#12daysofwincestmas

[crooked-sleep]

Day 8 -- A Glance into Sam and Dean's Cell Phones

hi!! attempt no. 2 to get this post to work, let me know if it doesn’t and i’ll figure out sth else!!

i’d like to believe this is after they’re semi-retired – they take the occasional easy hunt, but mostly they just help out hunters that need it, and do silly domestic stuff because they’re finally at peace <3

—

everyday life:

on a hunt: 

and, um, the sexual misadventures of dean winchester:

—

i hope you had a good laugh! i certainly enjoyed making these lol

love, wincestmas anon <3

[wincestmas]

Is there going to be a wincestmas this year? I'd love it if there was!

hi there! sorry i did not see this post until just now!!! i had not planned on doing any more wincestmases after the show ended, and i definitely won’t have time this year, my tumblr time is sadly down to like an hour a week 😩

that said, if anyone or more of you is interested in taking this over, please let me know and we can make it happen!

[brothersinablackcar]

One last doodle-dee-doo for @sammichgirl as a (sort of?) bookend to @wincestmas! Scowling snowy boyz. (But I still have part 2 of Find Me Now to give you, which I’m working on as we type! So it will arrive, um, when it does? :D All my love, darling ... happy New Year!)

[nevergettingoverwincest]

Wincestmas Masterpost

Finally collecting my works for 12 days of Wincestmas. My recipient was the lovely @kidhuzural and I had great fun with our shared love for fluff, smut, and weecest! In no particular order:

Two Queens - outsider POV, Stanford Era - Sam and Zach get a motel room when the dorms close. Dean comes to visit. Ganymede Summer -time travel, case fic, older!Sam/younger!Dean - Sam ends up back in time working a case with 16 year old Dean. Amor Prohibido - pre-series, domestic - Sam and Dean watch a telenovela. Camp Eagle Creek - pre-series, case fic, outside POV - Sam and Dean investigate a haunting at a summer camp. Take a Picture - pre-series, PWP - Sam develops some photos. Hot with a Chance of Snow - pre-series, PWP - car sex, that is all. Hungry Heart - pre-series, PWP - Dean walks in on Sam sucking his own dick. Clean and Simple - case fic - Sam and Dean investigate a series of murder suicides, but the haunting hits unusually close to home.

All of my fic (SPN as well as Marvel and Captive Prince among others) can be found HERE at my AO3. Some of the underage stuff is archive-locked.

Thank you so much @wincestmas mods for running the event!

[rhythm-catsandwine]

They’re retired. Well, retired from actual hunting. They still manage the phones and send out information. They still live in the bunker- it’s their home and the longest place either of them have lived. 

It happened when they were out buying groceries. Sam spotted the dog first- in the alleyway. 

“Dean look,” Sam says, pointing towards the alleyway.

Dean sees the dog, a pitbull mix. It’s too thin and most likely has mange judging by the missing clumps of fur. There’s no collar and even if there was, Dean is pretty sure that nobody is looking after it. He looks over at Sam- looking at the dog like he did back when they were kids- and he knew that they were going to take it home.

It ends up being more of a process than both of them thought. She, they later found out, was quick and could wiggle out of their grasp the moment they got their hands on her. Sam finally manages to get in the Impala by luring her in with some cheese-which Dean will bitch about later- and a trip to the vet. She ends up being named Mary- they both agree after seeing how well she could keep up with their “attack” and her spirit.

It’s two days later when they pick her up from the vet with a hefty bill to boot. She’s still in the cone of shame which leads to both of them being exasperated when they find out she can Houdini-herself out of it. It takes another three days for Mary to approach them without using food to lure her in. After a month, she can still be a little jumpy but she now sees herself as a lap dog. She tries her best to lay her body across the both of them when they are sitting on the sofa or wedges herself between the two of them on the bed. Dean may grumble about her, especially when she’s scratching at the door when they are having sex (“She’s watching us Sammy. Doesn’t that bother you?”), but he sees why Sam wanted a dog since he was three years old. And Sam is happy that they finally have a home to have a dog.

I have a thing for Sam getting a dog. Then Dean secretly loving the dog too!

"She's watching us Sammy. Doesn't that bother you?" Was awesome!

Thank you anon!

[ilovejared]

Day 11: Longnecks (Mature)

Dean twirls Baby’s oil cap back in place. Cleans his hands and fires her engine just to hear her purr. Rumble reverbs off the vaulted ceiling and Dean lays his head back, soaks it in.

Some days, he almost can’t fathom how he got by before the Batcave.

Sam comes ambling up the steps, longnecks dangling from his fingers. “You ready for a beer break?”

“Sammy, you read my mind.” Dean kills the motor, takes the offered brew.

“Eh.” Sam grins. “More like you’re predictable.” 

They tap necks and Sam posts up beside Dean, leans on the fender.

He’ll show Sam predictable. Swallow of cold beer and Dean hooks Sam’s belt loop. Jerks his chin. “C’mere.” 

Sam flashes dimples. Dean puts down his bottle and starts in on Sam’s fly. 

“Dean, what—”

“How long we been here, man, like… five years?” 

“Give or take.” Sam sucks a breath when Dean rubs on him, through his shorts.

“So how is it we have never taken full advantage of this spacious, warm, enclosed garage for some good old-fashioned parking?” Dean hooks Sam’s waistband, works his pants down just enough. 

Sam’s fist thumps Baby’s roof.

“Easy!”

