sluttyimpala

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if i hide it well enough, will god look away? a poem by me.

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if i cannot be wanted

i will be needed

and if i cannot be needed

let me be used until there’s nothing left of me

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x

#it's them #its literally them #wincest #samdean

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Rewatching seasons 3 and I have two questions only, fellas is it gay to need a nod and a go ahead from your brother before having sex with two twins or fellas is it gayer to sit outside the window and watch while said brother has sex?

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wincest smut <3 ficlet, didn't bother doing a word count

bottom dean, top sam, degrading & ownership kink

they're inseparable. they have been since the moment they first touched, first got the taste of the forbidden fruit that was each other. they could barely even process how they were feeling with the intensity of it all. sam's large frame practically looms over dean's smaller one, they're both covered in each other's sweat and there's spit splattered all over their mouths and chins, sloppy with fervor and urgency. they need each other. it's all they know. it's never sam or dean, it's sam and dean, together, bonded by so much more than their family line.

dean's panting underneath his brother, biceps flexing under the much too big hoodie of sam's that he wore as he strains to control himself. sam's just too fucking hot like this, he's got his hand around both of their cocks and pumping his hand up and down fast but in a rhythmic way. dean could just get lost in it looking at him.

sam feels pretty much the same about his brother, although he wishes he had've been able to slip off the hoodie to take in the entirety of dean's skin. he's not complaining about what he ended up with, though, either. dean looks so small in the bulkiness of the hoodie, and something about that just makes him want him more. the fact that he can reduce his brother to this sends a hot thrill up through him, and he finds himself tightening his grip on their cocks. he earns himself a gorgeous little whimper from dean, and he grins to himself as he sees his brother's head throw back.

"god, you're so pathetic," he spits, and the shiver through dean's thighs doesn't go unnoticed. "letting your baby brother do this shit to you? kind of fucking whore are you?"

and oh, god, dean doesn't have any words. his hips and thighs are shaking desperately. he needs sam so bad it's like an instinct at this point, driven by the primal urge to fuck and be fucked, and he doesn't necessarily mind that sam's usually the one fucking him. this is just foreplay; pretty soon sam will be so deep inside his brother that it'll be impossible for either of them to feel anything but each other. each other's warmth, love, passion, unresolved anger, everything about each other belongs to one another. it just so happened to be the order of operations that sam was really fucking good at bossing his brother around. and of course, dean was completely compliant to it.

"y- yeah," he panted out, his hips desperately jerking up in time with the rhythm of sam's hand. "your whore, sammy. all yours, all fucking yours, holy shit-" he let out a breathy moan as he felt himself nearing the edge, felt sam's pace pick up because he knew. it was barely a few seconds before he could feel warm spurts ending up all over his thighs hips; his vision was white and searing hot like his whole soul was relishing the feeling.

it didn't last long. sam pulled away before he was fully finished, and then he could feel his brother's cock prodding at his hole. he'd prepared prior, since sam was usually too impatient to do it for him, but even still, he got the feeling sam was going to be particularly ruthless tonight.

he didn't even mind. sam could do whatever he wanted to him and he'd have no complaints. he loved his little brother, and he'd do anything to ensure that he was happy. so if fucking his brother was what made him happy, who was dean to say no?

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Christmas bazaars can be pretty fun

Happy holidays ✨

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You are married to Sam Winchester. You don’t have a name.

You met him in a bar. Or a park. Or a diner where you worked. Or a library you were studying in. Or on the bus route back to your apartment. Or in the frozen aisle of a grocery store. The location doesn’t matter, but you know that you know him. That’s all you need to know. He smiles at you, and you smile back. He’s nice to look at, in the way that shards of stained glass are nice to look at. In the way that car crashes are captivating, in the way that a tree can be both dead and alive at once, in the way that homes disappear one room at a time. It doesn’t matter. You open your mouth to introduce yourself but the waitress-librarian-cop-bus driver-clerk talks over you. He never asks again. I’m Sam, he says. It’s a nice name. He’s got a nice face.

