sammy

“Startin’ to think you were celibate, kiddo.” John smirked, clapping Sam a little too roughly on the back of his neck. “That girl mauled the shit outta you, boy.” He remarks, eying the violent purple bruising- hickeys- smothering his youngest son’s throat, nape and collar. Sam jumps, not from his father’s appraisal, but from the sudden sound of Dean dropping a pan in the kitchen.

Dean had never once worn a rubber while fucking Sam. Not once. He’d always wanted to feel that skin on skin, nothing between them. But then Sam “cheated” with Ruby, and that changed everything.

Walk with me here.. Sam never left for Stanford. He wanted to, he was sure he got that scholarship. So, so sure. But the letter never came, and he sat waiting by the door, just praying that slip of paper would turn up and he’d have his ticket out of the hunting life. Only it never came.

when they get into a relationship in the time after both are over the moon, until sammy finds the hidden letter some day.

Dean meeting some kind of creature that can see souls, and it looks at him and just goes “Aah, god, eugh, what the fuck—why’s there only half of you?”

I had almost no time last month, but working on this pic felt soothing

by the time he was barely fourteen, sammy had already become so hypersexual he was humping every pillow and mattress that he could and jerking off everywhere he could. even on the queen-size bed he shared with dean, where he pretended to be asleep and couldn’t hear his little brother uncoordinated movements on his dick almost every single night.

every road leads back to wincest

i’m drunk (again) and thinking about samdean getting wasted in some shitty motel room by themselves (s1-2), while debating who’s a better kisser