A stomach-jolting plummet into the pitch-streaked abyss below. A convoluted evolution of their relationship. Sulphur-stained, blood-drenched, wretched, beautifully tainted.

Something only they could understand.

Something they keep hidden away, but other’s notice it – how could they not? – they see the way Dean’s gaze burns whenever he looks at his little brother, just the wrong side of normal – hell, there’s nothing remotely normal about the way he watches Sam, equal parts tamped down need and rough-edged desire. They witness the way Sam presses up close to Dean’s side, too close. Unnecessary. Unneeded. Undeniable.

The Winchester brothers are broken beyond repair, jagged pieces put hastily back together time and time again, and yet together they assuage each other’s flaws.

Faultless, guiltless; a maddening spiral. Push-and-pull. Breath and skin and spit-slicked chins. Stolen kisses. Quickies in the cramped backseat of the impala.

A tangled-up, knotted-up, fucked-up duo.

[unsurprisinglyren]

@punchedbymarkesmith omfg, that’s such a tasty morsel!! You’re writing is crazy good (༎ຶ︿༎ຶ)

My WIP:

Dad wasn’t having it this evening. He placed down his beer with a thunk on the counter top, a fizzy rush of amber liquid up the glass sides, almost it spilled out the neck of the bottle. “Not now, Sam.”

Sam didn’t heed the tone. The clear warning; drop it, I’m not in the mood. Or, perhaps he caught it, for Sam wasn’t stupid, was a hell of a lot smarter than Dean was at eleven, maybe Sam had clocked the gravel in dad’s voice, the hardened set to his jaw, the way his hands were held stiffly at his sides. Like a man preparing for a fight.

And shit, Dean’s lungs stuttered around the breath he was taking, shit, not tonight.

Tagging @h28731 and @motelsnleatherseats (WIP Wednesday, but make it belated haha) ♡(◕ε◕)

WIP Wednesday

Yes, it is now Thursday, but... me getting tagged and actually following through a day later? Beating my usual track record of "sit on it for weeks and forget" lmao. Thank you to lovelies @lucky-bishop and @dear-massacre for tagging me (and for posting theirs, I always love to see what's cookin')

My snippet is Wincest because of course it is...

“You deserve better than this,” Dean said to Sam, and Sam assumed he meant Dad, the demon, the eternal smoke trail of peril following them both. Dean lied to Sammy, but this one doesn’t count as much, right? Lies of omission are different, right? He just didn’t correct him, that’s all. Didn’t tell Sam that what he really meant was, “You deserve better than a big brother who goads you into fucking him like a whore. You deserve better than a life on the road with me and nothing but me.” And Sam being Sam, he’ll probably ask Dean tonight, “Was that okay yesterday? Did I do anything you didn’t want?” Like it’s Sam’s responsibility to keep things in check, like Dean’s not the one who should be apologizing. “All the time, I wanted you. You never did anything I didn’t want,” Sam had said, and all Dean could think was, “Yeah, but who made you want me? I did.”

Low pressure tags to @beaconfeels @meggie-stardust @unsurprisinglyren @runawaydr3amerao3 @paranoidxbastard <3

[unsurprisinglyren]

sam’s “you wanna take another swing? go ahead, if it’ll make you feel better” “you saw what i did, come on, stop the car, take a swing!” “you satisfied?” “look, dean, it’s fine. you can unload. that’s kind of what i’m here for.”

he’s so willing & wanting for dean to take out his pain/anger on him. i’m going feral

[unsurprisinglyren]

It’s too good!! WTF. *expires messily from nosebleed*

17 year old sam REALLY wanting to fuck dean because of teenage angst and ego. 21 y/o dean being like okay sure. sam becoming nervous, clumsly fingering dean until his big brother literally grabs his hand to do do it for him. sam finishing prematurely (aka like 15 seconds into fucking dean). dean flipping them over and riding him despite it. sam begging for mercy and finishing another 2 times until dean cums

[unsurprisinglyren]

The line was quiet when Dean accepted the call; almost he thought it hadn’t connected properly. A silent stretch of nothingness and then he heard it, the very shallow breathing of his little brother; low and unsteady and fuck. He’d missed him. It was a visceral tug below his ribcage, a swift rearranging of his insides. Not entirely unpleasant, a dip and shiver and swoop within him.