Dating him is easy. He never asks any questions about you. You ask questions about him, but he doesn’t like it, so you learn to stop. I had a brother, he offers once, in the way that someone says, I tried to kill myself. You nod. His name is Dean. It’s odd, maybe, that he refers to Dean in both past and the present tense. He doesn’t like it when you question things like that, though, so you keep quiet. Sam says strange things sometimes, when you’re sitting entwined on your couch watching reality TV. I killed monsters. They killed me, sometimes, too. He says. Your eyes go wide. He reassures you, It doesn’t matter. You melt back against him.

Oh, okay. As long as it doesn’t matter, that’s alright with you.

You get married. You get married in a courthouse, because Sam doesn’t like churches. I’ve made too many promises in churches, he said. I can’t break any more.

Okay, you say. You never liked churches much anyway. Or maybe you do. Maybe you believe in God. Sam doesn’t. He says he killed God. You believe him, because he’s got a knife carved from bone hidden under your boxspring. He keeps herbs and finger bones in jars and a golden bowl in your china cabinet, and won’t let you touch them. When the clerk hands you your wedding certificate, you smile as Sam kisses you. You’re excited when you take the paper from him, hoping to see your name. But in the space where it’s supposed to be is blank. Sam rubs a finger over Marriage Certificate, then over his name scribbled in pen. It’s perfect, he says, looking up at you with distant stars in his eyes. Oh. Okay, it’s perfect. That’s good. 

He cries out for Dean in his sleep. Night terrors so severe that they upend you from his bed shake him awake once a week. He screams in a language you’ve never heard before. After those nights, Sam doesn’t look you in the eye. He doesn’t talk after nightmares, and you don’t know how to shake him back to consciousness.

You catch him in the reflex of doing things. Odd things set him off. A rerun of that medical drama you binged in undergrad shuts Sam down, and he doesn’t come home until after dinner. An Asia song plays in a grocery store and Sam drops the milk in the middle of the aisle. You find him having a panic attack behind your car in the parking lot. 

He has an old car in the apartment’s parking garage that you’re not allowed to touch. It’s vintage—a beautiful thing, because you know a lot about cars or maybe you don’t—and it’s got an arsenal in the trunk. He buries salt lines in your yard. If you sneak up behind him, he’s got a knife to your throat before you can explain yourself.

Sam laughs at something on his phone, and goes to show someone, but it’s always only you there. It seems to disappoint him. When he’s upset, he gets more upset when you say the wrong things. It’s a dance that you don’t know the steps to, and Sam’s too tired to teach you.

It’s okay, you’ll learn yourself. You buy him almonds at the grocery store. You always keep the thermostat above seventy two degrees Fahrenheit. You always grab him a second of whatever you get: a beer, a sandwich, a blanket. You sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door. It’s not perfect. When you do the laundry, he gets frustrated with you because you fold things “too big.”  He always orders two sides of fries. He buys ground beef that he doesn’t eat.

He has a dog. The dog doesn’t like you, but it doesn’t not like you either. Sam hates you for it. Dean loves this dog. He loves Dean, too. Sam told you. You wilt. Another test failed. Dean’s really good at this game, but you’re not. Dean’s good at most games, at least the games that Sam likes to play. You try to love the dog more after that, giving him treats and actually cooking the ground beef Sam throws away every week to feed him. When Sam sprints into the kitchen as the smell wafts through the house, he collapses when he sees it’s just you. He doesn’t talk the rest of the weekend.

Sam gets a job at the factory. Or the construction site. Or the law firm. Or the local community college. You work as a nurse. Or a doctor. Or a cop. Or a secretary. Or a chef. It doesn’t matter. The details are blurry. Sam invites you to a Christmas party with his coworkers. This is my wife, Sam says, proud. His coworkers smile, but they never ask your name. You don’t have one. That’s alright with you, as long as it’s alright with Sam. You’d hate to embarrass him at a work party.

You have sex. You get pregnant. You have a kid. Those things happen in some kind of order, but it gets mixed up sometimes. 

You’ve always wanted a girl probably, but when you look into the face of your son, you realize that you’ve never wanted anything as much as you want this child. Or maybe you never wanted kids. But you have one now, and he’s your priority. You’re a good mom.

Sam didn’t have a good mom, didn’t have a mom until he was in his thirties, but she didn’t last long. So it’s important to him that you’re a good mom for his son. You’re going to take the job seriously.

