No, It's Fine, I Wasn't Going To Use Those Next Three Hours Of Sleep, Anyway...

No, it's fine, I wasn't going to use those next three hours of sleep, anyway...

DANGIT NOT AGAIN

it’s either that or nothing

It's #NewEpisodeAlert, #SPNFamily

Happy Unattached Drifter Christmas y'all! I'm just gonna leave the episode title here to draw you in, cos it's bomb! “Sam Tops, Dean Bottoms” AKA Sam FUCKS, Dean makes love Watch/Listen👇

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I think the problematic thing that a discussion like this tends to raise is the common conflation of a dominant or submissive role defining how you like your sex served. You can be a sub that never bottoms or a Dom that never tops (penetratively speaking), for example.

Having an assertive/aggressive personality doesn't mean you only like the way it feels to put your dick in something. And having a chill/sensitive demeanour doesn't mean you like getting your ass pounded on the reg.

Having experienced trauma, including SA, doesn't mean you'll never be comfortable engaging in those acts consensually, whether you were into them before or not. It doesn't even mean that you wouldn't choose to engage in them regularly post-trauma as a means of reclamation, defiance, or self-destructive behaviour, simple preference for them aside.

And like, bossiness and the amount of nerve-endings in your anus do not correlate (I assume there haven't been studies, but correct me if I'm wrong).

I'm not having a go here. I don't want anyone to take it that way. I am fully anti-hate and pro-ship. But I think it's troublesome–and something that needs addressing and educating–that so much of fandom conflates Doms and subs or tough and weak with whose dick goes in whose ass.

To be clear: I fully support if someone prefers to only see Sam get dicked down by his short/bossy/butch big brother.

And I fully support if someone prefers to only read about Dean getting nailed harder than a railroad spike by his sasquatch baby bro.

I guess my hope is just that you're (general 'you' here and elsewhere–again, nothing personal, just ranting while the topic is on the table, sorry!) stuck on it for the right reasons. That is, without the implication that either of them is demeaned or less of a man or less strong, powerful, secure, etc. because of it. There's a really concerning homophobia in that, conscious or not, internalised or not, that patriarchal society and bigoted communities have been both loudly and insidiously touting for a long time, that bothers me on a fundamental level, and has also made itself apparent in sections of fandom over the years. The anti-bottom!Dean brigade alone makes me want to bite.

Anyway, I've gone off track. It's a hot-button issue for me, apparently. More simply, personally, I find it harder to believe that they would pick a role and rigidly adhere to it–Dean's a hedonist, give him pleasure wherever it comes from; Sam's open-minded, he'll go with the flow. So I see them switching depending on mood, canon events, injury, etc. One mostly giving or receiving with the occasional switch, yep, cool, they can of course have preferences of their own. But a full lean to either is the view that takes more convincing for me. I'd need a reason. And actually, sometimes that reason is the most interesting part of the story. 🤔

idk what's wrong with me, but I just CANT see Sam as dominant over Dean. Like, I totally get where it would come from, but I just cant see it with Dean. Sam does snap at Dean and is stern sometimes, but in a relationship idk. seems like Sam would be submissive for Dean. (guys I totally love blood lust Sam and souless Sam, but they seem like versions of Sam that he wants to keep away from Dean) Maybe the feisty part of him translates to a bottom that takes what he wants??? AHHH

change my mind!! there's so many bottom Dean fics but why does it seem so ooc?? I WANT TO SEE WHAT YOU SEE

I need to read this fic so badly. Right now. Immediately!

dean always talks. it feels like he’ll disappear if he doesn’t. but sometimes it physically feels too difficult to speak. so sam and him end up developing a sign language between each other, with sam interpreting for dean. it freaks everyone else out but it works so. when it’s one of those days dean will just tug on sam’s sleeve, point to his mouth and shake his head and his little brother will know.

Please. Never get enough of this trope. More shapeshifter Wincest pining reveals, thanks. 👏

i literally can't stop thinking about shifter!dean so i curse thee with a brain dump ficlet. cw for non-con groping & kissing

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"See, deep down, I'm just jealous. You got friends, you could have a life," the shifter said, Dean's stolen face barely visible in the dim sewer light. His eyes flicked between Sam's, hurt and something unidentifiable swimming in them. "Me?" He leaned in closer, the space between them growing hot and humid. Sam could feel the shifter's breath on his cheek. "I know I'm a freak."

