#ilostmyshoe-79

So, I’m alive. And I’m sorry I dropped off the face of the Tumblr world. There was a lot going on, a lot that I can’t really discuss here, but everything is good. Really, really good. But I owe you all a huge apology for just disappearing like that.

I’m not entirely back, because I’m not really writing fics anymore (at least not with any kind of regularity), but I wanted to say thank you for all the love I always got on this site. Giving it up was harder than I thought it was going to be, and I’m sorry I couldn’t have told you then how grateful I was for every one of you. You saved my life. Truly. More than once.

Spread this around, will ya? I lost all my followers and want as many of them as possible to see it.

XOXO

Title: The Suburbs (Wincest Big Bang 2018) Author: ilostmyshoe-79 Artist: beingcouy Rating: Explicit Warnings/Spoilers: Djinn AU, Porn With Plot and Feelings, Pining, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Switching, top!dean, Top!Sam, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Restraints, Apple Pie Life

Summary: Dean Winchester has everything he wants. He has a new life in the suburbs, one where he’s retired from hunting. He has a house, a new job, a safe world around him where he doesn’t question if he’ll make it through the day. He has beer in his refrigerator and he never wonders if he’s in immediate danger. And he has Sam. He has Sam in every single way.

But of course, that’s not his real life.

Sam saves his life and pulls him out of the djinn fantasy apple pie life. And now Dean has to figure out how to go back to being a hunter. A hunter who isn’t in love with his brother.

Can Dean do that? Does he want to? Maybe the apple pie life isn’t just a djinn fantasy after all.

Title: The Suburbs (Wincest Big Bang 2018) Author: @ilostmyshoe-79​

Dean studied the wall of his room critically. Sure, there was some space in between the various weapons he had hung up, but was it enough?

... did Cas even have posters he’d want to put up?

Dean shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. This really shouldn’t be this hard. Or this nerve-wrecking. It was just Cas, after all.

But then again, this was Cas.

Dean had already emptied two of his dresser drawers, mostly of the lint and cobwebs that had taken up residence there. He’d never been one to hoard clothes, mostly because that was impractical when you were living out of a duffle bag. He’d attempted to tidy the desk too, but given up when he realized he was just shuffling the few items upon it around.

He let out a frustrated groan. Dean had wanted to clear some space for Cas, and while he was relatively pleased about the half-empty dresser, it didn’t feel like enough. He wanted something visible; knickknacks on the shelves, posters on the walls, a hand-knitted blanket on the bed. Something obvious that showed this wasn’t just Dean’s room anymore.

It looked like he couldn’t even do that. His room had hardly changed and Cas was supposed to move his stuff in here today. 

What if Cas ended up thinking this was a mistake? What if Cas didn’t have enough space for his things? It wasn’t as if the newly-fallen angel had much in the way of material possessions, and if Cas felt obligated to give those up just because Dean liked waking up with Cas in the mornings...

Dean was pulled out of his thoughts by the door opening. He turned to see Cas poking his head into the room, carrying a large box under one arm, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. His expression was soft and warm, and Dean felt his own lips twitch upwards in response.

“Hey,” Dean said, walking to the door to help Cas with his things. Cas shifted so Dean could grab the box, which Dean nearly dropped upon realizing that it was, in fact, a lot heavier than Cas had made it seem. “What do you got in here, bricks?”

“Books,” Cas replied matter-of-factly, still smiling as he leaned forward to kiss Dean chastely on the mouth. He pulled away after a moment, leaving Dean sighing in contentment. “Help me unpack?”

“Sure,” Dean said. He set the box on the bed and opened the top up while Cas disappeared through the door again. Cas was back a second later with a pillow and a blanket, both of which he immediately set on the bed and then laid his duffle on top.

Dean stared for a moment at the second pillow next to his on what was now, officially, their bed.

Cas didn’t spare the sight a second glance, instead moving on to his duffle bag and opening it up. He quickly transferred the entire contents of the bag to the bottom two drawers of Dean’s dresser, then folded the bag and set it on the closet shelf next to Dean’s.