We should name him Dean, you suggest, and Sam sobs into your hair. Your chest warms pleasantly. You like it when Sam holds you like this. When Sam shows you the birth certificate, your eyes catch on the name. Dean Winchester Junior? You ask. That’s for naming a child after a parent. Sam looks at the baby in your arms—wait, now it’s in his arms—and says, Dean is as much of a part of this as either of us.

The space for Mother of Child is blank. You’ve never seen a picture of Dean Winchester. Or Dean Winchester, Sr. now. 

You fall asleep in an apartment and wake up in a house with a porch and a white-picket fence. That’s nice. It’ll give the dog space to run around. In your child’s sixth month alive, Sam sleeps in the child’s crib with a knife. Just to make sure, he says. Nothing’s going to happen to Dean. It takes him a long time to say the name without flinching when he’s talking about his son. When your son turns a year old, you finally remember to ask what Sam’s tattoo means. He looks surprised that you’ve mentioned it. It’s a tattoo that I got with Dean. He says. Of course it is. You’re angry, but it’s gone again, because these are things you’re supposed to accept about Sam. It keeps demons from possessing me. Demons? You ask, startled. Sam’s mouth thins into a line. Yes. You need to get one, he says. And the second that Dean turns sixteen, I’m signing that form and we’re taking him in to get one, too. You’re alarmed, until Sam tells you that it’s okay. That’s a relief. You get the tattoo, right over your left breast, and Sam fucks you so hard that you can’t walk the next day. You introduce your family to your boss one day, This is Sam and Dean!, and Sam shoves the baby into your arms and has to leave the room. We’re calling him Dean Junior from now on, Sam says later, after the hunted look in his eyes melts into exhaustion. Alright. 

You clean the house. You wear sundresses. You like your job, but not enough to let it get in the way of being a mother. Sam teaches Dean Junior how to throw a ball. He helps him with math homework. You make meatloaf and take Dean Junior to soccer games.

You realize late—too late, maybe—that all the pictures of you on the mantle are a little blurry. You can’t remember the last time you saw your own reflection. You pull out your driver’s license. It’s blank, just your address. No picture of you. Your hair colour is just “dark.” No height. “Thin” is your weight. You speed on the way home from work so you can get pulled over. You hand over your empty license and your blank registration, and the cop barely gives either a glance. You’re free to go. He says. Everything’s in order.

You walk in the front door, and Sam kisses you on the cheek. He’s had to get glasses recently, and they make his face look even more handsome. Welcome home, honey, he says, smiling. Do you remember when you told me you killed God? You ask, because that sounds vaguely familiar. Sam blinks at you in confusion for a couple of seconds. The house shudders around you for a second.

Yes, Sam says, voice distant. Yes, I think I did. There’s a new God now though. I helped raise him. He’s a good kid. The house stills. There is no room for nasty things here. Only good. You nod, relieved. I’m glad he’s a nice boy, you say, picking up your son. If anyone could raise God, you could.

Sam looks haunted by this. He retreats.

Sam doesn’t tell you everything. Sam won’t ever tell you everything. 

You look into the face of your son as he swings his legs lightly against your hip. He’s got green eyes, and he’s sucking on his thumb, a nasty habit you’ve tried to break. Sam shows Dean Junior pictures of his brother. He tells him stories, when Dean Junior’s asleep, about the open road, about cicadas and fireworks and greasy diner food and sunscreen and used textbooks and ash.

You sit on the opposite side of the door and cry because this man is a catastrophe and he hunted monsters and he loves everything more than you thought anyone could love anything. He’s half a soul, crammed into one body, edges ragged. He’s over two hundred years old. And he likes cherry slushies and he’s killed angels and he dreams of his brothers hands and he’s seen the face of God. 

I love your uncle, you had heard his voice, a low murmur in Junior’s nursery one night. Sometimes I don’t know how to exist and be so unknown. Even when we didn’t speak, he knew me. No one has known me in years. I don’t think anyone will ever know me again.

You kiss him and try to make it like his brother would do it. He’s grateful. Sam’s grateful for a lot of things. He calls your lives together an “apple pie life.” But you don’t like apple pie. Or maybe you do. It doesn’t matter.

