#wincestmas anon 17

[laughablelament]

morning.

(this submission is inspired by both your likes and a tumblr post that crossed my dash a couple days ago <3)

The morning after their first time, Dean wakes up to an empty bed, sprawled across the memory foam. If he runs his fingers across the spot next to him, he can almost still feel the lingering warmth of Sam’s large body. The guy’s a furnace.

But the bed’s growing cold, and fast.

The things they did last night, though, the lines they’ve crossed — Dean thought they were both okay with it, but now his stomach is churning all of a sudden. ‘Cause Sam’s not there. And Sam’s a runner when things go bad. ‘S just… this wasn’t bad. Didn’t feel bad.

Sure does feel bad now, though.

Was stupid to believe this was gonna work out, huh? Good things don’t happen when you’re a Winchester.

He gets up, hastily throws on his robe, and rushes across the hallways of the bunker, checking the rooms, his mind already making up some pitiful voicemails he could leave after the beep: it didn’t mean anything (it did) I’m sorry (but not sorry that I got to touch you) just come back we can go back to normal (no I can’t, not now that I’ve had it all).

Dean comes to an abrupt halt in the kitchen doorway, the robes’ hem flapping around his shins.

“Morning,” Sam says sheepishly. He’s wiping a splattered raw egg off the kitchen counter. His trusty laptop is perching on the table, screen glowing with some fancy eggs ‘n bacon recipe.

“Morning,” Dean replies, voice scratchy. Well, hell if he doesn’t feel stupid now. Sam sighs.

“So… That happened.”

“It did.”

“I liked it.” Face burning red, hair draped over his eyes. “I wanna do it again.”

“Me too.” Dean walks down the three-steps metal staircase leading down to the kitchen. “Me too, man.”

“So… what now?” Sam glances up out of the corner of his eye. Forever the little brother, looking up to Dean for some guidance. Dean’s heart skips a beat, like he missed a step on the stairs and now he’s free-falling.

“I guess we eat breakfast.”

Sam exhales, tension slowly draining out of his shoulders.

Dean gives Sam a light push, coming up to the counter himself. “Make us some coffee. I got this. Let’s not kick this thing off with eggshell-flavored grub, cool?”

Sam stares at him for a second before scooping Dean in a tight hug, pinning Dean’s arms to his body.

“Alright, easy there.” Dean chuckles, but Sam doesn’t go easy. Buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean frees one of his arms to pat Sam on the back. “Shh. I got you. ‘S okay. We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” Sam repeats to the tune of Dean’s heavy breathing, disbelief laced into his voice. “We’re okay. We’re okay.”

Things never go right when you’re a Winchester.

But maybe when it’s two Winchesters, their bad luck streaks are bound to cancel each other every once in a while.

Sam leans in to kiss him. Dean tip-toes.

OMG this is my favorite one. Real, true, 100% Dean pain. <3 Thank you so much, dear anon, for everything. I am so blessed.

[laughablelament]

Dean is so, so proud of his smart lil’ brother. :) 

Whaaaat? Even is this??? *cries and cries* OMG I am the most spoiled. ♥♥♥♥♥

[laughablelament]

❄ Dean loves his car. And nailing his little brother. So is it really that weird he’d wanna bring the two of his favorite things together? They can’t possibly fit on the backseat, even though he’s tried to initiate some hanky-panky. But it’s too cramped, limbs and heads bumping against his Baby’s interior. “Grew up way too big,” Dean hisses, thighs around Sam’s hips. “Oh, /now/ you complain,” Sam rolls his eyes, and, yeah, normally Dean’s thrilled about Sam’s size.

(continued) How he can pick Dean up if he wants to, and how much of him there is to kiss and lick and bite. And how he presses against Dean when he bends Dean over the hood, trapped between the warmth of his brother’s body and the cool steel of his Baby, like the meat in the best damn sandwich on Earth. Sam’s hand is splayed on Dean’s back, grabbing at him as his hips work overtime, c’mon, Dean, so good to me—

and Dean’s cheek is pressed against the cold surface of the car, fingers desperately flexing in an attempt not to scratch the paint, but Sam’s making it so damn hard, and Baby’s got this awesome oil and grease and car guts smell most people would, maybe, find gross, but not Dean, fuck no, and Sam’s thrusting in over and over again— no other people for miles, the hidden place that they’ve found, just Sam and him and the car. Sometimes, Dean’s life is almost too good to be true. ❄

!!!