Dean shook himself and started going through the box Cas had brought. As he thought, there wasn’t much in it. There was a framed photograph of him, Cas, and Sam. Beneath that were a few knickknacks Cas had collected over the years; a coffee mug Dean thought might be from Biggerson’s, smooth river rocks the size of Cas’s palm, a few dark feathers that gleamed like an oil spill. And, as promised, at the bottom of the box were books.

A few were titles Dean recognized, some he had even read and enjoyed, and yet others were things he would never in a million years admit to reading. Cheap romance novels, books of poetry, textbooks on things like history, biology, and even...

Dean snorted, his cheeks turning faintly pink as he lifted up an illustrated copy of The Gay Kama Sutra.

“Really, Cas?” he said, raising an eyebrow. Cas shrugged.

“It’s been very informative,” he said. “Charlie gave it to me.”

“Of course she did,” Dean muttered, flipping through the pages. He heard Cas chuckle quietly as he began to move the books from the box onto the small bookcase that housed Dean’s few, well-loved copies of Vonnegut.

Dean paused on one particularly... interesting illustration in the book, coughed, and quickly closed it.

“Remind me to send her a fruit basket,” he said, handing it over to Cas. Cas stashed it with the rest of the books, right next to a volume of poems by Byron.

The rocks and feathers from the box found their place on top of the dresser. The mug Cas placed on the desk, right next to the mason jar full of pens and pencils. The framed photograph found space right next to it.

And, quite suddenly, it was done. Dean blinked as Cas broke down the cardboard box he’d carried his things in with a satisfied hum.

“Is that everything?” Dean asked, looking around. Everywhere he looked, he could see Cas.

“Yes, that’s all,” Cas said, surveying the room filled with their mingled possessions for the first time with a pleased smile.

The room looked suddenly fuller, more lived-in. As if maybe Dean hadn’t needed to move things around to accomodate Cas, but instead Cas slipped neatly into the gaps Dean hadn’t even realized were there.

Dean smiled, chest fit to burst with emotion, and reached out to tug Cas closer. Cas came willingly, tilting his head for the expected kiss. Dean obliged him.

“I’m sure we’ll find more stuff. We haven’t even been to the Grand Canyon yet,” Dean said, leaning his forehead against Cas’s.

You’re too kind, seriously. I know we’ve talked about this over the last few days, but it still amazes me that someone who writes as amazing as you do actually liked my stuff. But, you do, and thank you so much for that support!!

There are too many fics for me to list, I love a lot, but I’m gonna leave a list of some of my fav series just to show some love. The list is kinda long, so it’s all under the cut :):)

Written for @wincestwritingchallenge Round 12: Richard Silken

Prompt:  I swallow your heart and it crawls right out of my mouth.

Pairing: Wincest 

Partner: @ilostmyshoe-79

Rating: E/NC17

Summary: 

Dean's confusing porn with reality again, and he's really got to stop.

OR

What happens when the Winchesters are forced to share a bed.

On A03

Sequel to Two Queens

It doesn’t work.

Dean knows he has a good ass. He’s been told so by more people than he can count - most of those comments very much unwelcome at the time but enough to leave him in happy confidence that his backside is pleasing to people.

But dropping his pants and showing it off hasn’t worked. Sam remains as utterly indifferent to Dean (and his ass) as he always seems to be.

I am so so sorry that this is so utterly late. I have no excuse other than being very busy and very tired. I hope you like this anyway <3

For @ilostmyshoe-79‘s Sweet Emotions Challenge. My prompt was “serenity”.

“Hey,” Sam nudges him right as he’s drifting off, “Don’t fall asleep. We’ve still got a lot to go through.”

Dean shakes himself out of his slumber, exhaustion a lingering fog in his brain. He groans, “Shit, my eyes hurt.”

Sam chuckles and drops onto the couch next to him. “Here.” He hands over the perspirating beer bottle he’s holding in his left hand.

Dean grabs for it on autopilot. “Thanks.” He takes a sip. “Maybe I should get something with caffeine.”

“Already put a pot on,” Sam says while he’s hauling books from the table and piling them onto his lap.

Dean hums, watching him. “You take such good care of me.”