It’s okay. You’re just Sam Winchester’s wife. You’ve got a son named Dean.

You’ve spent your whole life sharing them both with a dead man. 

crossposted on ao3 here

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The Terror, "Horrible from Supper" / The Impala for @thegoodthebadandtheart 🫡

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god i love dean winchester so much. the way he mixes three idioms into one sentence? master of the english language. how his rizz is so lame but women love him anyway? pick up artists hate him. how weird he is about his little brother? we stan a king who never learned healthy boundaries. the daddy issues coming off him like fumes? love it. love all of it. how you can look at that adorable little face and forget that you're looking at a dangerous killing machine? 😍😍😍 is all i have to say. dean. is so good.

#my fav little guy #deangirl forever and always

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Do you have any fic recs?

here are some of my faves ♡

remember to read the tags and such for these before reading

gnaw by road_rhythm

red delicious and watch by ani_coolgirl

maybe god will cover up his eyes by saltbind

undead verse by hathfrozen

hungry and hollow by hathfrozen

the devil is (the space between two men) by hathfrozen

skin like fear [orphaned]

armageddon game by AlulaSpeaks

icarus (fuck up) by Wallissa

#sorry if i am reblogging this again #but i read gnaw #and i couldnt find the post #and i almost lost my mind

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YET ANOTHER scene from the pilot with captions for the Wincest-impaired

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dean gets aggressively sexual in his comments about meg in 1.16 shadow immediately after finding out that sam met her while they were separated in 1.11 scarecrow, in a way that he isn't with sam's other love interest in the first half of season 1, lori in 1.07 hook man. it's rather more reminiscent of how he acted during his brief moments with jessica.

his first interaction with her is to "compliment" her boobs, right in front of sam—it feels as though he's trying to stake a claim, put her down (in her place, perhaps), assert a sense of dominance over her. in shadow, this weird, sexual fixation surfaces again with meg, and dean can't stop pressuring sam to fuck her or insinuating that sam has already fucked her.

the only noticeable difference between lori, jessica, and meg is that dean was present for the formation of the relationship with lori. but meg—sam never even mentioned her. they met when dean wasn't around, when sam was living his own life. on top of that, meg accused dean of treating sam like "luggage" and dragging him around—implying that sam would leave if he could.

comparing lori and meg, it comes off then that dean is feeling threatened here, abandoned yet again by his brother, and indeed the insults meg slings at him in the beginning of the episode resurface during their emotional conversation when sam says he plans on going back to school. meg has come to represent sam leaving him, and throughout the episode he overcompensates for his insecurity by channeling it all into this invasive sexual commentary.

what this ends up implying is that dean wants to fuck his brother.

dean’s fear of abandonment presents as such that he always feels sam is one wrong move from leaving him and going off on his own. it’s a deeply anxious attachment, and he ends up overanalyzing every interaction they have and misinterpreting any attempt on sam's part to put or maintain distance between them as total, unambiguous abandonment.

and in scarecrow, sam really did abandon him by splitting off from dean and making his way to california (or at least, that was the intent). scarecrow is the realization of dean's core fears: sam will eventually leave him, sam wants to leave him, and in the end they’re only together out of convenience.

and now dean finds out that sam met a girl while they were separated.

the conclusion he must have reached is that sam will inevitably leave him in favor of a girl: at stanford he had jessica, here he has meg. both times he and sam were apart, sam found a (pretty, blonde) girl to get close to. the girl therefore comes to represent sam's abandonment, or rather the goal of sam's abandonment: to find what dean can't give him.

because if sam secretly doesn't want to be around dean, then dean isn't providing an environment or a relationship that sam would want to be in. sam wants to leave, so dean is somehow inadequate.

that feeling of inadequacy, both in the pilot and in shadow, manifests through a sexual lens, just as sam's abandonment is represented by the girl. by putting these examples together, dean is seeing the impetus of sam's abandonment as something sexual: sam wants sex with girls (and a stable relationship beyond one-night stands), so he is leaving dean to find that. this connection is so strong to him that he's ignoring sam’s actual feelings and displacing his own biased perspective onto sam.

dean cannot fathom sam interacting with meg platonically, and this is rooted in his feelings of inadequacy and fear of abandonment. dean believes he can't satisfy sam's needs to an extent that will prevent sam from leaving him, which according to dean are sexual in nature. he can't (or won't) put out for sam, so sam is going to leave him. and to hide these fears (from sam, from himself), he gets sexually aggressive about the women who threaten to steal (or succeed in stealing) sam away from him.

or: dean won’t fuck his brother, so sam fucked off and found a girl who will.

