keagan writes

sweet-sammy-kisses  asked:

"He's mine and I don't share." - Wincest. I hope you have a good day.

Sam always got attention when they went into bars. And not because his fake ID said he was 21, meanwhile his doe like eyes betrayed his true age, which was just barely legal. 

 It was his eyes and his dimples, and probably his ass, too, Dean was pretty sure. His eyes–they were so big and hazel, so innocent looking, despite the fact that Sam wasn’t all that innocent at all. And his dimples, well. They were inches wide and miles deep, carving out little pockets of sunshine in Sam’s cheeks.

And his ass?

No explanation needed.

Yeah. His kid was a twink, and Dean knew it. Fucking loved it, most of the time. Except maybe right now. 

He’d left for five minutes, just to take a piss, and when he returned, his seat at the table was taken. Some asshole with a beer and a loud voice, was leaning too close to Sam, was crowding him in, trying to drink him up. 

Sometimes, Sam was a little shit. Sometimes he’d bat his lashes a couple times, gift whatever stupid drunk was brave enough to approach in Dean’s absence a little piece of his sunshine smile. And then Sam would dart his eyes to Dean, smirk a little at his reaction, and Dean would storm over, quick to remind both Sam and the offender just exactly who Sam belonged to. 

Tonight, though, Sam wasn’t in the mood for games. He squirmed in his seat, not looking at the guy’s face, not even listening to whatever shit he’s spewing. No. Sam’s eyes are wandering around desperately.

He’s looking for Dean.

When their eyes finally meet, Dean can see the relief sink into Sam’s bones from across the bar. The nervousness drifts from Sam’s actions, the tension melting away. 

Dean stalks over slowly. Dangerously. This guy was bothering Sam. Was trying to get close to what was rightfully Dean’s.

“Dean,” Sam said softly, and christ, Dean was in love. “Don’t hurt him.”

Dean clenches his jaw. “Nah, Sammy, don’t worry. He was just leaving,” Dean says, not looking at Sam, just staring the guy down. 

“Only if you’re coming with, sweetheart,” The man slurs, watching Sam. He puts his arms around Sam’s shoulders, and Sam cowers away, trying to get closer to Dean.

And that’s Dean’s last straw. 

“He’s mine.” Dean growls out finally, getting a fistful of the man’s shirt. “And I don’t share.” His voice is dark enough, with the promise of danger, so much so that the man only blinks up at him, bewildered. When Dean lets him go with shaking hands at Sam’s quiet plead, the asshole just stumbles away, looking dazed.

“You okay?” Dean asks, snapping out of it and turning to Sam.

Sam nods, standing up to press close to his big brother. “Only want you. Hate it when they touch me. Doesn’t feel right.”

Dean plants hungry kiss to Sam’s collarbone. “Then let’s go home and fix it. How does that sound” 

Sam answers with a slow smile and nothing else, but it’s all the reply Dean needs. 

daydreamkara  asked:

Prompt: "I just don't know what to do anymore, Dean." (Love you btw)

[[ Love you more btw ]]

“I just don’t know what to do anymore, Dean.” Sam mumbles, looking down at his lap. He fiddles his hands together, his shoulders hunched in. Sam, at sixteen, was a scrawny thing, all long limbs and awkward, sharp angles. But damn, he was gorgeous. Especially in the morning light. Or at sunset.

Or, hell. Every damn hour in between. 

But Dean’s not in love, or anything.

“It’s not a big deal,” Dean shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. Yet another dusty motel room, another small town. John hadn’t called in two days. “Lotsa’ people don’t have their first kiss ‘till their older.” 

“Everyone in my class has, and we played truth or dare at Kate’s party. And now everyone knows I haven’t had my first kiss yet. M’a loser.” Sam pouts.

“And?” Dean rolls his eyes. “Sorry to break it to you, kiddo. But that ain’t news.”

