monsters wear my brother’s face
and sometimes i can’t tell them apart.
monsters tear my brother’s face
and sometimes his heart won’t restart.
i want to declare my brother’s face
as mine, mine, mine.
i see despair on my brother’s face
and it’s becoming more than i can take.
Ohh, man. I’ll go with Sam and Dean for now and do another for j2, because this is getting long.
Sam and Dean would have to be together a long fucking time for that to ever be on the table, in my mind. But maybe they’ve finally gotten out of the life for good — no more big bads, no apocalypse hanging over their heads, no deals, no trials.
Maybe Dean wakes up one morning, flat on his back with Sam curled up tight as he can around him, stupid floppy hair all splayed out on Dean’s shoulder, and the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Sam caught in this (seriously cheesy, really, c’mon) stray bit of sun. It’s glancing off his cheekbones and his eyelashes and his ridiculous broad shoulders, and it’s hurting Dean’s eyes a little because it’s too bright too quick after waking up, but he barely notices because it feels like someone dropped a truck on his chest and he’s maybe having a little trouble breathing through the feel of it.
I just really love Sam, Dean, Jared, and Jensen in any and all combinations
there’s so much incest and selfcest and general excellence to be had
Hate It When You Do That
Sam hates it when Dean pulls rank on him. Hates it when Dean gives him that look he’s given him a million times since they were both little, that look that says, “Do what I say because I’m older than you.”
And he really hates it when Dean tells him to be a good boy. He just wants to throw Dean on his back, pin him down with all his 240 lbs of gleaming muscle and say, “Being older doesn’t count for shit anymore, Dean. I’m taller. And bigger. And stronger. So shut the fuck up.”
But somehow, he doesn’t. Somehow, he stays on his back, Dean’s hand shoved down the front of his jeans, Dean’s mouth hot against his neck, and when Dean jacks him off harder, and says, “That’s right, princess. So good for me. Now be a good boy and come,” Sam bucks and shudders, practically blind with the shocking pleasure of it, and there he goes again, coming hot and wet all over Dean’s fist on command.
Yeah, Sammy hates it alright.
Through Heaven's Eyes
Title: Through Heaven’s Eyes
Summary/Prompt: Sam’s soul is the brightest thing Castiel has ever seen, and after he calls him an abomination, Castiel immediately regrets it. He goes to Sam in his sleep and apologizes.
Notes: I hope you enjoy this! It turned out a bit less… R-rated than I had planned, but I should have one other small (dirtier) fic up based on another one of your prompts soon.
Wincest, Stanford-era, ~2.5k, set in runaway!verse, wherein Sam and Dean leave John to make a life for themselves. Prequel to this story by Nicole.
It scared Dean at first.
They were laying together, limbs tangled, maybe indelibly, and Dean had felt Sam’s lips against his collarbone, tongue tasting him. Dean wondered if Sam could taste more than skin, if he could taste how Dean was full to bursting with Sam, with love for him. He bet their skin tasted just the same, because Dean was as much Sam as he was himself.
cxj02354 asked you:
Supernatural or Sherlock (BBC), and the line, ‘your name like a song I sing to myself, your name like a box where I keep my love.’
All right, let’s try some Supernatural fluff.
Head lights. Tail lights. Street lights. Asphalt.
The beat poetry of their lives.
Dean looks over at Sammy dozing in the passenger seat. It’s only ever in the twilight of the car that his brother looks peaceful. Something about the lull of the tires on the road and the motion of the car as they cross the interstate seems to ease him out of his usually tense existence.
When Dean looks back out the windshield, his eyes are heavy with sleep. He spots a billboard for a motel a few miles down the road and pulls off at the next exit.
Dean steps into the office and peels a few twenties off a roll of cash. The proprietor grumbles “only singles left” as she hands him the keys. He sighs mostly to himself and thanks her. Then he’s back in the car and pulling into a parking spot outside of #117.