“Hey.” He said because it was apparent Sam wasn’t going to be the one to initiate the conversation despite being desperate to call in the first place.

“Hey.” Soft-voiced, breathy and sweet and Dean’s chest expanded on an abrupt breath, warmth sudden in his lungs, tightening his lower belly. A flare of something more. He frowned at that.

“What’re you drinking?” He asked, sitting back in the hard-backed chair; the scattered, messy collection of case files and other documents forgotten on the dingy motel table in front of him. It could hardly be considered a dining table, it barely seated one comfortably. But it was just big enough to hold his case notes.

“Beer. I shouldn’t be, though. I have a test tomorrow. Or today.” Sam trailed off and Dean could hear the shifting of fabric. Blanket and pillow, and then Sam was sighing. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Dean. It’s doing my head in.”

“Yeah?” What else was he supposed to say? I’ve been thinking about you, too, Sammy. Ever since you left it’s not been the same. You shouldn’t have left. You shouldn’t have left me.

Sam made some pitiful little sound in the back of his throat, high-pitched and wavering and it struck Dean low. Made his breath come quicker. A strange response but when Sam spoke, he lost the ability to breathe altogether.

“I wish you were here with me now. Lying beside me. With me. You’d keep me warm, wouldn’t you, De?”

He swallowed. It stuck on the way down, noisy. He was certain Sam would have heard it. Clocked his apprehension. But Sam was too far gone, wasted on cheap beer and mumbling down the line still, heated words, not shy or filtered. And Dean felt a flicker of something through his body. Warm-edged. A little like fondness, and too much like arousal.

“If you were here I’d make sure you were looked after,” a long inhale. A shifting sound. Then Sam stifled a small noise that might’ve been a giggle. “I’d suck you off.” Bold words and an even bolder follow up. “I’d swallow, too. And let you do whatever you wanted to me after.”

Dean’s stomach tightened, a pulse of unbidden desire, hot and stifling. And suddenly the motel room was too hot. His armpits prickling with sweat. He shifted in the chair, warning with a low-pitched voice, “Sam. You’re drunk.”

But you’re not, his mind supplied. Stone-cold sober and getting hot under the collar from hearing your little brother’s naughty words.

It was more than that though. More than the breathy words. More than the implication that Sam must have thought about this type of thing sober for him to have the balls to bring it up drunk.

It was the shivery little breaths from the other end of the line that made Dean’s cock ache; hard and flushed full and he could resist no longer. He scooted his arse forward a little on the chair, his knees falling apart. Popping open the button of his jeans and dragging down the zipper with a muted hiss, he drew in a steadying breath.

The relief, when his erection was freed from the confining denim, was a rush through his lower belly. Heat and the flare and snare of sudden desire.

“De?”

“Yeah, Sammy?” Rough-edged. Like he’d swallowed a handful of jagged rocks. He swallowed, fingers loosely wrapped around the heated length of his erection. Not moving. A display of self-restraint. A hesitancy even. His eyes drifted over the contents of the table; satanic symbols and red-marked letters. The case he’d been diligently working for the past month hardly mattered right now.

“I want you inside me.”

And shit. Dean’s whole body tightened with those words, warm and slightly slurred. Poor boy was desperate and hot for his big brother, and Dean couldn’t bear the idea of shutting this down. Whatever the hell this was. Phone sex. With his brother. And fuck, but he was hard as fucking granite.

“Yeah?” It was all he could manage. A roughened word spoken just a touch too deep. Could have been taken for disgust, but Sam was too far gone and knew Dean far too well to mistake it for anything but the raw lust it was.

