neryslibrary

[neryslibrary]

dean jr. who's always known his dad's a little... different, than most of his friend's dads.

his dad, who volunteered to billet a different student from the local college's theology or history department in the guest bedroom every year since dj was twelve.

his dad, who flinched at loud noises -- metal thermoses dropped on concrete floors and doors slammed in high summer winds -- but who'd get this eerie meditative calm whenever he heard fireworks, or caught a snippet of foley gunfire in some old war reenactment on the history channel late at night.

his dad, who wore more and more weird occult jewelry the older he got -- heavy silver chains laced with charms that jangled when he walked, and bracelets with arcane script etched on them, and always that thick, tarnished ring on a chain around his neck. (one of dj's earliest memories is sitting on his dad's belly one lazy weekend morning in bed, propped up against his dad's bent knees, trying to pull that ring into his mouth. dad prying it free with those big gentle hands of his and twisting the chain so the ring hung down the back of his shirt where dj couldn't grab at it.)

his dad, who loved movies more than almost anybody dj's ever known, who had the best collection of old bootlegs and classic movies dj got to introduce first his friends and then his dates to, who'd get quiet and a little misty-eyed when he'd slip old westerns and black-and-white monster movies on during his insomniac spells.

his dad, who cooked like shit but could bake almost anything on his first try, no matter how convoluted the recipe. his dad, who had this ancient 1920s toaster that burned the bread half the time but who steadfastly refused to buy a newer one made sometime in this century.

his dad, who got a little detached at the end of things, who'd ramble on to dj and his hospice nurses and anybody who'd listen that when he was young, he'd walked amongst the horsemen and seen the righteous man slay death with his own scythe and beheld the apocalypse. that he'd killed god and trapped the devil and cut down angels and demons both.

his dad, who talked in his sleep, who ground his teeth at night so badly the family dentist wanted him to wear a mouth guard while he slept, especially after he broke a molar during dj's sophomore year of high school and swallowed half of it before he woke up.

his dad, who maybe was special forces or something like that; something that left him with action movie hero scars but secret enough that dj couldn't ever find him in the national archives. (his grandfather, he found; one john eric winchester, born april '54, deceased july 2006, joined the marines 1973).

his dad, who had a bigger first aid kit than the school nurse, who picked dj up after a foul ball split open his eyebrow during little league baseball, heedless of the blood smeared against the shoulder of his shirt. his dad, who sat dj on the tailgate of his pickup and closed up the cut with butterfly strips; who sent dj back on the field to finish the game in his blood-crusted jersey that said "WINCHESTER-ATCHISON" arced across the back because mom had paid his little league dues.

his dad, who never took flowers to cemeteries, just whiskey and dozens of salt packets snaked from restaurant condiment bars. his dad, who never smoked as far as dj knows, but who always had a lighter on him anyways.

his dad, who had a meticulous will and a crematory service already picked out and paid for; his dad who had dozens of friends dj'd never met who showed up at the funeral in nice-ish jeans and logger boots, who slapped dj on the shoulder and told him tall tales about how his dad saved their lives "back in the day". his dad, who left dj the house and the car and the antiquarian books, and seventeen boxes full of burn bags that dj dutifully incinerated in the massive backyard fire pit his dad dug the year dj turned six.

his dad, who almost never called dj by his full name, who would ruffle up his carefully gelled hair and call him "deej" and smile with all his teeth, who had visibly been crying after dj's graduation, but who'd yelled louder than anybody else when the principal announced, "dean hayden winchester, class of 2046".

his dad, who told dj he loved him in a casual, careless way, every day dropping him off at school and every time he hung up the phone after dj left home, and one last time while holding his hand in the bed with rails that the hospice had provided.

[neryslibrary]

service top dean who gets off just by taking care of sam and making him come over and over again, bottom sam who knows he has him wrapped around his little finger and leans into it because he knows it turns dean on so bad..... dean who fucks like an act of devotion, sam who opens his arms to his worship and gives himself to dean completely...... dean who sees giving pleasure to sam as his life's purpose, sam who sees his body and soul as rightfully dean's......