Chuckle rocks him. Dean cuts that short with a firm grip, soft tug. Sam groans. Shuffles closer.

“That’s the spirit,” Dean says. “Switch me places.”

Shaky breath. 

“Come to think of it, how ’bout you get in the back, huh? Lemme lay you out across that seat and take you apart.”

Sam drags Dean up and lays a kiss on him that curls his toes. “Maybe I wanna lay you out across that seat.”

Dean smirks. “I called it first.”

Sam throws his head back, shakes his hair. 

Dean rakes teeth up Sam’s long neck, makes him shiver. “You’ll get your turn,” Dean promises. “We got all night.”

[stephanie-likes]

Hey giftee! I hope you had a great new year. A day late with this one (with a heads up of course) but I hope this makes up for it. You mentioned you liked bottom!dean and panties…

—

[laughablelament]

Wincesmas - Day 7 aka Day 1

Hey Em, all the apologies for the delay - adult life is kicking my ass, which means I´m waaaay behind and we have a lot of catching up to do… Anyway, here´s a bit of bunker fluff for you :)

***

Sam didn´t look up from his papers when he heard footsteps coming up behind him, too focused on the article he was reading to pay any attention to the newcomer. Not like he needed to check, anyway. Even if there were other people in the bunker, Dean´s presence was unmistakable.

“Thought I told you to come to bed,” Dean grumbled as he stepped closer, stopping right behind Sam´s chair and peaking over his shoulder. “It´s half past three, dude. Those papers can wait till morning.”

Sam snorted and opened his mouth to protest – it was not like Dean had any ground to stand on when it came to responsible sleeping hours – but his retort was cut short when Dean rested both of his hands on the nape of Sam´s neck, warm fingers rubbing gentle circles into his skin, unerringly finding – fuck yes, right there – all the best places to soothe his aching muscles.

“You´re one to talk.” Sam shifted a bit to give his brother more room to work his magic and bit his lip to keep himself from moaning out loud. Jesus, Dean was good.

“Well, I, for one, couldn´t sleep.” Dean huffed and dug his thumbs into a particularly sore spot. “All alone in that big empty bed…”

He trailed off and Sam felt him step even closer, his brother´s body a long line of heat all along Sam´s back. One of Dean´s hands slipped lower, grazed the skin just above Sam´s collar bone, and suddenly Sam was only all too aware of their proximity.

“Dean.” Sam hissed, right hand coming up to catch Dean´s wrist before it slipped even lower. He would’ve turned around, too, but Dean´s other hand had found its way into Sam´s hair and was massaging his scalp in a way that made Sam´s toes curl and his eyes roll back into his head.

He was losing fast and Dean goddamn knew it.

“We both know you´re too keyed up to sleep now.” Dean argued, as if on cue, voice laced with fake innocence. “You´ll toss and turn and think all fucking night, and like it or not, sweetheart, but you´re not goddamn twenty anymore. You need some fucking sleep.”

“And the solution to that is letting you screw me unconscious?” Sam asked, caught halfway between exasperation and fond amusement. His brother was such an idiot sometimes.

“Worked before, didn´t it?”

Dean kissed his way up Sam´s neck, let his teeth scrap over that one spot right behind Sam´s ear.

“You won´t even have to do anything.” Dean murmured against his skin, hand slipping out of Sam´s lax grasp and all the way down beneath the waistband of his soft grey sweatpants.

“C´mon, Sammy. Let me take care of you.”

[omegaqueencas]

Take a Cue - Billiards Vingettes

1- John started teaching Dean to play pool as soon as he was tall enough to reach the felt, and Sam had early memories of sitting on the edge of the table in grimy bars, watching his father guide Dean’s hands on the cue, just like he guided them on a gun doing target practice. 

Once, Sam got his fingers crushed against the edge of the felt by the ball because he’d forgotten John’s admonition to be careful. Dean didn’t want to play for a while after that, until Dad snapped, “He’s gonna get hurt worse than that some day, do you want to be able to take care of him or not? Pool’s a good way to make money, in a pinch.” 

After that they played again, and Dean had a hard-eyed intensity that Sam was slowly becoming familiar with as his brother grew older. 

2- Sam’s earliest role in hustling pool was as the teary-eyed distraction. If Dad’s mark was making trouble about handing over the money, it was Sam’s job to come over sniffling and wide-eyed, asking if they were angry with his Daddy. Dean would stand protectively behind him, ready to drag him out of harm’s way in case it didn’t work. It always worked. 

3- Later, it was Dean who taught Sam to play. Night after night, whenever there was a diner or a bar with a pool table, they’d take down the cues and rack the balls. At first Sam just practiced hitting any ball into any pocket, and then, as he gradually improved, they played every variation of billiards on the books, and a few that he was pretty sure Dean made up. 

“You scratched the cue ball! You have to pick truth or dare.” 

“That’s not a real rule, Dean.” 

“How do you know? And don’t chalk the cue between every turn, it makes you look like an amateur.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t looking like an amateur the point?” 

“Yeah but only when you want to. Pool is a dying art and w e have to be defenders of her honor. Come on, truth or dare Sammy?” 

“Don’t call me Sammy. Fine, truth.” 

“Were you jerking off last week, after you walked in on me and Carla Benetti?” 

“Ugh, you’re such a freak, Dean!” 

Dean waggled his eyebrows. “Answer the question, you can’t welch on truth or dare.” 

“Time to go, boys,” their dad called, and they had to put the cues away. 