“Mmhm, I’m so horny for you! I want you to open me up and fuck me nice and hard.”

“Fuck, Sammy.”

“That’s the idea.”

Dean tightened his grip on himself, tugging at the tip, a twist of his hand. And yeah, fuck yeah, the idea of fingering his little brother open; of having Sammy writhing on his fingers, coming undone, coming apart in the most beautiful way imaginable because of Dean’s touch, and then being taken by him. Knees pressed to his shoulders, belly folded over, thighs trembling, held taut, the bitten red lips and swallowed gasps, and...

“Fuck. I want that.”

Nevermind the fact he’d never slept with a guy before. He wasn’t naive about how it worked. Hell, he’d watched porn before. He knew. But, shit. He’d never thought about it with Sam before.

“I’d be so good for you, De. I’d let you go as deep as you wanted and you could fill me up. I wouldn’t mind.”

Dean’s hand jerked faster, pre-come dampening the head of his shaft, moist and warm and he used his palm to smear it down the length of it. Spreading his knees wider until one of them knocked against the table leg.

Sam was breathing heavily, biting back his sounds and Dean had the belated realisation that Sam was jacking off as well. His body went hot. A searing cascade of pleasure. Of wrongness. Yet the moral debate rattling around in the back of his skull only heightened the pleasure, gave it a razor sharp edge. And Dean groaned, low in his throat, a sound he couldn’t have smothered or swallowed down even if he’d tried.

Sam responded with a noise of his own; rasping and trembly and so fucking vulnerable that Dean felt something inside of him shift. Come undone. A displacement of some inner morality. A discarding of it.

And he couldn’t quite quell his own words, roughened by desire, by the utter perverseness of what they were doing. “That’s it, sweetheart, you like the thought of me breeding your tight little arse? Making you come while I fill you all the way up?”

Sam moaned, deep and sweet and Dean could hear the click of wet skin on skin. The telltale signs that Sammy was just as far gone as Dean was. His arousal dripping at the thought of taking his big brother’s cock in his arse, being fucked hard by it.

Would he beg Dean for more? Or would it be too much for him to handle? He might cry. Dean found he rather liked that idea. A sweat-dampened, wet-lashed Sammy sniffling underneath him, his pink-tipped cock hard and flushed as Dean drove mercilessly into him.

And fuck, he was close, held on the very edge of climax, driven to the precipice just by the soft sounds down the line and his own perverted thoughts.

“I’m close, Dean,” shaky-voiced. Dean heard the shift of bed springs, the hitched breath Sam let out, and then Sam was breathing down the line, “Make me come. I wanna come for you.”

And what else was Dean supposed to do? His own arousal was kicking hard, exhausted from the tease of his too-loose fist, wet with pre-come and flushed an angry red when he glanced down at his open flies and the slick mess over his hand.

He gave into both of their needs. Recklessly barreling into unknown territory. Knowing full well there was no going back once he stepped over that particular line.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you nice and hard? Pound your arse until you can’t hold back anymore. Until you want to scream? Wanna scream for me, Sammy?”

“Y-yeah. Wanna let you hear how good you’re making me feel.”

“You touching yourself?” He didn’t really need to ask, he could hear well enough the stifled moans, the wet slip and click of Sam jerking off to his voice and his words. But he asked it anyway, some small part of him needing the outright confirmation.

“Mmh, yeah. So close. T-tell me I’m -” Sam trailed off, voice gone shy and soft. But with a belly full of liquid courage and the building crescendo of an impending orgasm, he forged ahead before Dean could prompt him. “Tell me I’m a good boy?”

Fuck. Dean’s cock twitched, an achy throb of arousal that made his thighs quiver. He gripped the base hard to quell the sudden rise of his own orgasm. Spurred on by Sam’s breathy voice, the tentative request, the way Dean’s body had reacted with a violent rush of heat and need.

