Tag: fuck yes

holdmesamthatwasbeautiful:

Little Sammy’s only fourteen, but the way his big
brother falls apart for him makes him feel like he has eons after eons of ancient
power; all it takes is a little sweep of his sooty eyelashes from beneath his
dark bangs and Dean is worshipping him; treats him like a prince, like a king.

*

Dean whispers stories into his ear as he fucks him
through the dark nights: stories of the boy who would be king, stories of power
and glory and violence, and when Sam wakes up he’s exhilarated and sore and thrumming with something undefinable; he
feels something rise inside of him.

*

Sam claws at Dean’s back when he comes, and he’s
shaking when he whispers against Dean’s damp throat: “Tell me the story again.
About the boy.”

Dean’s eyes are almost black in the night, wide and
proud. “No baby boy,” he tells Sam in a voice that has so many layers it
makes Sam go dizzy. “You’ll tell it yourself. Soon.”

Sam falls asleep in Dean’s protective arms. He dreams
of fire and echoes, and of Dean: strong and black-eyed, kneeling by a throne.

winmance:

“Do you think soulmates are identical in every alternate universe?” Sam asked, head on Dean’s chest.

It’s silent in the bunker, only the two of them, and they can pretend that there’s nothing else out of the two of them. No demons, angels or anything. It’s nice. Peaceful.

“Dude, are you high or something? It’s two freaking am, why are you talking about that ?”

“Yeah I know but it’s… I just wonder if we… We’re like that, in others universes. Or if there was some sort of mistake in this one”

“Mistake?” Dean tenses a little, his arm tightened Sam a little more

“You know what I mean. Brothers being soulmates. Not that common.”

Dean remains silent for a moment.

He thinks about another universe, the attractiveness between Dean Smith and Sam Wesson, how they were ready to leave everything to be together, how strong their connection was.

He thinks about another universe, the loneliness that he felt in the one in which mom never died, and Sam went to Stanford. How both brothers wanted the other but never did a thing about it.

He thinks about another universe, the happiness of Jared and Jensen, the joy of being together, even in secret.

He thinks about another universe, the knowledge of other Sam, who lived years between their two words and never, not once, questioned Dean’s love for him.

He thinks about their universe, the pain, the secrets, but also the attractiveness, the loneliness when they’re not together, the happiness and most of all, the love. Always here, no matter what, no matter where.

“Wasn’t a mistake Sammy. This is exactly how it should be”

He can feel Sam smiling against him and he sighs, thanking whoever put them in this particular place. They’re in the perfect universe.

sasquatchandleatherjacket:

All the time I hear people saying “the world’s not perfect”, and they’re right, it’s not. Do you use that an as excuse? Do you use it to excuse your own sins? Your failings and your laziness? Do you use it to give a bad man power because the world’s not perfect? Or do you work? Do you try and improve things in whatever way you can? Guys, the world will never be perfect, but if good men do good things it can be better. Every day can get better.

home —

explicitsoulmates:

/hōm/ (n.)

1. hot leather and gasoline fumes and
    burnt flesh and old sweat on a motel mattress,
    and off-brand shampoo in a brother’s hair,
    and every ma and pop diner in the u.s. and
    truck stop bathrooms and blood stained fingernails and
    cheap beer in the summer

2. strong coffee and gun powder and
    rotting wood and dried come in shared boxers,
    and sulfur and smoke and
    whiskey in the morning and new asphalt, 
    and love, and love, and

3. love.

— translation: i love you, lola s.

Five sentence fic: Sam finds out Lucifer is back and powering up. He doesn’t know who to talk to about what he’s feeling. He calls Rowena.

itsaboutsam:

Sam waits until Dean is in his room, and then double checks that his own door his locked before he dials the number; he knows he could go to Dean and tell him just how awful all this makes him feel, and he knows Dean would listen, but Dean can’t get it– through no fault of Dean’s own– and Sam needs to talk to someone who understands the feeling. 

“Samuel, how lovely to hear from you,” Rowena’s voice travels through the phone, hazy and velvet, and Sam has never been happier to hear her voice. He can’t be bothered to heed Dean’s warning that she isn’t their friend; right now she’s what he’s got, and he believes in her anger as much as he believes in his own.

“Rowena,” he says, “please tell me that spell worked.” 

There is a long pause on the other end of the line, filled with Sam’s hammering heart and the gentle static fuzz, the anticipation, the fear that never goes away, before he practically hears Rowena’s smile along with the words, “Don’t you worry, Sam– I won’t make his death quick.”  

send me a request and i’ll write a 5-sentence fic