Twenty miles down the highway, both curled to sleep in the back seat with streetlights flickering in magic-lantern shadows on the inside of the car, Sam leaned his head against Dean’s shoulder and whispered, “Yes.” 

“Huh?” Dean said, already thick with sleep. Dean could fall asleep anywhere, at any time. 

“I said yes,” Sam repeat, low enough to not be overheard by John beneath the roar of the engine and the rush of the road. “I was jerking off. After I walked in on you.” 

“Oh.” Dean breathed out, a little shakily, and his hand found Sam’s skinny knee, squeezing. 

The dark made Sam brave. He reached down and closed his own fingers around Dean’s, holding them in place. They fell asleep like that. 

4-John watched his boys circling the pool table. Sometime in the last six months, Sam had started to grow and didn’t look like he was stopping, and it was throwing off his game. It would take practice to get accustomed to his new reach and strength, and although it would eventually be an asset, it was clearly aggravating Sam now, as Dean beat him up and down, game after game. 

John was at the bar, waiting for a contact who was supposed to meet him. Despite spending most of their lives in a car or assorted motel rooms together, he didn’t often get a chance to just watch his boys together. Not without haranguing them to finish their drills, or do the dishes, or stop their damn fool arguing. Tonight he had nothing better to do, until his contact showed. 

Dean was teasing his brother, ragging on him, the kind of patter he never got to use on marks, not when he needed to keep them calm. Sam was not staying calm, going red-faced and pout-lipped, bangs in his eyes. It was affecting his playing. Steady breaths, John could have told him; just like aiming a gun - shoot on the exhale. But Sam was getting to that age where you couldn’t tell him anything, lanky and stubborn. 

As Sam leaned over to take a shot, Dean passed close behind him and ruffled his hair. Sam missed the shot badly, and straightened up, scowling. “Dean!” John heard, over the noise of the bar. Dean grinned, unrepentant. 

Beside John, someone cleared his throat, and John turned to shake hands with the tall, grizzled ex-hunter he’d been waiting for. At some point during the conversation, he lost track of the boys and when he glanced over, they were both gone, pool game abandoned with balls scattered across the table. 

Just as John’s heart jumped with adrenaline, wondering if something or someone could have snatched them right here under his nose, he spotted both of them coming back from the bathrooms. Sam was still red-faced, and Dean still looked smug. They didn’t finish the game. 

5- There was a stretch of time where they were too old to be shepherded into a bar innocently by their father, and too young to convincingly pass off fake IDs. They kept their skills up at billiards tables in all-ages restaurants and permissive dives all across the country, places that would turn a blind eye to a pair of teenagers playing pool as long as they didn’t drink. It was easy to hustle in places like that. Everyone underestimated a kid. 

Sometimes people looked at Dean’s mouth or Sam’s beanpole legs and thought they could hustle something else. Dean always sent them away firmly as long as Sam was in earshot. Occasionally, if money was really tight, he’d slip out after putting Sam to bed, come back near closing time, and make a little more on the side. 

6- Watching Sam’s ass as he bent over a pool table was Dean’s favorite kind of public masochism. His bubble butt was the one place he’d never lost his baby-boy softness, although Dean knew from touching it a thousand times that the plump roundness was all muscle when Sam flexed. 

Sam’s Levi’s strained over the generous curve and Dean knew he wasn’t the only one watching. It made him hot with jealousy and pride to have other people’s eyes hungry on Sam as they played. His arms flexed in his t-shirt as he lined up his next shot. It was a view good enough to sweeten the sting of the money marks lost.

Sam didn’t love the buzz of hustling like Dean did. During his teen years, Sam got more and more bitchy about how weird it was to count hustling pool as domestic budgeting, and he started the same tune right back up after Dean came to get him at Stanford. But he loved the game; had always loved mathematics and precision of it, the way Dean loved the art and music of the clacking balls. 

It never took much to cajole him into a game or two. Sometimes Sam even won, and always the competition, the posturing, the subtle exhibitionism left them both wound up and desperate to get off. 

Someday he was going to fuck Sam over a pool table. The opportunity just hadn’t presented itself yet. They sucked each other off in the car instead, taking the edge off enough to make it back to the motel. 

7- Sam could beat Dean sometimes, and Dean occasionally lost to an unlucky mistake with a stranger, but the first time Sam saw Dean get his ass whupped at pool by a girl was at the Roadhouse. Dean was excellent, professional caliber, but Jo had grown up in a bar with a pool table, spent every day of her life there. And Dean had underestimated her the first time. It was stupid of him, Sam reflected, when Dean himself had so often taken advantage of his blond good looks to lower a mark’s expectations. 

Jo won the second game on skill alone, Dean playing hard and focused against her. He won the third, though. She looked a little breathless, a little bright-eyed and turned on afterward. Sam could sympathize. Win or lose, playing Dean at pool was always a semi-sexual experience. That was part of what made him such a good hustler. The game was as much about domination of this cocky, beautiful, attention-seeking young man as it was about the billiards. It drew people in helplessly, like Jo. Like Sam. 

8- There was something unknowable about the Winchester brothers from the moment they first set foot in the Roadhouse - a mystery that went beyond Ellen’s strong reaction. Dean was mouthy and charming, Sam withdrawn and polite, but both of them were in some undefinable way, untouchable. Like everyone else in the world was slightly unreal, and only the Winchester brothers really existed for one another. It was at the pool table that she finally figured them out. 