Sammy wanted to be called a good boy? Dean could definitely do that.

“You want to come, Sammy? Want to come for me and be a good boy?”

A drawn-out moan from Sam, high in his throat and broken with a deep-seated pleasure that had everything to do with the way Dean had pitched his voice low; a growl of grit and gravel. Warm and rough and just the right side of gentle that it had an immediate effect on Sam.

Dean listened, phone held so tightly to his ear that it hurt, as Sam came undone. A quivering thing on the other end of the line, soft boy, sweet baby brother, coming in a rush at the praise and the gruff tone and Dean felt an implicit sense of power. A control he never knew existed; raw and compelling and powerfully addictive.

He came with a grunt, taken by surprise by the vehemency of his climax. A roaring rush in his ears, drowning out Sam’s panting breaths, lifting his head dizzily, a gossamer kind of lift and swoop and drop. He was left breathless, hand still wrapped around his softening shaft, phone still clamped against the shell of his ear, chest still twined up with the heady sense of power.

Silence, save for their mutual breathing, ragged at first, then softer.

“You okay?” Dean ventured into speech first, almost afraid of Sam’s response.

But it came on a huffed breath, a laugh, the breath of one anyway. “Yeah. I think I might actually be able to sleep now.”

“Good.” And it was good. Dean sat up straighter in his chair, shaking off the cooling slick of come from his hand, frowning at the mess he’d made in his jeans. Now that the sweep of pleasure had passed his head was returning to stark reality.

He swallowed hard, glancing over his research, the white-washed walls, the humming orange overhead light, the latched motel door. He was miles away from Stanford. Miles away from Sam, who was sleepy and contented after coming, mumbling something about his test that Dean didn’t quite catch.

And it wasn’t a sense of regret that fell upon him once Sam had hung up, the line static and barren, it wasn’t guilt or disgust that made him shove all the research into his duffel bag, that made him swipe up the keys to the impala and head for the door. For Stanford.

For Sammy.

It was a devouring, unremitting, implacable need. Bone-deep. Embedded into the very marrow of his bones.

He started the engine with a twist of the key in the ignition, a roar and rumble underneath him. And he was pulling out of the parking lot with a rev.

He never should have let Sam leave for Stanford. He was determined to make things right. Even if that meant stealing Sam away. Locking him up. Keeping him all to himself.

[unsurprisinglyren]

@sammysixtyseven

The perfect reblog 😂😂

Image of ant walking away, holding a sack tied to a stick over its back. The ant appears sorrowful and dejected, as if all the joy had been sucked out of it's day. It's antennae are lowered, presumably from the intense sadness it feels. ⠀

I’m laughing at the randomness of this ask!

😂😂

[unsurprisinglyren]

Image of ant walking away, holding a sack tied to a stick over its back. The ant appears sorrowful and dejected, as if all the joy had been sucked out of it's day. It's antennae are lowered, presumably from the intense sadness it feels. ⠀

I’m laughing at the randomness of this ask!

😂😂

[unsurprisinglyren]

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

❤️❤️

[unsurprisinglyren]

I'm weird and gross and a freak :/

No, but seriously, I’m sure you’re a lovely dove, anon! ❤️

[unsurprisinglyren]

I forgot to tell you what's cool 😭

What's cool is I have a signed photo of a supernatural actor

That’s so cool!! 🤩🤩

[unsurprisinglyren]

Happy Wincest Wednesday

Happy Wincest Wednesday to you too, lovely dove ❤️❤️

[unsurprisinglyren]

@spnj2fanlw

The way this idea hit me (in the best way possible) omg, such a creative and fun idea!! I’m definitely tempted to try my hand at it.

Fic idea:

I have an idea I would love to read but I'm still totally blocked for writing so if any of my writer friends is taking asks or feels inspired by this I would love to read it.