Sam scowled, glaring the creature down. "What the hell are you talking about?" Dean was a lot of things; a nerd, a jerk, disgustingly charming, but not a freak. That title was reserved for Sam.

A grin twitched across the shifter's lips. "Oh, you don't know, do you?" it said, amusement thick in his voice.

Sam knew he should ignore it, this impulse to get insight into his brother's mind, his thoughts and feelings that he kept held so closely to his chest. The thing would probably lie anyway. But Sam was never good at resisting temptation. "Know what?"

Not-Dean was suddenly straddling Sam's thighs, a lascivious smile on his face. Sam instinctively tried to move away, but the rope kept him from doing much more than squirming under the creature's weight. A low chuckle rumbled in its chest. "Dean here?" It shoved its hand between them, roughly palming Sam through worn denim. Sam tried to stifle a gasp, only half succeeding. "He wants you. Hell, he's wanted you since he was seventeen."

Sam felt frozen, shock making his limbs feel numb. Or maybe that was the rope cutting off his circulation, he couldn't really spare the brain power to tell. "Wh-what? No, you...you're lying."

The shifter leaned in closer, nipping at Sam's earlobe. "Oh, the things he wants to do to you." He ground his hips down against Sam's lap forcefully. "His sweet little Sammy."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam registered Not-Dean was hard. Another sharp bite, this time to the hinge of his jaw, had him letting out a startled yelp.

The shifter groaned against his skin. "God what he would give to hear you make noises like that." It grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair, yanking down on it hard. Sam, in an attempt to stifle a loud cry, let a pitiful whimper slip past his lips instead. The creature's eyelids fluttered shut. "Fuck, yeah, just like that."

Warm, plush lips were suddenly on him, sliding against his stock-still ones. Before his brain could send the message of no bad no, his own lips were moving. The shifter growled and pulled his head back further, drawing a gasp out of Sam and giving himself an opening to lick deep into Sam's mouth. A soft moan escaped Sam. What could he say? The thing could kiss. Dean could kiss.

It was like a bucket of ice water was dumped on him. He twisted his head away, forcibly breaking the kiss. His heart was hammering in his chest and his stomach flipped and the worst part was, Sam couldn't tell if it was disgust or...

The shifter slowly stood, still trying to catch its breath. It reached down and grabbed one of their duffel bags, swinging it over his shoulder. "Well, it's been great, y'know, shattering your worldview and all," he looked Sam up and down once more, predatory, "but I've got a hot date with lovely little Becky."

...

"Well that's 'cause you're a freak," Dean, the real Dean, teased from behind the wheel as Saint Louis disappeared behind them.

Sam snorted. "Yeah, thanks," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Well I'm a freak too. I'm right there with you, all the way."

"Yeah, I know you are." Sam looked down at his hands, twisting them nervously in his lap. The shifter's words bounced around his brain: He wants you. He shifted in his seat and bit his lip, the next part of the memory playing involuntarily.

Dean shot him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. "What?"

"Dean...um..." Sam readjusted in his seat again, the Impala suddenly feeling claustrophobically small. "Well, I, uh-"

"C'mon Sammy, spit it out."

"The...the, uh, shifter. It...well it...there's something..."

Dean shot him an annoyed glare "Sam," he admonished.

"Do you want me?" Sam blurted out, his face blooming scarlet and his skin too hot.

Dean's grip tightened on the wheel. A muscle in his jaw ticked. "What?" His voice was too calm, too measured.

"The shifter, it said you wanted me. It...it kissed me. Do...do you want me that way, Dean?"

Dean was clenching his teeth so hard that Sam could've sworn he heard his jaw creaking. His knuckles were white on the wheel and his face, where Sam expected to see fiery red skin, angry or embarrassed, was drained of all color. Dean didn't respond or even look at Sam, just turned up the radio so loud that neither could hear themselves think.

Sam's stomach was in knots again, and this time, it was worse: he knew it wasn't disgust.