Sam shoots him a look that’s half-amused, half-exasperated, and fully tired. The pair of glasses on his nose is slightly askew and he pushes them up to rub his eyes, then positions them correctly. It wasn’t until recently that he had to get prescription lenses. Dean is sure that all that nightly research on his computer is at least partly to blame for it.

“Right.” He sighs, stretches. “What are we looking at?”

Sam makes an impatient grunting noise. “What we’ve been looking at. So far we haven’t gotten anywhere.”

“Right,” Dean says again and slumps down into the cushions. God, he’s tired. It’s almost midnight and the last night only held about three hours of sleep for him. Probably even less for Sam.

Dean had never had problems sleeping. Exhausting himself on the job, working until late into the night, and getting up early usually takes care of that. The little sleep he does get he tends to make full use of.

But insomnia has been plaguing both of them for some time now. Dean doesn’t know what it is. It could be the beginning of summer, humid and full of mosquitoes, that’s keeping them awake.

Often times, Dean finds himself outside of their cabin, standing on the porch with his hands in his pockets and taking in the night sky that has never been clearer than out here in the middle of nowhere. He listens to the crickets in the grass and the rolling of thunder in the distance that’s one of the more common occurrences for the seasons of spring and summer in these parts.

He has never minded thunderstorms, always kind of liked them in fact. They’ve got a purifying quality to them. When the noise stops and the air clears afterwards, it feels like a whole new world.

“Where are you right now?” Sam asks into the quiet.

Dean looks over at him, takes in the lines around his eyes and the halo-like shine of moonlight in his hair. “Let’s leave it for now. Let’s go outside.”

Sam regards him for a moment, possibly deciding whether he should argue, should point out that the case takes precedence, but his exhaustion is too obvious and his resignation inevitable. He closes his book and pushes up from the couch with a groan of effort.

“Grandpa,” Dean chides, then bites back his own moan of discomfort when his knees straighten. Sam raises a silent but judgemental eyebrow at him.

The air has cooled from the day but it still feels vaguely like breathing syrup. Flies are buzzing in the dim shine of the porch lamp. Dean deposits his beer on the barrister, leans back against the pillar that’s holding up the roof, and watches the insects circling.

“You know,” he begins to get his brother’s attention, “I’m glad we came out here. I like it here.”

Sam says softly, “I know you do.” Then he adds, “Bunker gets stuffy after a while.”

They both know it doesn’t, they’ve got amazing air circulation, but it feels like it regardless. Dean gives him a smile. “Yeah.”

Sam is hovering in the door frame and Dean is about to tell him to sit his ass down when Sam says, “I’ll be right back.”

Dean sighs, turns back around to the dark sky, and sips his beer. There are no crickets tonight, it’s almost eerily silent and he wonders why that is. It’s got an apprehensive feeling to it, prickling at the back of his neck, as if something’s coming nature already knows about but he doesn’t.

Sam’s feet fall heavy behind him and when he turns around Sam holds out a blanket to him.

“‘m not cold,” Dean says, “It’s still way too warm.”

“It’ll cool down,” Sam returns simply and curls another blanket around his own shoulders before he sinks into one of the porch chairs. He’s brought a book with him, one he was slugging through earlier, and he puts it down on his knees.

“Thought we’d agreed to stop working for the night.”

Sam gives him a wry smile. “Do we ever stop working? Sit down.”

It’s a gentle request but one that doesn’t leave room for argument and Dean grins as he follows his brother’s example, plopping himself down onto a wooden chair. “What is it?” he asks because Sam’s still got that look in his eyes.

He holds out the book to Dean. “Read to me.”

“What?”

“Read to me.”

Dean’s forehead furrows. “Why? It’s boring.”

That makes Sam laugh. His mouth stretches until the whites of his teeth show, stark against the backdrop of the night. Sam has always been utterly stunning when he laughed.

He’s still got his arm outstretched, waiting for Dean to take the book, and finally Dean does. He opens it up to the page Sam has marked and focuses his eyes on the first paragraph. The light from the lamp shines right over his shoulder and it isn’t too hard to make out the writing, although it does swim a little before his eyes.

He watches Sam more than the page while he reads, which causes him to stop and stumble more than occasionally but Sam doesn’t say anything. He switches between staring at the sky and at Dean and Dean can’t decide which time he looks fonder.