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Sam and Dean are so fuCKING PRETTY !!! I CANT FUCKING STAND THEM !!! It makes me sick to my stomach that they were just walking around at that age, like jesucristo

(I've once again been thinking about Stanford era wincest/teenchesters and I refuse to use my inside voice and keep my thoughts to myself)

Imagine a Sam that is curious about his sexuality in college, and like all young adults, he takes to experimenting and ends up fucking pretty freckled frat boys, who have the most iridescent green eyes that you could just lose yourself in for hours.

Or Dean being confused and trying to keep his feelings to himself and shoving them deep deep down, but on the occasion that he gets drunk in public places, the morning right after, he finds himself in beds next to boys far too big for their worn out jeans, with long, dark locks that just wanna make you hold onto them for dear life.

Both of them having some deep understanding of maybe why they do what they do, but still then refusing to accept the fact that there's something familiar about every boy they fuck.

I'm gonna throw up-

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this has to have been mentioned before but since i've never seen it: it makes me crazy that after sam tells gordon no one's allowed to call him sammy except for dean, dean calls him sammy every single time he mentions him in that conversation. like.

what are you doing dean. are you boasting that you get to call him sammy. are you trying to mark your territory here. what's going on in your brain like actually

#Everyday I come on here and find a new way these guys are fucked up about each other #<<<prev #LITERALLY SAME

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I do think Sam has for lack of a better word a gifted kid complex about Stanford and gets a lot of self esteem from being the Smart One to Dean's Dumb Jock and that's he's a little elitist and disdainful of the whole gas stations and dive bars vibe that hunters have and likes having read books that nobody else has read and is constantly humiliated by the fact that he hasn't and will never achieve traditional academic success bc he doesn't want to be seen as a dumb hick, he wants a teacher figure to tell him he has 'so much potential', he wants to be the smart one to make up for feeling like there's something fundamentally wrong with him. and I also think that Dean has been seen as a dumb hick his entire life and nobody has ever told him he has academic potential and he is extremely bitter and resentful about this but at the same time plays it up and makes it a part of his identity so nobody can hurt him with it esp in contrast with playing off of sam. and I think dean acts dumber than he actually is and keeps it close to his chest that he actually reads so he can fit in better with the good ol boys and perform his version of masculinity more effectively. and I think he pretends to get things wrong on purpose so sam can correct him so he can call sam gay for knowing what cinderella is bc he is insane. and I think he starts referencing books openly in s4 specifically just to get under sam's skin bc he's mad at sam. which works.

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Thinking about the fact that while sam is not sporadically swayed by dean's feelings about him, it still deeply affects him to no end.

when dean told sam he'd gone off the deep end & 'if he didn't know him he'd wanna hunt him' sam was shaken by this so bad he used his demon powers even more yet was ten times more desperate to do good or redeem himself in dean's eyes. Even if it ended up doing him more harm himself.

Sam switches from a self-destructive mindset of 'already lost it all so see it through to the end' to desperate obsessive attempts to get dean to accept him again or even atone for his mistakes and then when the latter fails he falls into straight up suicidal tendencies. All because dean thinks what sam is doing is wrong even if sam is fully cognizant it is not.

Like he is rational and logical, sam believes he mostly makes good calls about things, and he is not biased seeing reality for what it is. But that confidence in himself and certainty instantly wavers the moment dean implies otherwise. And whether sam fully or not agrees, dean's words remain at the back of his head through every minute. Looming and impeding till he gives in to them. Even though dean is neither rational nor unbiased as sam normally is.

So as much as dean could bring sam down like hell. when he tells sam he is not wrong or he did more than enough or he needs him, even if sam was beating himself mentally a million times over or wallowing in a spontaneousness of self-loathing or whatnot, dean's words set themselves in stone in his mind. And he could pull him from the worst then.

#kripke #when i catch you #man put cocaine in these characters #wincest