Sam goes on, as if Dean hadn’t spoken. “What if I find someone I really like, and I wanna kiss ‘em, but I mess up ‘cause I don’t know how?” Sam worries at his bottom lip, eyes wide and panicked. His kid worried so much, about everything.

Truthfully, the thought of Sam kissing some girl made Dean sick. Made him furious.

“Sam–” Dean begins, but doesn’t get far before Sam interrupts him. 

“Kiss me.” He says suddenly, his hands scrambling at Dean’s jacket. 

“What?” Dean blinks, stunned. “Huh?”

“C’mon, Dean. You kiss so many girls–you’ve got to be an expert. Just one kiss, so I know how. So I’ll be practiced.” Sam says, and when he makes that pleading face at Dean–well. 

When has he ever been able to say no to those dimples? 

“I…Sam. Are. Are you sure?” 

Sam nodded quickly, already climbing onto Dean’s lap and wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck. 

Sam fit..perfectly.

“Okay.” Dean said numbly, his heart racing in his ears. “Okay. Close your eyes.” 

Sam did, immediately. He closed his eyes, lashes fluttering against his cheeks and lips slightly parted. He was holding his breath.

Dean leaned in, pressing his lips to Sam’s shell pink ones, once, twice, three times. 

Dean meant to keep it gentle, instructional. Just the basics. But Sam wanted more, evidently, and he turned the kiss hungry, sloppy and biting. Dean let out a surprised sound and pulled Sam closer. 

Hands in Sam’s hair, mouth on his neck, on his lips, on his jaw. When Dean finally pulls away, it takes a hell of a lot of effort. But he keeps his hand cupping Sam’s face. 

“Dean,” Sam gasped eyes wide, looking at Dean like he’d never seen him before. “ kissing always like that? Because that was…” He blinks, and doesn’t finish his sentence.  He tilts his head, so puppy like that Dean’s heart squeezes. “I’d like more, please.”

Dean groans–christ Sammy, don’t ask like that, gonna make me crazy, and obliges. 

Dean teaches Sam how to kiss that day. Among…other things that mouths can do. 

the-megalosaurus  asked:

Prompt: "You've been crying, haven't you"

“You’ve been crying, haven’t you?” Sam asks, his voice small and sad. His arm is wrapped up in a cast, and he leans over Dean in the bed they were sharing that night. The other bed was empty–John still hadn’t come back to the hotel room. 

Dean swallows, trying to wipe away the tears before Sam could see them, but Sam was smart. Even in the darkness of the room, he could see right through Dean. 

Sam had gotten into some trouble today at school. As in, he was beat to a pulp by a bunch of assholes, and wouldn’t use the self defence training he was so well practiced in. He just took it. And he got hurt. 

Black eye, swollen shut, broken wrist, fractured rip and multiple bruises and cuts. 

“Go back to bed, kiddo. You feeling okay? Nothing hurts, right? Need any more medicine?” Dean manages to make his voice somewhat normal. 

Sam shifts around until he’s straddling Dean’s hips, peering down over him. “Stop blaming yourself.” He demands. “I could have protected myself if I wanted to. And I didn’t.”

Dean doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “Why didn’t you?” He asks finally, something he’d been curious about all day. 

Now it’s Sam’s turn to look away, shrugging. “The stuff dad taught us….it’s dangerous, Dean. It’s deadly. I didn’t want to claw their eyes out or hit them back hard. They’re just angry kids. They don’t know any better.” There was a slight wheeze to Sam’s breath, a struggle in every movement, proof of his hurting. His suffering.

The saddest part was that Sam referred to people his own age as kids. Because Sam hadn’t been a kid for a long time. Maybe he never really was one. He felt so alienated from normal life he couldn’t even hit back. 

“I don’t like seeing you like this.” Dean admits. He hesitates before saying more. “Keeping you safe is supposed to be my job. And now look at you.” 