Nnnnnnggghh!!! Oh man. This is perfect! Hot and sweet and TRUE! Thank you so much, darling nonny! XOXO

[laughablelament]

First Day Of Wincestmas: Soulmates

The diner is lit up with a golden glow. The wrists of a teenage couple sitting a couple tables over are shining, their fingers intertwined. Sam can’t help but gawk.

Two soulmates meeting is, no doubt, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his five years of life.

“Don’t stare.” Dean huffs, elbowing Sam in the side. “S’ rude.”

“But… so pretty,” Sam mumbles, poking his eggs ‘n bacon with a fork. “I wanna have a soulmate too!”

“When you’re older.”

“How much older?”

“When you’re sixteen.”

“What will happen?”

“You’ll get the name of your soulmate written on your wrist. Right here.” Dean taps his left wrist with two fingers. “Sam, c’mon, man, I told you this stuff a million times already. C’mon, eat.”

“Mommy and Daddy were soulmates too, right?”

Dean swallows thickly, stares his meal down. “Yeah,” he says softly. “They were. Gold shine ev’rywhere I looked, Sammy.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Now eat.”

Daddy’s soulmate mark is all red and raw like a tattoo healed bad. Always scabbed over, and he scratches and picks at the skin there sometimes when he’s angry or sad. Like he doesn’t want it to heal.

Bobby’s mark is faded into a muted grey from a jade black. Pastor Jim wears a long sleeve over his, so Sam hasn’t ever seen it.

Come to think of it, not a lot of people Sam knows had a happy ending with their soulmate. But maybe it’s going to be different for Sam. It totally will!

-

Dean’s away with Dad on a hunt when his sixteenth birthday hits. Sam can’t even celebrate it with him, stashed away at Bobby’s. Can’t even be with Dean when he gets the most important news in one’s life.

He gets awful sick on the day after. Pukes his guts out all day. Like there’s a ball of lead heavy in his stomach. Must be Bobby’s goddamn chili. But Sam can’t possibly be mad when Bobby’s the one wiping the sweat off his forehead and tucking him in. Sam white-knuckles the edge of the blanket and breathes through the pain. Bobby actually checks his discarded clothing and his duffle for hex bags, but there’s nothing.

Sam feels all better by the time the familiar roar of Baby’s engine resounds outside. He rushes over to meet Dean and Dad on the doorstep.

“So?” Sam beams. “Who’d you get?”

“None of ya business.” Dean pulls off his coat. Sam tries to catch a glimpse of Dean’s wrist, but he’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

“Uh, yeah, it is. C’mon.”

“Bite me, Curious George.”

“Dea-a-an.” Sam sighs, following him to the kitchen. “C’mon, tell me. Tell me. I can keep a secret, I promise.”

“Leave ‘im alone, Sam,” Dad shrugs. “It’s a personal thing.” Dad’s just relieved Dean didn’t run off to chase his soulmate down, Sam’s pretty sure. Whatever keeps Dean under Dad’s thumb.

Dean’s sound asleep on the bed next to him that night, arm outstretched to Sam as always, in case Sam has a bad dream and need to grasp at someone in the night to keep himself grounded.

…Dammit, why didn’t Dean tell him? They’re best friends. Dean tells him everything. And he’d hide something as important as this? Sam just wants to know who gets Dean, with his pretty freckles, and his wide green eyes, and his bravery, and his stupid sense of humor and—

He slips out of the bed, sneaky-quiet, and tugs at Dean’s sleeve. A white bandage is wrapped around his wrist. Sam frowns but tugs at that too, trying to peer at least at the first name.

Dean’s skin is bloody and raw, the skin bubbling up in places. The name’s scorched off his skin. Sam gasps and jerks away.