Waking up in the middle of the night and padding down the hall to the bathroom Jo heard noises from the bar downstairs. Sometimes her mom would take weird meetings with hunters at odd hours, and Jo was always curious, so she crept to the top of the stairs where she could watch without being seen in the shadows. 

It was Sam and Dean, playing pool. The hard clacking sounds she’d heard weren’t beer glasses but balls. She understood insomnia. There were nights when she couldn’t sleep that she’d spent hours at that table, trying to lose herself and her grief in the patterns of the balls on the felt. 

They circled the table like a pair of graceful animals, not speaking at all, and watched each other with intense eyes. That was what caught her attention, held her in place wrapt instead of going back to her warm bed. She’d played Dean earlier that evening, beat his chauvinist ass twice, and she’d seen how he watched her as he played - first casually, then measuringly, and finally triumphantly. But he had never looked at her like he’d seen her, like she was real in his world, like he was looking at Sam now. 

He watched his brother like Sam was a work of art, a piece a theatre. Appreciative, ecstatic. And Sam was looking back, almost predatory. She’d written him off as the soft, hurt college boy to Dean’s brash edges, but there was nothing soft about the way he was looking at his brother. Dean leaned over the table, deliberately slow, and Sam’s eyes were hungry. 

The unnamed suspicion growing in Jo’s gut clicked into focus when Dean put a hand on Sam’s back, dragging it down to the curve of his ass. Sam didn’t flinch, as if they did this all the time, just took his shot and sank the ball. Then he stood and grinned at Dean, wolfish. 

When Sam pushed Dean back against the edge of the table, pressed up between his spread thighs, Jo slipped away. She didn’t actually want to see them kiss or fuck or whatever they were about to do. God knew hunting made you crazy and destroyed innocence fast. Jo wanted to keep a tiny piece of her sanity for herself, in blissful, plausible denial about the mystery of the Winchester brothers.

 HAPPY WINCESTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR! xoxo Anon 

[random-fireworks]

Stanford Imagen

Imagen Sam working as a professor at Stanford. Dean had the garage. When Sam’s at work he has to put his phone on silent. Dean sends him at least one text every hour. When finals come around Sam has to work a few more hours. Dean goes into overdrive. Sam counted once and he got

10 I love you texts.

4 what do you want for dinner?

5 I miss you

6 when are you coming home

3 have you eaten everything I packed for you

10 selfies (the last few were nudes)

Dean drives him to work and back home most days. They kiss before Sam leaves the car.

Dean cooks Sam healthy food and after much nagging and negotiation Sam convinced Dean to eat healthy at least half of the time. In exchange Dean got sex anytime and anywhere he wanted.

And you thought this was the last of the Sanford AU……

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Awwww, that’s so sweet!! <3 I love glimpses of what their life could have been like. Thank youu!

[crooked-sleep]

Day 1 - 'Tis the Season

“Fuck you, you big old red son of a bitch!”

“That’ll be coal in your stocking, you evil bastard!”

The rotund old man dressed in red delivers a rather impressive uppercut to the ugly faun-looking guy. Bizarro World Mr. Tumnus ducks, and growls threateningly from between teeth clenched tight and stained old-blood brown.

“Is this really happening?” Dean asks, disbelief coloring his tone.

“Kinda asking myself the same thing,” Sam replies, and then flinches when the faun thing screams and launches itself at – fuck me, that’s Santa fucking Claus, thinks Dean hysterically.

Santa moves out of the way with surprising speed for a guy his size and age, and uses the faun’s own momentum against him, grabbing one of his horns and pushing him into the nearest wall. Dean watches, only dimly aware of his mouth hanging open, as Santa pulls out a glinting silver knife from his belt and stabs the goat thing. It howls, loud and shrill, and Sam jumps a little again before pressing himself into Dean’s side, not lowering his weapon even a little.

“Why don’t you just die?” Santa roars. It’s weird as fuck. The man – or whatever he is – doesn’t look jolly at all. Then again, it’s kind of hard to pull off the whole adorable-old-grandpa schtick when you’re brandishing a knife, thinks Dean.

“Santa stabbed Mr. Tumnus,” Dean tells Sam, as if Sam’s not watching the whole thing with wide eyes too.

“That’s not Mr. Tumnus, that’s Krampus,” Sam tells Dean, only half paying attention to the conversation.

“Oh, look, he stabbed him again.”

“Should we help?” Sam asks as Santa stabs Krampus a third time. The howling is getting deafening now. “I feel like we should help.”

Dean casts a contemplative look at the scene before him. Krampus is still shrieking, and Santa looks more and more pissy with each futile stabbing attempt. “Nah,” Dean says in the end. “Let’s leave them to it. Not a big fan of getting my ass handed to me by Santa. Or the goat thing.”

“Krampus.”

“Whatever.”

Finally getting tired of the whole thing, Santa lets out a frustrated “Ugh, fuck my life” – and isn’t that the weirdest thing Dean’s ever heard – before grabbing Krampus by the horns and stuffing him face-first into the large sack he’s been lugging around. Dean opens his mouth to point out that there’s no fucking way that 8-foot tall Krampus is going to fit in there, but Sam elbows him to keep his mouth shut – and anyway, whatever mojo Santa’s got on his sack (and there are a million puns Dean could be making here but is choosing not to, a fact for which Sam should be thanking him on his knees) seems to apply to Krampus too.

“I’m not sure that I’m not dreaming right now,” Dean admits to Sam as they watch Krampus’s hooves vanish into the sack.