Dean nudges Sam into wakefulness and the eyes that look back at him are the same deep brown colour in which he’s been searching for years. He’s yet to find exactly what he’s looking for; not even sure he knows what the question is any more.
Sam unfolds himself from the front seat as Dean grabs both duffel bags from the trunk. He tosses Sam the keys and follows him inside once the door is unlocked.
“Single?” Sam asks, his voice still a bit gruff from sleep.
Dean nods. ”You take it. I’m good with the chair.”
Sam hesitates, fiddling with the door key in one hand. He watches Dean as they orbit around each other in the small space.
“I’m happy to share, Dean,” he starts, running one hand nervously through his hair. ”I can sleep on one side, you can have the other. It’s probably best we both try and get some actual rest this time.”
“Sure, fine. Whatever,” Dean replies. ”You hit the hay, I’m taking a shower.”
With that, Dean disappears inside the bathroom and, soon enough, under the hiss of streaming water. Sam is left standing alone at the foot of the bed.
When Dean steps back into the motel room, it’s dark and quiet. He towels off his hair and digs around in his duffel bag. He dresses in a comfortable pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt, in case they get called out in the middle of the night. Once his eyes have adjusted to the dim light, he can make out Sam’s figure on the bed, breathing deeply. His brother has pressed himself up against the wall, leaving one side of the mattress unoccupied.
Dean walks over and slips under the covers as quietly as possible. His shoulders press against Sammy’s back, but his brother doesn’t seem to wake. Dean closes his eyes and listens to the steady rhythm of Sam’s breaths.
Dean’s eyes fly open at the sound of his brother whispering his name.
“Sammy?” he whispers back.
Dean rolls over to face Sam’s back. He places one hand on his shoulder and shakes him awake.
“Sammy, you okay?”
“Hmnnmm?” Sam makes a sleepy and inquisitive noise.
“You were saying my name,” Dean explains, “while you were sleeping.”
Sam turns over in the bed. It brings their faces only inches apart in the small cramped space.
“I was?” Sam looks down, almost embarrassed. ”Sorry…”
Sam falters. ”You remember when we were little, Dad used to always tell me to stay with you and I would be fine?”
“Yeah, of course,” Dean replies.
“Okay. And you know how when kids are scared, sometimes their parents will sing them lullabies to help them sleep?”
“Yeah, sure. Sammy, what’s your point?”
“Well, uh…” Sam pauses for a long moment. ”I guess your name is like a song I sing to myself. When the nightmares come.”
Dean just stares at him in response. He says nothing. In his mind, images of them as children flash through his memory. Of holding Sam’s hand, of keeping him safe. Of putting his own fear aside to be strong for his brother. Of putting all his effort and all his love into the singular purpose of keeping Sam alive. A feeling swells in his chest and tears lick at the corner of his eyes.
“Dean?” Sam asks, cautious.
“Sammy,” Dean starts. ”Your name is like a box where I keep my love. Safe and protected and strong. I have you.”
Dean reaches out and gathers his brother in his arms. They sleep soundly until the morning comes.
cxj02354 replied to your post: Give me a ship and I’ll give you one-line porn. ;)
“Well, Sam Winchester,” Castiel murmurs, pressing down on Sam’s shoulders in the middle of the church as he opens the fly to his slacks, “I suppose the only way to repent is to get on you knees and pray.”
cxj02354 replied to your post: dimpleforyourthoughts replied to your post: I just…
#the gospel of Sam getting fucked hard and messy- with the come dripping out of his hole, lines of white down the inside of his thighs as Dean pushes it back in lazily, occasionally pressing against his prostate and drawing long moans from his throat
sastiel + literature
castiel takes to shakespeare like a duck to the stock market. “but soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” and cas is so awkward, the words stilted and halting, it kind of makes sam cringe, but he doesn’t want to embarrass him or anything, so he lets him continue. besides, it’s cute, and sam would be lying if he said that castiel declaring his undying love through the medium of poetry didn’t make him happier than he’d been in a long, long time.