[neryslibrary]

Heya! I would like to know your thoughts about Dean and sex. I've been thinking about this a lot lately and I'd like to hear your input. Cause he likes sex, just to enjoy it, but he also seems to get a lot of comfort from it, and affirmation (? If that's the right word) from it as well, and he seems to have much softer attitude about, and more appreciation for, sex and the women he sleeps with, than I'm used to seeing in a male lead who has a lot of casual sex. (But maybe I've just watched a lot of bad TV 🤷‍♂️)

Anyways, thank you!

howdy, and happy wincest wednesday to you. <3

if it isn't gauche I'm going to link to a few other answers, just because I have talked about this before and don't want to go full redundancy:

Dean's (and Sam's) porn habits

Dean and kink

Dean and sexuality

...so with those things said, I do feel like people who write Dean as a fuckboy/guy who has sex without feelings being involved/wham-bam type are missing the essential point of his character so egregiously that they might as well be writing an OC, lol. He's so fucking here for warm and fuzzy feelings. Like I flat out don't believe he'd do hate sex. It's not a thing. He would not have fucked Bela, for example. (Or she'd have had to go through a proper redemption arc first, anyway; see also how he clearly wouldn't fuck pre-s8 Crowley, but then literally does have sex near/around/with Crowley after he's had his little 'oh i'm so human' moment, lol.)

I think part of the confusion here is the increasing and worrying attitude from the puriteens that having a lot of sex is a negative trait. Like -- being easy really is all upside. But the thing about Dean is that he's easy with his heart, too. All it takes is a lady touching his face in a particular way, actually paying attention to him, for him to crack open and just ooze softness all over the place. --actually, "cracking open" is the wrong wording. He's SO OPEN. HE'S THE MOST OPEN GUY. His feelings are here and he wants to share them so badly. Anyone who says otherwise is trying to cram him into a tropey box that he would've fit into on a much worse show.

[neryslibrary]

sam puts dean as his emergency contact at stanford (doesn’t expect it to ever come up)

gets roofied at a party (on accident, meant for a girl but he let his guard down) but his friends get worried, end up with campus police and he takes a trip to the hospital where they call his emergency contact

sam wakes up disoriented, in a low light hospital room, window pale with pre-sunrise morning and his big brother sitting in the guest chair watching him like he’s trying to sear him into his memory. sam’s head is thick with cotton, dean so heartwrenchingly familiar and unexpected that for a moment he forgets all about stanford and thinks he’s been hurt from a hunt.

‘did i mess up?’ he asks, voice slurred and dean stands, mouth twitching at the corner.

‘nah, baby brother,’ he murmurs, eyes flicking over him in quick assessment before jumping up to meet sam’s, heavy and serious. he puts a warm palm to sam’s jaw, thumb carefully smoothing the skin. sam’s sigh shakes out of him, some deep, deep hurt unfurling.

when sam wakes up finally recentered in his reality, he remembers dean at his bedside and his touch and a few hot, quick tears run free. all the questions he wished he could ask sit tight in his throat.

where’d you drive from? did you leave dad for me? would you come back if i called?

[neryslibrary]

hii <3 thoughts on sam realizing just how much dean likes kisses and driving him mad with it by kissing him at the worst or least expected times possible and just because. all the time.

( @wincestwhispers )

my first thought on reading this for some reason was the image of sam leaning over to kiss dean while they're driving down the highway just to kind of freak him out lol. like dean's gunning it because he so definitely speeds all the time and then suddenly sam's in his face trying to smooch him. SAMMY!! i'm DRIVING! but it's straight road no traffic so actually he can turn his head just for a second just for one little kiss :)

but yeah big time i think dean loves loves loves kissing. like five minutes of making out and he's half drunk on it, all big eyes no thoughts dick hard etc. sooo easy for sam to back him into a bathroom stall at some diner and kiss him stupid before walking back out with sam all casual like nothing happened while dean can barely stand up straight. falling asleep kissing when they don't have the energy for any more than that and spending the whole night breathing each other's air... also quick kisses to distract dean from whatever sam's about to do that dean doesn't want him to do lol. hold up real quick let me kiss you and then dart off into this stupid dangerous situation you tried not to let me get into. it would work every time and piss dean off sooooo baddddd

[neryslibrary]

sam and dean occasionally having sex and it's not about conventional sexual attraction or desire, but as a last resort whenever their relationship is strained or when they need to feel closer. almost always drunk, with the lights off, after close calls, anything that might make it easier to make excuses to themselves whenever a memory is unburied. only happens when they're hurt or angry or scared, it's only ever close to tender when it's used as proof of being alive. sex as control and as punishment, when wanting to be inside your brother is less about the act, and more about taking ownership of what is rightfully yours. desperately seeking reassurance that you still have him, that you can keep him.