Sam/Dean. One of them comes across a cursed wedding ring on a hunt and like Dean with the ballet shoes is compelled to put it on. When they do one magically appears on the other brothers finger. (The person they love most) At first it's great, the attention, introduced as husband etc but things turn sour really fast with jealousy and possessiveness and when the first brother tries to take the ring off to stop all this it won't come off, of course. Things quickly build to the second one going to do a murder suicide and it can only be stopped by an act of true love which makes both rings disappear leaving the brothers to have one hell of a conversation and hopefully some great getting together sex and happiness. Set anytime but I see more later years.

Could be funny or angsty

So anyone game??

@jinkieswouldyoulookatthis @need-more-meta @according2thelore @zmediaoutlet @ani-coolgirl @dyed-red @runawaydr3amerao3 @unsurprisinglyren @fandom-hoarder @sammichgirl

And anyone else who writes or can share to a writer I've forgotten here

[unsurprisinglyren]

Sam, wanting literally anything for himself, no matter how small^

Literally everyone in the show (even Dean at times)^

the saddest part is that at the beginning of the show Sam’s vicious and fiery and so determined that he won’t be played in these celestial games even as his puppet strings are being pulled. And then by the later seasons we see him so broken down that he’s learned not to fight it anymore. As long as it’s Dean holding the leash, Sam will come to heel, because what else can he do? He may never be allowed to be his own person, but he can be Dean’s person, and at this point that’s good enough for him. 

[unsurprisinglyren]

@h28731 you shared one of my favourite lines of your WIP 🤩

[my other WIP, end game Dean with Stanford Sam, complete with stalker Dean, of course 😏]

It was an itch down his spine, a slow burgeoning of something fettered; something that wanted out. A seep of desperate desire, that came upon him abruptly, sharp-edged, as he watched from the shadows.

I’ll tag @sammysixtyseven (only if you’re interested, lovely! No pressure ❤️)

Write two sentences from one of your WIPs, I dare you

@incestthemes @herestoevilskanks @supergaysupernatural (or anyone else who wants to jump in or get added to the tag list)

In the spirit of fairness, here you go, two sentences from one of my WIPs I haven't touched in a bit:

"I know I'm getting off on this, but I've got a pair black eyes, you though," Dean bites his ear hard enough it might honestly be cut. Sam doesn't care, can't care with all the sensations warring inside him. "You're just naturally this twisted Sammy."

[unsurprisinglyren]

@punchedbymarkesmith thank you so much for the tag, lovely ❤️ your snippet is SO amazing and I neeeed more!!

-> it’s a little more then two sentences:

John spared Sam a look; obsidian and rough-edged. Seeing the way the boy’s nostrils flared, wet-lashed eyes blinking rapidly as he was dragged back by the vampires’ arm about his throat, a squinching up of his mouth, clawing at the arm about his neck, digging his heels in; a little boy caught up in an out-matched fight and shit, this wasn’t going the way they’d planned.

I’m tagging @h28731 💖 (only if you want to, hun).

Write two sentences from one of your WIPs, I dare you

@incestthemes @herestoevilskanks @supergaysupernatural (or anyone else who wants to jump in or get added to the tag list)

In the spirit of fairness, here you go, two sentences from one of my WIPs I haven't touched in a bit:

"I know I'm getting off on this, but I've got a pair black eyes, you though," Dean bites his ear hard enough it might honestly be cut. Sam doesn't care, can't care with all the sensations warring inside him. "You're just naturally this twisted Sammy."

[unsurprisinglyren]

This post 😂😂 omg.

Dean: Hey Sammy, can you help me with this stuck zipper?

Sam: Of course!

Dean: UP, Sam.

Sam: Right, sorry.

[unsurprisinglyren]

This is too relatable 😂😂

I’m stalking peoples blogs like Dean stalked Sammy at Stanford.

I wish more wincesties had it in their bios so I could follow them quicker. Because I look insane scrolling through people's accounts until I find reblogged fanart of Sam and Dean making out or something. Then I'm like, "Okay, yay! New friend!"