“I honestly wondered if we’d been drugged at some point,” Sam says. “Don’t think we were, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m real,” Santa cuts in, looking grumpy as all hell as he drags the sack to the honest-to-God sleigh parked next to the Impala. He swings, powerful and sure, and the sack lands in the backseat with a loud thump and even louder “FUCK YOU!”

“FUCK YOU TOO!” Santa yells back.

“Fuck me,” Sam whispers, in an uncharacteristic display of disbelief.

“Later,” mutters Dean.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas,” Santa grumbles, dusting his hands off and then his clothes. “Thanks for all the help, by the way.”

“You were doing fine on your own,” Dean points out.

“Yeah, this is nothing new,” sighs Santa. “Fucking Krampus. Told him a million times to stick to his territory and stay out of mine, but does he listen? Fuck no. Who the hell even tortures kids these days, anyway?”

Sam and Dean share a look, and simultaneously arrive at the decision not to comment.

Santa continues ranting. “I mean, coal’s more than enough. Gets the message across, doesn’t it? Screw you, little Billy Bob, you were a little asshole the whole year, so now you don’t get presents while everyone else does. That’s punishment enough, in my opinion. Torture and all that is totally uncalled for.”

“Totally,” Dean echoes. “So old school, right?”

Santa glowers at him, unamused. “Watch your mouth, or it’s coal in your stocking, too.”

Sam disguises his laugh with a cough.

“Joke’s on you, we don’t do Christmas,” Dean informs Santa squarely.

“Not what happened in 2007,” Santa retorts.

“Well, that was different,” Dean snaps.

“I think what Dean’s trying to say is that it’s a good thing you defeated Krampus,” Sam says hurriedly, when it begins to look like Santa’s considering tossing Dean in with Krampus too. “Since, you know, we probably couldn’t have done it on our own. And he was, you know. Torturing little children.”

“You’re welcome,” Santa says after a pause.

Sam gives him an awkward little smile, and to Dean’s surprise, Santa returns it. Fricking Sam, he thinks with a glower. Charming the pants off everyone around him with those damn puppy eyes. Including fricking Santa damned Claus.

“What are you going to do with him?” Sam asks, nodding towards the wriggling sack in the sleigh. Krampus, it seems, is not taking well to his imprisonment.

“Keep him locked up for a while, or something,” sighs Santa. “I’ll figure it out. Before that, though, I’m getting drunk off my ass.”

Dean blinks. “Is that allowed? I mean, don’t you have, I don’t know, presents to deliver?”

“Sack’s empty, genius,” Santa reminds him. “Means I’m done with all that. It’s happy hour now, and Lord, I deserve a drink or ten.”

“Think I kinda wanna get drunk too, honestly,” Dean tells him.

Santa snorts. “Don’t blame you. This is why I don’t talk to people, see. You humans have this weird image of me and it does not jibe at all with my thing.”

“Your thing?” Sam asks.

“Vodka,” Santa answers bluntly. “Lots and lots of vodka. And weed. All the weed.”

“I… see,” Sam says, looking like he can’t figure out how to process all of this. Dean can’t really blame him.

“Yeah, little kids probably don’t wanna find out Santa needs AA,” he comments.

“Pfft, I’m good,” says Santa. “Anyway, I better get going now. Since you two have not been entirely useless, I guess I’ll give you guys a little souvenir.”

“We get presents? Sweet!” Dean grins.

“What kind of souvenir?” Sam asks, ever practical and wet-blankety.

Santa reaches into the backseat, plunges his arm into the sack – “You bite me again I’ll rip your face off, Krampus you fugly sumbitch!” – and withdraws it a few seconds later with two small boxes in the palm of his hand. There are bite marks in his forearm, which Sam stares at, while Dean focuses on the boxes.

“What are those?”

Santa tosses them in his direction, and he catches them. “See for yourself.” With that, he ties the sack closed again and then gets in the front. “Right, I’ll be going then. My weed and booze awaits. Come on, Rudolph, get going, boy, I don’t got all year!”

And with that, he’s off. Sam and Dean watch him leave, both of them staring at the sleigh literally takes off and flies into the sky, until it’s barely a speck against the moon.

“What the fuck just happened?” Dean asks once Santa’s gone.

“We got upstaged on a hunt by Santa Claus,” Sam answers, sounding a little dazed. “And then he gave us presents.”

“Oh yeah, lemme check these out.” Dean puts one of the boxes down on the trunk of the Impala and then begins unwrapping the other. There is a smaller velvet box inside, and Dean’s heart almost stops when he sees it. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Sam asks, crowding in for a closer look.

“I think Santa gave me a ring,” Dean says, and then realizes that this is probably the weirdest thing he’s ever said out loud.

“A ring?” Sam repeats, and then grabs the other box. “Why would Santa– oh. Mine’s a ring too. What are we supposed to do with these?”

Dean’s taken the ring out of his box and is examining it in the dim moonlight. It seems to be made out of silver, plain except for a carving on the inside. “It’s got my initials on it,” he tells Sam, squinting at the D.W. on the inside, exactly like the carving in the Impala and on the bunker table.

“Yeah, mine too,” Sam tells him. “I don’t understand, though.”

“I–” Dean stops short as something clicks in his brain. “Wait. No way.”

“What?” Sam asks. “What is it?”

“Dude, I think Santa wants us to get married,” Dean says, and looks up to see Sam’s expression of disbelief. “No, really!” he insists. “I mean, why else would he give us matching rings with our initials on them?”