[neryslibrary]

[neryslibrary]

i personally think the drunken hand job was mostly jensen following jared's face with his eyes to get every little detail of his reaction while jared goes a little bit service and tries his best with the hand job. they're both drunk and unabashed about it, nesnej is out too, so when jared giggles so does jensen. maybe they cum first, maybe they don't, but at some point jared gets silly with it because of course he does (either because of the self-imposed pressure to give a good hand job not or because. jared) and starts poking jensen's face with the tip of his tongue, maybe biting his chin and jensen takes it a little further and kisses jared's neck. jared giggles and jensen loves hearing jared giggle so he presses the button over and over again and soon he's sucking hickeys into jared's shoulder blade. which maybe eventually leads into a kiss then making out, maybe it doesn't

[neryslibrary]

inopportune

prompt: zachariah gives sam and dean their memories back at a very bad time.

rating: explicit pairing: wincest/swesson, bottom sam warnings: incest, dubcon due to angel nonsense wordcount: 1500

They’re frozen, hot, and Dean’s hands are still digging into Sam’s waist and Jesus, Sam’s back is still arched and his hands are pressed to the desk and his body’s moving with each breath and he - fuck, he clenches, then jerks his head, like he just realized what he did. 

Dean doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if he should say anything. Words come to life and die on his tongue. His lips are dry and he licks them and it’s too loud in the dead silence of the room. He needs to move. He needs to move, he needs to pull out, now, because it’s Sam who he’s been sleeping with for weeks and it’s Sam who kissed him in that elevator and blew him under his desk and spread his legs for him and -

He should have pulled out by now, too many seconds have ticked by, he knows that, they both know that, he should have at the very least let go, but he’s still stuck in place, reality still sinking in, the reality of what he’s done and what he’s still fucking doing and - oh, God, what he wants -

“Dean,” Sam says, his voice shot, shattering the silence, and Dean - God help him, Dean Smith had loved Sam Wesson’s voice, fucked out and raw, and his name in that voice had never failed to go straight to his dick, and it still does, it still fucking does. His grip tightens and his cock twitches and he knows from Sam’s sharp inhale that he feels it, you need to let go, you need to pull out right fucking now, he’s screaming at himself.

“Sorry,” is what finally comes out of Dean’s mouth, absolutely pathetic, disgusting, you’re sorry? Sorry for fucking your little brother for weeks? Sorry for still being inside of him? Sorry for liking it, you fucking freak?

Sam shudders and Dean feels it under his hands and he’d been staring across the room, far away from the man underneath him, but that brought his eyes back down, traveling from Sam’s hair down the broad expanse of the muscles in his back and his arms - fuck, Dean Smith had loved those, had told Sam Wesson between kisses how hot he was - and down further to the sharp curve of his lower back, and even further - Dean swallows - that perfect ass still tight around his dick, and he wants, he wants -

“Don’t,” Sam says, same voice, short, weak, and that could mean anything, don’t what? 

But before Dean can wander down any of those possibilities, Sam tells him what he wants to hear, and he doesn’t even accept that he wants to hear it before he hears it, and when he hears it, when Sam says don’t stop, he breathes out fuck, Sammy, and he pulls out just to slide back in, so fucking good. Dean Smith knew what Sam Wesson liked and gave it to him whenever he wanted and now Dean knows his Sam’s body and he starts moving, slowly picking up the same rhythm as before, filling the room with the obscene sounds of skin on skin and Sam’s punchy exhales and tiny moans with every thrust, trembling.

Dean doesn’t stop moving, can’t stop, not now, but reaches down and - Dean Smith had sucked Sam Wesson’s cock more times than he could count at this point, Dean can remember how it felt in his mouth, stupidly big and perfect, and now he has his dick in his hand and strokes him in time with each thrust and Sam has his head down on the desk, mumbling something Dean can’t hear, his hands balling into fists.