Sam smiles at that, a goofy smile, all dimples and good intentions. “Stop beating yourself up about it, you big baby. I might not have hit those jocks back, but I’ll still kick your ass any day.” 

Dean just pulls Sam into his arms slowly, slowly, had to be mindful of the injuries, presses a kiss to the top of his head and buries his noise into his kids hair. “M’gonna keep you safe, Sammy.” Dean promises fiercely, careful not to hold him too tight. 

“I know.” Sam said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I know you are.”

“Go to bed.”

“You done cryin’? Does the baby need his bottle?” 

Dean nips playfully at Sam, and earns laughter that sounds like the chiming of beautiful bells. “Bitch.” 

Sam lets out a content sigh, burrowing deeper into Dean’s chest. When he says, “Jerk,” it sounds like some sort of hallelujah. And maybe that wasn’t too far off. 

beetlejuicelover  asked:

"We are not watching that again." + Wincest Thank you and I hope you are having a great night!

[[ you as well, my lovely! x Thank you for the prompt :) ]]

“We are not watching that again,” Dean groans, throwing his head back dramatically on the couch.

Sam pouts, his bottom lip sticking out comically, the remote control for Bobby’s dusty TV clutched in his hand. Bobby and John had left on a hunt that morning, and the constant rain that clawed at the windows and the fact that Sam had caught the flu had prompted the boys into a movie day. 

They were snuggled up on the old couch with just about every blanket in the house, to fight off the chills that would randomly overtake Sam’s skinny body. 

“Aw, come on, De!” Sam whines, his voice nasally from the congestion. His hand tugs at the collar of Dean’s t shirt pleadingly. Dean didn’t fail to note that it sounded incredibly cute. On the TV, Gilmore Girls was loading, ready to play at the press of a button. “I know you like it too!”

Dean glares down at his little brother, fully intending to fight with him until they watched something a little less chick-flicky. 

But Sam, the little shit, was making that face he knew Dean couldn’t resist, big hazel eyes a little watery from sneezing so much. “I don’t feel good, Dean.” Sam says softly, blinking up with his doe-like eyes. When did his lashes get so long, anyway? “Please? Just one episode?”

Sam’s cheeks were flushed with fever and his hair was sticking up in all sorts of directions.

Dean let out a long breath, defeated. “Alright.” He grumbles. “But pick a season where that tall Dean guy is long gone. I don’t like that dude at all.” 


Have a sentence prompt + ship? (Sterek, stucky, wincest/weecest, clace) send it in!

“Ever wonder about those two?” Bobby asks, watching Dean and Sam in the living room, curled around each other. The TV was loud enough they couldn’t hear the two adults conversing in the kitchen.

“No.” John says softly. “They’re brothers. That’s all.” He glances sidelong at Bobby as if daring him to say more, to press the issue.

Unaware they were being watched, Sam tilts his head up, and presses a kiss to Dean’s jawline. 

Bobby sighs, shaking his head. “Just brothers, huh?”

Bobby watches them across the room from over his glass of whiskey. “Sam is fourteen.” He tells John. “Isn’t that too old for him to be sitting on Dean’s lap?”

John follows his gaze, and he watches his sons for what seems to be forever, but really, is only about a span of three minutes. “Maybe.” He agreed.

“John, I’m a little worried…” Bobby hedged, not quite sure how to go about telling John he thought his two boys might be in love with each other.

“Why?” John asks, seeming calm and at ease.

Because.” He grunts like it’s obvious. And isn’t it? He’s pretty sure that the way Sam tucks his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, or the possessive hand Dean splays under Sam’s t shirt, against the bare skin of his back, is something to be worried about. “They’re…very close.”

“They’d die for each other.” John agrees, nodding to himself.

Bobby opens his mouth to say more, but John cuts him off by slamming his glass down on the coffee table. “Bobby, please.” He says sharply. “I know it’s not healthy. But this has been fourteen years in the making. They’re safer like this. They’ll do more to protect each other. To keep each other safe.”