Did the monster do this? But if Dean has been captured and hurt, Dad woulda been way more on edge. Did Dad do this? No, he was totally chill, and no matter who Dean got, even if it was a something bad, Sam can’t imagine Dad branding his skin.

So Dean must’ve done it himself. ‘Cause it was that bad. His soulmate must be dead. Or they’re soulmates with someone else. This whole soulmate system isn’t faultless. Being someone’s soulmate isn’t always a mutual and happy thing.

Sam carefully pulls Dean’s sleeve back in place. Dean groans in his sleep but doesn’t stir, not until Sam’s already back in his bed, trying to calm down his desperately beating heart.

He feels so bad for Dean. Whatever it was, it must’ve been something horrible for him to burn it off. It must’ve hurt so much. But if he tried to comfort Dean, he’d know Sam’s been snooping. So Sam just quietly agrees to Dean’s stupid cowboy movie choice the next movie night and lets him have the bigger half of popcorn. Dean seems suspicious, but doesn’t say anything.

Sam curls up against his side, arms wrapped around Dean’s neck.  

-

By the time sweet sixteen comes up for Sam himself, he’s sick-and-twisted happy that Dean isn’t off with his soulmate. Because he kinda loves how Dean’s always around, and even if he comes stumbling back late at night, smelling of cheap perfume and even cheaper booze, he always comes back to Sam. Ruffles his hair and gives him side-hugs and opens beers they’re both too young for.

Sam’s hand tingles mid-birthday dinner (read: a small cake and beers and soda, the two of them huddled at the small motel table), and he wants to slip away ‘cause no way he’s rubbing getting a soulmate into Dean’s face, but it all happens so fast. One second it was empty, the next, he’s looking at a chicken scratch kinda writing across his wrist, blocky jet-black letters.

Dean cranes his neck too and Sam’s not sure which one of them makes a shocked noise first.

“Dean,” Sam says, and he might as well been reading the writing on his wrist aloud. “Dean Winchester.”

“Oh, holy shit.”

“You got me too, didn’t you?” Sam raises his eyes. “Didn’t you? That’s why you scorched it off!”

“…Yeah. But, Sam, look—”

“Gimme your hand.” Sam never thought finding his soulmate would be so easy. He imagined an epic quest, not reaching across the table. “C’mon, Dean.”

Dean grabs Sam’s fingers with his own. Warm and calloused. Sam expects the golden glow, the fireworks, the everything that having a soulmate should be, what he’s read in the romance novels (a guy can have his guilty pleasures). He brushes a finger over where Dean’s skin is warped by the burn.

There’s nothing. Sam’s hollow and rattled.

“You ruined it.” His voice quivers. “How could you?”

“How would I explain it to Dad if he saw? To Bobby? To anyone?” Dean shakes his head.

“It’s not like you chose to have this mark.”

“It’s still sick. I didn’t want a reminder of it, Sam. Sue me.”

“You shoulda held out hope!” Sam snaps, slamming his hands on the table. Dean flinches. “You should’ve believed I’d get you too.”

“Dude, you’re my little brother. I mean, what were the chances—”

“These are the chances.” Sam jabs his wrist with his finger. “And now you ruined it. This is all I ever wanted. A soulmate. You.” A choked-off sob leaves Sam’s shoulders shaking. Dean stares up at him, wordless. “You ruined it, Dean. You broke it. Our bond— you’ve fucked it up!”

It’s not enough to destroy the soulmate mark to snap a bond. The bearer has to will it away with all he’s got.

He buries his face in his hands.

“And we won’t ever feel what it’s like.”

“M’ sorry,” Dean finally says after a long, long stretch of silence. “Sammy, I’m so sorry. I just… freaked. I didn’t wanna hurt you somehow.”

He exhales. Scrambles to his feet and walks over to look in the window. A nice May day out there, and he’s cold as ice.

Dean comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Sam’s torso, tight. Buries his face in Sam’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Sam says, at last, turning around in the circle of Dean’s arms to face him. “It’s okay, De. Soulmates or not, I got you. That’s what matters.” He reaches out to grasp Dean’s chin and tilts his head up until their eyes meet. “I got you, right?”