So Dean leans down to meet him, keeps moving, puts his mouth wherever he can reach, upper back, almost at Sam’s neck, and Sam raises his head so he can kiss his neck, bite it, and Sam makes a pained noise and shoves his ass back on Dean’s cock and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life, fuck, he wants to come but he doesn’t want this to end because then they have to deal with what this means -

It’s hot, so hot, sweat beads on Sam’s back as his muscles tense, Dean runs a hand through his hair and grabs onto it, pulling him back, and Sam makes a sound low in his throat, he loves it, he wants this. “Dean,” he says again, even weaker, quieter, “please, please -”

Dean exhales, says, “Please, what?” like Dean Smith would but with less composure, his voice deeper, shakier, and Sam spreads his legs further and Dean groans something unintelligible and fucks him harder, fucking into his best spots because you’ve been fucking him for weeks, the hickies on his neck barely covered by his hair are Dean’s, the faint hints of rope burn around his wrists are Dean’s, and Dean realizes that at least right now Sam is his, his to hold and keep and love and give everything to -

Sam manages to say, and Dean remembers it, has heard it before, “Please - come inside of me,” and blood boils in the pit of his stomach and he bends down over Sam and holds on tight as he fucks him deep, fast, rough, making sure he’s touching Sam in the way he knows he loves because fuck, he wants him to come, too, wants to feel his dick twitch in his hand and hear Sam’s desperate little cries and have that push him over the edge. He kisses Sam’s back, nips, exhales, mumbles I will, I will, I’ve got you, Sammy, I will, fuck, fuck, you feel so good, I’ve got you and Sam reaches back for him with one shaking hand and grabs his hip and keeps them close together and clenches around him and -

- and Dean buries himself inside of Sam and jerks him off until he’s coming, until they both are, breathing and groaning and moving in unison until they can’t move anymore, until Dean lets go but doesn’t pull out, still kissing wherever he can kiss as Sam’s shuddering arms hold him up. He lazily fucks into him again, just a bit, just enough for Sam to twitch and fidget, still sensitive, and when he pulls out he only does so long enough to hear Sam’s pained little noise, then pushes inside again, fucking the come into him a few more times before pulling out for real, he always enjoyed that sound - and that view, Jesus Christ, Dean wants to brand it into his brain.

For a while, all they do is breathe. They can’t do anything else. They’re frozen again.

Dean moves first, grabbing the tissue box off of his desk and cleaning them both, while Sam’s still bent over the table, looking down. Dean’s stomach lurches, how are they going to look at each other now that they’ve - now that they -

“How long?” is the first thing Sam asks, his voice still shot, still naked, and Dean can’t help but stare at him still.

It takes a few seconds to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and say, “Lost track. Don’t remember.”

Sam laughs shakily, his whole upper back moving, and he finally stands up straight again, but doesn’t turn around. Dean’s reaching around for his clothes, pulling on his boxers and pants first, and turns, gives Sam room to grab his own. “I was…seventeen,” Sam says.

That was unexpected, but all of this is, really, so it’s not that hard to believe, considering. Dean laughs too, just once, just a huff, and says, “Right before you left, huh?”

Silence, and he feels a prickle of guilt. It wasn’t supposed to be mean, but maybe it was. 

“I thought it would go away,” Sam said. Clothes are rustling and Dean assumes they’re both about fully clothed by now, meaning it’s okay to turn around, but they’d seen each other naked so many times, so many times at this point, but that was before, and now it’s after. “Then you - then everything happened.”

A pause, then, solid, urgent, “Dean.”

He steels himself and turns, and breathes. Sam’s got everything but his shirt back on and his face is still flushed and his eyes still drop from Dean’s eyes to his lips to his chest, but he’s serious. “This is - I don’t want it to stop.”

There it was, the truth, and Sam said it first, and Dean isn’t sure who that’s a victory for.

“Me neither,” Dean says. “Me neither.”

Sam’s kissing him barely a second after the last syllable leaves his mouth, one big hand on his neck, the other sliding down his bare waist, and this should have been their first kiss ever, aware and open and knowing, but it was their first kiss as them, and that counted. It counted.

(please give me a like and/or rb if you liked it!!!! <3)

[neryslibrary]

Annnnd, a re-blog of this fine piece of Sam-on-Sam flesh, set to the tune of Monicawoe’s hot, hot fic: BEST SELF

[neryslibrary]

oh

[neryslibrary]

EVERYONE(!) I’m blazing this post because at this pace we might barely hit 1,000,000 signatures—or just fall short. PLEASE reblog this post, no matter where you are from, so we can reach as many EU citizens as possible and end this horrible practice!

[neryslibrary]

Actually Sam and Dean both have abandonment issues they just deal with them differently.

Sam leaves before you can leave him. Runs before you can run from him. He knows you’ll see the darkness inside him eventually, so he saves you the trouble and himself the pain.