“I think a little space would do them some good.” Bobby adds.

“No.” John is quick to shoot that idea down. “Sammy gets nightmares, and Dean is the only one who can calm him down.”

“Well maybe–”

“I said no, Bobby. It’s too late.” He stares down in his glass, his jaw tight, though he has clearly come to accept the fact before him long ago—otherwise, John would be much more worked up than he is. “Nothing is going to come between them now.”

Bobby refills his glass and downs it all at once, his throat burning from the alcohol, though he pays no attention to it. He’s more focused on the brothers before him. “Dammit.” He curses under his breath. “Too damn codependent.”

saltiestandthirtiestgem  asked:

Hey there babe since you wrote the cutest flash back in without a word could you do Dean insisting he gives Sam a bath

“Dean, it’s fine.” Bobby rolls his eyes, staring at the 7 year old Dean contemplatively. “I got it.”

Dean stared up at Bobby with clear green eyes. Clinging to Dean’s side, was 3 year old Sammy, his chubby arms wrapped tightly around Dean’s torso and in turn, one of Dean’s arms wrapped protectively around his shoulder. 

“I’m supposed to take care of Sammy.” Dean says calmly. “That’s my job.”

“It’s fine.” Bobby repeats. “You can go play while I bath him.”

Dean holds Sam tighter. “I’m gonna bath him.” He says firmly, voice unwavering for an 8 year old directly defying familiar authority. “He needs me.”

Sam is only looking at Dean, not saying anything. His hazel eyes were wide and focused for that of a child barely older than a toddler. “De?”

“S’okay, Sammy. Gotta give you a bath.” Bobby answers instead, reaching down and scooping Sam easily out of Dean’s grip. 

Sam starts crying. 

Chaos erupts. Dean grabs Bobby’s wrist and twists it painfully to the left, digging his small fingers into a nerve and nearly making Bobby drop Sam, who was struggling and crying and trying to get to Dean. 

“Okay, okay!” Bobby relents, releasing Sam, who stumbles over to Dean. Dean scoops him up easily and soothes him in a manner that is practiced, until Sam is calm, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder and sucking on his thumb contentedly. 

“I’m giving him a bath.” Dean says again, and turns to walk Sam upstairs.

Bobby takes off his baseball cap to run  a hand through his hair. 

“Too damn codependent.” He mutters. 

anonymous asked:

Hi Idk if you are taking g prompts but if you are I could really use some season one Sam fluff right now. Like he gets a puppy or something and Dean's reaction. Please. Also ily ok bye

“Oh no. Oh, no, no, no. No way in hell.” 

Sam sticks out his bottom lip, and 1 month old Newfoundland puppy mimicked his expression best it could, tongue lolling out. “Come on, Dean. Look at him!” Sam holds the puppy up in front of his face, as if Dean could miss the big black ball of fluff in his brothers arms.

“You know those things get to be, like, the size of a small horse, right?” Dean says, hands on his hips, completely unimpressed. 

“I know.” Sam grins, nuzzling the puppy’s head and peppering it with kisses that made Dean a little jealous. “The bunker is the perfect size. It’ll have room to run around and play.”


“C’mon, Dean! Colt already loves you.” Sam bounces the puppy in his arms a little and Colt gives a little bark, panting happily. 

 Dean wants to object. At least, he did. But Sam’s already named it, and seeing him there before him with an armful of puppy, and the biggest smile Dean has seen on him in months is absolutely not putting him in any place to say no. So he doesn’t. 

Sam must see the surrender on his face because he sets Colt down in favor of rushing at Dean and kissing him, wrapping him up in an embrace. “Thank you,” He says between kisses. 

Dean ruffles Sam’s mop of hair, and pecks his nose, as Colt yips happily at their ankles. “He’s never riding in Baby. Ever.”


Colt takes up a permanent spot in the back seat with his head out the window every time they go for a drive.