“Course you got me, Sammy.” Dean smiles, a brief-quick twitch of his mouth’s corners. “Come hell or high water.”

“I got you.”

Sam leans in first. Dean grabs his waist, and then they’re kissing, they’re kissing, just like Sam dreamed it so many times.

He kisses Dean slow. Soft. Dean pays him back in kind. Sam never thought Dean could be so tender with someone. Always seemed like the rough and tough kind, but there he is, careful with Sam like he’s something precious.

Sam grabs Dean’s hand and presses a kiss to his wrist where it’s pink and perpetually chafed.

“It’s okay,” he says, and it’s only then when Dean’s veins glow gold. Sam rushes to lace their fingers together, tight like a corset. “Oh god, Dean,” he mouths. Dean’s skin heals over, inch by inch, until Sam can make out his own handwriting.

Sam Winchester, it says.

Dean kisses him again, yanks him close, hand in Sam’s hair, holding on like he doesn’t wanna let go, ever.

Sam sees fireworks and he knows Dean’s seeing them too.

Omg? *sniffle* Feelings. I have them. Dean, devastatingly perfect, scarring himself to protect his little brother. Ungh. And Sam, all hopeful and romantic. So perfect nonny. Thank you!! ♥

[laughablelament]

Dean breaks his leg while working a case. Soft bodies and hard gravestone? A bad combination. Sam has to help him shower in their stupid freezing motel of the week ‘cause keeping the cast dry is a pain and Dean needs help. He might protest, but Sam doesn’t wanna hear any of it, and Dean huffs and puts up with it after Sam bribes him with a promise of a pie he’s gonna drive to get Dean who’s currently bedridden. It’s not weird or anything. Just a brother helping a brother.

(Maybe it’s a little freaky for Sam, but he’s always been… that non-fuck f-word when it came to Dean.) Sam’s gonna wash that nasty hospital chlorine smell right off Dean. He rubs Dean’s shoulders and washes his hair. And then washes Dean’s chest and, in spite of Dean’s suddenly desperate attempts to squirm away, dips down low over to Dean’s stomach and— well, this is when Sam realizes this might be a little weird, after all. The back of Dean’s neck and his pointy ears are bright red.            

Sam laughs, quiet and nervous, because things so good don’t happen in his life, ever— how could he be so lucky, huh? And Dean’s about to apologize, but Sam shakes his head no and silences his apology with a kiss. For a second, Dean grows tense, and Sam thinks he’s about to get sucker-punched. But then he kisses back, slow and soft, and Sam pulls him in even closer. The two of them make out under the shower spray, like in The Notebook they both swear they have never ever watched.

But that’s Sam’s sweetheart in his arms. Wherever he is, that’s where Sam’s home is.

I mean… I love this so much. The other f-word? Aw, Sammy. ;__; Also the Notebook line, just perfect, so them!! Thank you again, sweet anon. All the love.

[laughablelament]

HELLO. IT'S ME, YOUR WINCESTMAS ANON. Tell me all about what you like and what you don't! Can't wait to make your inbox jolly.

*bounces up and down* MERRY WINCESTMAS! ^_^

These are a few of my favorite things…

Soulmates

Impala sex

Bratty/bossy/bitey Sam

Protective/possessive Dean

Bunker domestic

Pranks and power games

Fake boyfriends/shared beds

All things shower related

First time, established, fluffy or smutty, switching and kissing and bickering, all that! I am, however, a wimp about a/b/o, realistic gore, under 16, death, and noncon. (Now the exceptions. Weechester gen: pre-slash or platonic, afterlife plots, dubious or under-negotiated consent–all good. All great!)

Most of all, I want you to have fun! Please don’t hesitate to dig into YOUR favorite tropes, headcanons, au’s, wish lists, and fix-its… Sharing is the spirit of Wincestmas, in my book. Let’s both be jolly!

So excited…

love, laughable

[laughablelament]

Big sloppy smooches

to my wincestmas anon

Wonderful fic, and glorious art, and I am super happy. Thank you so much, my darling. Hugs forever.

Check it out HERE!