“Why does it matter to Santa if we’re married?” Sam asks, brow furrowed.

“Who cares?” Dean asks, shrugging. “I mean, it’s not a bad idea!”

“You want to get married?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean, it’d be cool,” Dean says, trying to appear unaffected. But the truth is, it’s something he’s always wanted for himself, something he’s always wanted with Sam, hard physical proof of how much they mean to each other. And now that it’s literally in his hands, he can’t do anything to squash the rapidly-growing seed of yearning in his chest. He wants Sam to say yes, he really does.

“You want to get married because it’d be cool?”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I’m saying?”

Sam looks indignant, opening his mouth to retort, but then Dean raises an eyebrow and Sam shuts his mouth again. “You know what?” he says a second later. “Let’s do it.”

“Wait, seriously?” Dean asks, not sure if he’s heard Sam right.

Sam nods. “Yeah, why not?” He’s trying and failing to look casual, and it occurs to Dean that he probably wants this just as badly and irrationally as Dean does.

Then again, nothing about the two of them has ever really been logical, has it?

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says. “Sure. I’m not getting down on one knee, though,” he adds. “It’s cold as shit and I’m not getting my knees in the snow, okay?”

Sam laughs, cheeks and nose pink in the December air. “Yeah, wasn’t expecting you to,” he says. “Look, let’s just–” He grabs Dean’s hand, and slides the ring on.

“Oh. Okay, yeah, I can do that,” Dean says, and takes Sam’s hand, reciprocating the action.

The rings fit perfectly – of course they do – and for a moment both of them are completely quiet, looking down at their hands and then each other’s. It looks like the rings have always been there, Sam’s initials on Dean’s hand, Dean’s on Sam’s, and – Dean lets out a slightly hysterical laugh – real, physical proof.

“So that’s it? We’re married?” Sam asks.

“Well, not like we can get a priest and do the whole church thing,” Dean points out. “And we’ve always done things our own way. Why should this be any different?”

Sam smiles at that. “Yeah, okay, makes sense.”

“I still want my kiss, though,” Dean adds. “And we should totally consummate the marriage.”

“Somewhere warm,” Sam replies, cheeks reddening further as he flushes.

“Yeah, of course,” Dean says with an eye roll, and then grabs Sam’s face in both hands and brings him in for a searing kiss. 

That’s just how their lives are, he thinks as he puts his arms around Sam and lets Sam melt into him. They watch Santa beat the everliving shit out of Krampus, and then they impulsively get gay-incest-married in a snowy motel parking lot.

Dean wouldn’t change it for the world.

—

hi there! i really hope you enjoyed the story in all its cracky glory, and i can’t wait to give you more presents! merry christmas, and i hope you had a lovely one <3

–wincestmas anon

***

Oh my goodness! I got a fight, Santa crack and a wedding. You are TOO good to me, anon! ❤️ Thank you for putting in all this work. I find fight scenes SO hard to write, but you’re so good at them! I love it!

This made me LOL: “Vodka,” Santa answers bluntly. “Lots and lots of vodka. And weed. All the weed.” 

Same, Santa. Same.

[wincestmas]

What’s sweet and a little spicy? Hard on the outside but soft inside? Pretty darn good all the time, but best when hot and gooey and dripping with icing? Wincest, of course! 

I hope you all are as excited as I am to see what everyone bakes up for the fifth and final Wincestmas! 

We have decided to do things a little different this year, so please read ALL the below information if you’re going to participate!

WHAT?

12 days of wincesty goodness, secret santa style.

Anything goes, ficlets, art, edits, playlists, whatever.

(At least) one gift per day for 12 days.

HOW?

Reblog this post by Saturday November 23rd with “signed up” in the tags 

Send this blog a message indicating your interest 

If you're participating from a side blog, be sure to give us that URL

Follow us if you’d like, and track #12daysofwincestmas for updates!

WHEN?

You’ll receive the name/url of your giftee the last week in November. This is a lot earlier than in previous years, we hope this gives everyone enough time for planning and getting started so we have fewer dropouts this year. 

The 12 gift giving days are December 26th through January 6th. 

WHO?

YOU! This is for anyone who wants to share their love of Sam and Dean’s love!

You definitely don’t need to celebrate Christmas or any other holidays to join in.

Pinch hitters always welcome and appreciated!

A FEW KEY THINGS TO REMEMBER:

When you message someone on anon, you will not receive a notification that they have answered, so you will need to check their blog directly to see answered anon asks.

You can submit anonymously by logging out of tumblr and then visiting their submit page. As far as I know, this is the only way to do it. (note: if your giftee’s blog is flagged as explicit, you may not be able to access it while logged out. If this occurs, please contact us and we’ll work something out!)

The end of the year is a busy time for everyone! Many of you will have finals, family get togethers, etc, please be mindful of your commitments! This is meant to be 100% for fun and should not become a burden or .

Please be prepared to check in with your giftee to assess their comfort level with various kinks and tropes! More on that when the assignments go out.

Please don’t hesitate to contact us with any questions!

[brothersinablackcar]

Welcome 12 Wincestmas

“At last, he’s asleep. I can look at him the way I’m meant to.” -Carl Phillips, “Late in the Long Apprenticeship”

Happy Wincestmas! I hope you’ve enjoyed my little gifts. (Please let me know if you did not get the story for day 11.)

