xx seven se • ven
1. n. an individual given to enthusiastic appreciation of an object, including, but not limited to television series, movies, and books, especially those included in a large franchise;
2. n. an obsessive spaz who gets way, way too excited when characters touch each other and is given to fantasies where they touch each other even more;
3. v. A;LJSDL;FAKSJDFASJDLFKJASK

avengers assembling

1/1

gypsy-sunday:

“Admit it,” Destiel sneers. “You’re just mad because I’m so popular. You were the big man on campus for four years, but now that there’s some competition you can’t handle the heat.”

“Competition?” Wincest laughs derisively. “Don’t flatter yourself, hotshot. Your entire ship is based on a handful of scenes and a couple catchphrases. The entire show is built on my ship, not to mention twenty-two years of pre-series canon.”

“They’re brothers, you sick fuck!” Destiel shouts. “Would you fuck your own brother?”

“I do fuck my own brother!” Wincest snaps, his anger flaring up dangerously.

They’re face to face, mere inches apart. Wincest doesn’t know when he pinned Destiel to the wall, but his hands are gripping the other’s wrists tightly. The bones feel surprisingly delicate in Wincest’s rough hands, and he feels the smaller ship’s pulse flutter against his fingertips.

“Let go of me,” Destiel hisses.

Wincest just pushes in closer, until their hips are pressed together. His lips curve in a predatory smile at the feel of Destiel’s arousal hardening against his thigh.

“You like this, kiddo?” Wincest demands. “Being held down by a sick fuck?”

“Get off me!” Destiel yells, struggling to loose Wincest’s hold. But he only succeeds in getting his knee between Wincest’s legs, his frantic movements causing their limbs to tangle together even further.

Wincest’s grin widens, and he rolls his hips deliberately. It draws an involuntary whimper out of Destiel, who flushes red and freezes at once.

“Yeah,” Wincest purrs. “You like this.”

“Don’t,” Destiel says feebly, but he’s tilting his face up unconsciously, inviting.

Wincest lets out a low growl and ducks down to nip at the curve of Destiel’s neck, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin and marking him up. Destiel shivers beneath him, momentarily acquiescing.

“Why don’t I teach you a thing or two about profound bonds?” Wincest murmurs.

_{(…I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU GUYS. BLAME THIS POST FOR PUTTING THE IDEA IN MY HEAD. LOLOL I’M GOING TO REGRET THIS IN THE MORNING.)}

Remember that time someone wrote Wincest/Destiel and it was brilliant?