#i thought i wasn't one for dad kink and then wincest happened

[winpocalypse]

ugh endverse!dean/sam + praise kink is a mind blowing combo really. older, feral dean with his rough john-like voice would be sammy’s secret dad kink awakening 🤌

alright alright! here's a little ficlet

“Good job, Sammy.”

The first time he ever heard that, Sam was probably around ten. It made such an impression on him, he doesn’t know if it was the bizarre circumstances (target training lunch break, right after school), the soft and proud manner his dad spoke (it was usually all hoarse and blank), or if it was maybe the first praise he remembers ever receiving. He spent that summer so laser-focused on getting every target right. 

When Dean, this Dean, first approached him, Sam’s brain jumped to John almost immediately. After the initial shock subsided, he could see why. Older, rougher, unshaven. He has the look of someone who lost a specific something. Someone. The look Sam grew up with.

There’s a special kind of loss that makes you raise your kids in rundown motels, or shoot someone’s head cold and without warning. All those years ago, he wasn’t able to understand that, for their dad. But here, now? Not only can he understand, he can also right some wrongs, if Dean can just keep reassuring him so. 

“That’s it, that’s it.” The brush of his whisper reaches Sam’s nape and his knees tremble so much with it, Dean slides his arm under him for support. “You know I’m here to take care of you.”

We’re better off apart.

You walked away, Sam. You walked away.

Sam claws his fingers on the bedspread, the one Dean, this Dean, got it just for him. Just for them. Clean and almost new. Sam tries suffocating his moans in it, as his body opens up, slow and steady.

“You’re doing really good, Sam.” Dean sounds as desperate as Sam feels and he basks in it. “You feel— God, you feel incredible.” 

Sam can feel that, the way he’s so full it feels like he can burst at any second. “Da— Dean…”

Dean moves his hips, too much too soon, and Sam grabs at the bare wrist resting beside his head, biting his lips shut.

“There, Sammy,” Dean whispers against his cheek, the most satisfied tone to his low voice. “You can take it.”

Of course he can take this. Even with the unfamiliar stretch, even with his cries, he can take it. 

Sam could always take a beating like no other. Both John and Dean know it. 

"Good boy."