I’ve adored them all, thank you so, so much, lovely! You worked your buns off and it was worth every second! This is the first time I’ve done Wincestmas and I’m so glad I got in, before it ended, and I’ve so enjoyed everything that came out of the event. You got me, and you gave me all the treasures. THANKS x1000! 

[nevergettingoverwincest]

Sam had always been the one in charge of technology for the Winchesters. Before Stanford, Sam had acquired the first cell phones they had that you could text with. It was a big deal for Sam, getting the praise of both dad and big brother, for doing something that seemed so simple to him, realizing they counted on him to explain it all. Teaching them both – dad especially – how to scroll on the phone to get the alphabet and to text quickly had been a challenge, but he go them understanding enough to shoot off the quick things they needed, which really came in handy on a hunt that sometimes split them up.

During those Stanford years, Dean and his dad lived off of bare-bones, cheap burner phones. Had they even managed to steal or borrow a higher grade phone, they didn’t know how to reset and update the accounts, faking the information needed. Burner phones were perfunctory, but they worked.

Once Sam was again riding shotgun next to Dean, one of the first things he did was swipe a couple of fancy phones. He outfitted his with what Dean called nerd apps; multiple email accounts, utilizing the built in calendar and contacts list to build up their roster of acquaintances and the Google search engine to be able to research on the fly. Dean used his for messaging with Sam and his dad, but mostly for games. And photos. And the more than occasional web search for anime porn.

The day Sam introduced sexting to their relationship, things between them went in many new directions. They could tease, flirt, role play and say just about anything within the realm of play without embarrassment. Those were the rules they put in place. Nothing was off the table via text, and they could better gauge carrying over into the bedroom from their reactions and responses to the texts.

So far the only liability they’d come across had been when they wouldn’t let such a back and forth session pause during a hunt. They were Winchesters. They were competitive, and each wanted to see the other break first. It was a matter of pride – and bragging rights.

So in the middle of Sam interviewing a witness, he received the first volley from Dean, who was interviewing the local sheriff. “Enjoy your unmarked neck and body while you still can…”

Sam had no choice but to respond, clearing his throat and excusing himself from the sofa where little, old Mrs. Frye seemed visibly upset at his leaving. Reassuring her he’d return, he moved to the kitchen and swiped back quickly, “I’ve soaked through three pairs of panties today just thinking about you…”

Dean chuckled, before quickly schooling his face in front of the typical small-town badge who stared at him in tired puzzlement. He typed out, “I can’t wait to see you. Try not to think about how hard my cock gets around you,” before sliding his phone into his pocket to refocus on the line of questioning.

Determined not to lose this round, Sam managed to get his reply out before Mrs. Frye – please call me Eloise, Agent – came in after him, offering him a cup of coffee and a slice of fruitcake. “Will you fuck my face tonight? Please?”

It took Dean several minutes to wrap up, which he knew meant Sam was thinking he’d won, however, leaving the station, he grinned as he keyed in, “I’m going to tie you down and make you beg before I fuck you.” Sliding into Baby, he put her in drive and headed to Mrs. Frye’s to pick up his little brother.

Sam, blushing from the overt attention being paid to him and realizing the situation, quickly dashed off his rejoinder – via speech to text, “I wish I could taste your come. Right. Now.”

Poor Mrs. Frye didn’t stand a chance. Eyes wide in surprise, she dropped the plated fruitcake as she fainted. Whoops, thought Sam, catching her before she hit the linoleum. When Dean didn’t reply, and close to twenty minutes had passed, he knew he’d won. When Dean arrived, Sam was till coaxing sweet Eloise from her stupor, and Dean could barely contain his glee that yet another biddy had literally fallen for Sam.

[chiliscale]

“12 Days Of Wincestmas” for Kay. 

Day 9: Give me your hand.

Hello :)

Here’s a Wincest set on the pre-Stanford era with Sam being tricked by a witch, John has to get help for his son but it’s Dean the one who’s really going to help Sammy… If you know what I mean…

*************************************

Dean was taken by surprise when John and Sam entered the room. He had been playing with the Magic Fingers, so he was indeed awake but he was surprised anyway to the point of feeling his heart pounding in the middle of his throat. He hid his lowers extremities with the sheets he saw his little brother being dragged by his father and locked down in the bathroom.

“What are you doing?”, Dean asked John.

“I’ll go with Jim. Don’t you dare to open that door.”

“Dad?”, Sam called him knocking the door.

“Take a cold shower, son. I’ll be back soon”, he looked at Dean. “A witch took one of Sam’s hair.”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I always say to him to cut that damn hair!”, the older of the Winchesters brothers shouted out close to the bathroom door.

“Shut up, Dean!” Sam complained from the inside.

“Why are you going with Jim?”

“I hope he knows how to cure Sam. For now, he must stay here and if by any chance he wants to get out of the bathroom, no matter what he does or he says, you don’t open that door. Do you understand me?”

Dean always had been obeyed John’s commands but this time he saw his father a quite concern about Sam’s health. He would obey like the good son he was. Once John left his boys alone, Dean took a chair and sat down in front of the bathroom.

“Sammy? Are you there?”

“Seriously, Dean?”

“Yeah, you’re right. What happened, man?”

“Dad told you.”