Dean digs his heels in and grips your arm tightly and begs you to see that he’s trying. Maybe he is worthless and stupid and a failure but he’s trying, please let that be enough and just stay.

[neryslibrary]

2.14 | Born Under a Bad Sign

[neryslibrary]

So something I've been thinking about-

Sam has to face Dean's death far sooner than Dean does his, and Sam is the one (between the brothers) to make the first deal.

In Faith (1.12) Dean is on his way out. He's dying, he WILL die. Imminently.

He tries to put a brave face on it, strong for Sammy, but Sam is in pieces and isn't buying it. He's terrified. So you see Sam go into research problem solving mode. He's researching hearts, heart health, heart surgeries. He's calling everyone he knows including their dad, looking for a supernatural out. If Meg had showed up right then he'd have made a deal with her.

As it is, he finds a faith healer. This is perfect. Dean is saved and Sam's faith is confirmed and rewarded. Of course its not as simple as that. And we see that the reality of it makes Dean sick, reinforcing his self loathing. Sam is equally disturbed. But he was willing to overlook it. And he might feel bad, but he absolutely would do the same thing again for Dean.

This is the first deal.

Its unintentional, but this is first time one trades a life for the other.

Two episodes later Sam sees Dean shot to death. A premonition he only barely manages to prevent. His fear unlocking an entire new ABILITY in his desperation to protect Dean.

Soon Sam will be communicating with Dean's displaced spirit in a hospital, fighting viciously with his father and be willing to move heaven and earth to bring Dean back to himself.

And I think its interesting that the first big deal and moment of loss is considered to be Sam's (first) death. And it is absolutely huge, I'm not trying to diminish it in anyway at all. And the responsibility for Sam's life has been on Dean since he was FOUR, and it gets unbelievably worse when John says scratch that actually kill him. Dean never stops worrying about Sam. Ever. (Arguably, even in Heaven.)

But Dean's ghosts have been stacking up on Sam since the very beginning.

And I guess, even though I hate it, things turning out the way they did in the barn does make sense.

Dean is terrified of being alone. Sam leaving him is always the worst possible outcome, the big Fear, and he does insane things to prevent that.

But, from the very first, Sam is the one left deal with his corpse.

[neryslibrary]

the thing about unhealthy, codependent, enmeshed relationships, especially if you spent the better part of your formative early experience in them, is that it really does feel so good (when it is good) in ways that a "normal" relationship/friendship pales in comparison. you lose your sense of self as you blend into each other, their emotional responses becomes yours and vice versa, and every feeling is multiplied tenthousandfold. the levels of living in each other's skin are unmatched. how can anyone get it? how can you ever be known so well? and if it was all you had for decades, how are you supposed to find anything else? why would you want to? when you have zero boundaries you violate each other over and over but somehow the shame/intimacy of it is a reward in itself. hurt me and the pain makes the pleasure becomes the pleasure, make each other vulnerable to see each other vulnerable and lie broken and breaking for each other. god, what a drug.

[neryslibrary]

stanford era sam who sells a few sex tapes for money. hey, a girl he hooked up with once suggests he sell a tape or two to the person she goes to, it's $50 for a three minute video, and sam's hard up for cash, so. it doesn't need to show his face or anything, and he doesn't even have to interact with anyone. so sam sets up a camcorder in his dorm room when he knows his roommate is gone, strips down to just his socks, jerks himself off a bit in front of the camera, plays it back. he doesn't think much of his body but his bed partners seem pretty impressed, and he knows he has an above-average cock, and the video is sorta grainy but his abs flex in the dim light in a way that looks hot, maybe, when his come hits his skin, and he moans a little, soft and quiet, and the edge of his long hair dips into the camera a few times. he gets a request to finger himself a little, and it comes with an additional $50, so sam tries it out, first time ever, does it in the mirror, that apparently goes well with whatever audience his source says, and they ask him to talk a little, again with an additional $50, and sam says gently, hi, at the start of his video, shuffles into frame, touches himself, fingers himself, jerks off, lets out a few bitten-off moans, whispers when he's coming, a few words here and there, please, don't stop, fuck, please or whatever comes to mind in the moment. it's a brief period of his life, just the summer between freshman and sophomore year, and he never does it again after he gets a campus job, but sometimes sam thinks about it, wonders where those tapes are. feels warm heavy shame drag around him. but it's gone, there's no evidence it's him, and it was a tough time, so it's okay. he can forget about it.