“I know, but are you hurt or something? What that bitch did to you?” There was a brief moment of silence but Sam didn’t seem to want to reply. “Sam?” Once again, there wasn’t a reply of any kind. “Sam, come on, answer me.” Dean’s voice started to shake, he was worried after all. Neither John or Sam himself had told him which one spell was affecting his brother. Dean stood and knock the door twice, thrice but Sam didn’t reply. “Shit…” The boy opened the door and found Sam unconscious on the floor. “Sam… Sammy!” Dean knelt next to him and try to wake his brother up. Instead, Dean felt Sam taking one of his hands to heading it to his crotch. Sam faced his brother and Dean saw his red cheeks and glowy and watery eyes. He seemed in pain even.

“Dean, help me… Give me your hand, please…”

“That witch drugged you?”

“I don’t know”, Sam replied ashamed.

“I- Sam, I can’t help you with this.”

Dean couldn’t help but feel aroused because of Sam. He never had seen his brother that needy. In fact, he never had seen Sam jerking off either.

“Dean, please”, Sam asked while sitting down on the cold floor to grab Dean’s shirt while his big brother was trying to get away from him. “I’m begging you.”

“You can do it by yourself, come on, you can do it by yourself.” Dean helped Sam to stand up and get into the shower. “Come on, little brother, help me out, okay?” Dean turned on the cold water. He tried to make Sam to stood but they ended up falling on their knees to the floor, since the younger Winchester seemed weak.

“Dean, please.”

Sam was shivering, he was cold, Dean was getting cold and he just was being splashed with the cold water of the shower.

“Sammy.”

Dean couldn’t bear it anymore. He got inside the shower and sat down straddle Sam. He closed his eyes and unzipped Sam’s jeans. The younger boy moaned, he needed so much to be touched. He would never accept it but, in fact, he needed Dean’s touch. And maybe Dean was halfway to Hell but he had to do it so Sam could feel better.

—–

John returned to the motel late in the night. He found Dean watching the TV and Sam sleeping in his bed.

“Dean.”

“Dad, hi.”

“What did I tell you about letting Sam go?”

Dean looked at his father, but Sam sitting in bed caught the attention of both.

“Dean helped me, dad.” Dean glanced him but Sam didn’t flinch. “He made me company when I was taking a cold shower.”

John looked at Sam and sat on the bed next to his.

“Are you good now?”

“Yeah, it seems that cold water was the only thing I needed.”

John nodded and get closer to Dean.

“Go to sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean stripped down to his underwear and lay on the bed. He rolled to his side and saw Sam’s shiny eyes looking at him and smiling.

What Dean couldn’t get was if Sam really had been under the effects of a spell or not…

[ilovejared]

Wincestmas Day 6

They go to Jody’s for New Year’s, unwilling to face the echoing stillness of the Bunker. With Cas and Dean still on the outs and no Jack and no Mom, even their own company just isn’t feeling like enough. Things are dour enough without the isolation.

But Jody’s is warm and bright and crackling full of female energy in a way they’ve never experienced. Donna is there too, and Alex and even Claire, a shade less sarcastic than usual, although Sam’s not sure that isn’t the work of the beer she’s been drinking. 

Sam hadn’t thought that Dean could still even get intoxicated, but they’ve emptied a few bottles of champagne and Alex had been making some really good old fashioneds, under Jody’s suspicious eye, and Dean is bright-eyed and bubbly and Sam realizes that he hasn’t seen Dean happy drunk in years. Only angry drunk. It’s a nice change. 

Around ten thirty the girls had departed, Claire with a punch to their shoulders and Alex with a kiss on their cheeks. Jody gives a classic cop-mom warning that Sam’s sure goes in one ear and out the other and the two of them head out the door into the snowy night, already bickering. Jody’s rolling her eyes as she closes the door, heading back to the living room where Sam is watching Donna and Dean cracking up over something stupid. 

It’s just what they needed, Sam realizes. Friends and fun and something to take their mind off all the bullshit. The new year wouldn’t make much difference - “Same shit, different day,” Dean was fond of saying - but at least for one night, they could set it aside and be normal. Not that normal’s really something he’s been chasing lately - not like when he was younger - but it’s nice to play at it for a time.

Dean’s disappeared somewhere - probably the bathroom - and Sam gets up and wanders into the kitchen in search of a snack. He doesn’t really need it, but Jody is a really good cook and he’ll take as much of her food as he can get. 

He’s loading his plate with mini quiches when a shadow falls over him. Dean is at his side, reaching across him to snag a quiche from the platter. His eyes catch Sam’s and hold as he pops the pastry into his mouth, licking crumbs from his full lips. 

For reasons he can’t explain, Sam can’t look away.

Dean steps closer. The tips of his ears are pink with alcohol flush, but his face is serious. He leans in and now he’s close enough that Sam can feel the warm puff of his breath on his own face and what is happening oh God oh God oh God - 

“Are you guys eating again?” Jody’s voice calls from the living room and they spring apart like coiled wires. “You both have hollow legs or what?”

“Nobody makin’ mini quiches at our place,” Dean calls back, his eyes still on Sam. 

Jody appears at the doorway, smile wide on her face. “Yeah, I guess not.” She cocks an eyebrow at Dean. “Could give you the recipe in exchange for a cocktail. Our bartender skipped out on us.”

Dean grabs a dish towel from the oven handle and flicks it up onto his shoulder. He salutes crisply. “Yes ma’am.”

He follows her out of the kitchen, where Sam is still rooted to the spot, trying to process what had just happened.

TBC

————————————————————————————————-

Happy New Year! This is part one of two: a little s15 first time Wincest to cap off the year. Enjoy!