wvyik

[wvyik]

you talk, i’ll listen ⋆⭒˚.⋆

sam winchester x gn! reader

ꕤ summary: you crawl into sam’s lap on a quiet night and ask him to tell you lore, just to hear his voice. he doesn’t ask questions. he just holds you and talks, and for once, everything feels still.

♯ warnings: emotional comfort, canon spn lore, lap cuddling, soft! sam, gentle reader, pre-established relationship, long hair petting, no spice just pure cozy silence, my long ass paragraphs aka me trying so say big words, s5e5 mentioned?? no way.

♯ notes: first of all, thank you so much for the request @noria-fish!! i loved writing it. second of all… i need to confess that i thought junior meant freshman and had that in my bio for like four months. so if you ever thought i was smart… no you didn’t. be safe out there y’all. stay in school. learn what junior means. love u. <3

The room is dim, barely lit by the orange glow of a streetlight filtering through the slats in the blinds. You can hear the faint hum of the vending machine outside, the rustle of paper every time Sam turns a page, and the occasional creak of the old motel bedframe as he shifts his weight.

It’s quiet in a way that should be comforting, but instead just makes you feel weirdly aware of how tired you are. Not just physically. Not just from the hunt. There’s a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t sit in your muscles, it settles in your chest. Quiet, constant. Like white noise in your head you can’t turn off.

You glance over at Sam, who’s sitting cross-legged on the far end of the bed, one of his lore books open in his lap. There’s a pen tucked behind his ear, and his hair’s still damp from the shower he took after you both got back. The sleeves of his sweatshirt are pushed up to his elbows, and his focus is deep enough that he doesn’t notice you watching him. You don’t want to interrupt him, not really, but something in you itches for closeness. Something small. Just… contact.

So you move quietly. Wordlessly. You cross the few feet between your bed and his, and when you pause in front of him, he looks up; not surprised, not questioning, just waiting. His eyes meet yours, and he must see something in them, because he doesn’t ask. He just opens his legs a little, gives you space, and lets you climb into his lap like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You curl into him slowly, legs folding up, arms slipping around his ribs as you nestle into the worn cotton of his hoodie. His book shifts slightly on his thigh, but he doesn’t move it. One of his arms wraps around your back, the other staying loose at his side. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. There’s no awkwardness. No moment of adjusting or fidgeting. Just quiet acceptance.

Your fingers find his hair. It’s still warm, still a little damp, and softer than it has any right to be. You start combing through it with your nails barely touching his scalp, slow and steady, and you feel the way his shoulders relax almost instantly. You don’t really know what makes you say it— maybe it’s the silence, or the comfort of being tucked into him like this, but your voice is soft when you ask, “Will you talk to me?”

He tilts his head slightly. “Talk?”

You nod against his chest. “Just… something. Lore. Doesn’t matter what.”

He doesn’t ask why. He just shifts a little under you, the book now resting half-forgotten beside him, and starts talking like he’s picking up a conversation you were already in the middle of.

“There was a case we took once, back in Canton, Ohio,” he says after a moment, voice low and even. “Couple kids got killed at a wax museum, and at first we thought it was a haunted object, something attached to the exhibit. But it turned out to be a pagan god. Leshi. Slavic. Old forest deity. She’d taken the form of Paris Hilton—no, seriously, because people were obsessing over her. The more idol worship, the stronger she got. Wasn’t about nature at all anymore, just fame. Power. She was feeding on the obsession.”

You shift a little, listening closer. Sam’s hand moves absently over your side, steady.

“She used to thrive on being worshipped in the old world,” he continues, “but people don’t pray to forest gods anymore. They worship celebrities. So she adapted. Possessed statues. Took the form of whoever people were fixated on. I had to chop her head off with an axe to kill her. Nothing else worked.”

He keeps going.

“She wasn’t really evil. Just… hungry. Desperate. She wasn’t getting what she used to— worship, offerings, belief, so she adapted. Found a way to survive, even if it meant hurting people. It’s not just her. There’s more stuff like that than people think. Creatures that just want to be left alone until something pushes them too far. Kitsune. Pishtaco. Shōjō. Some of them only turn violent when they’re starving, or cornered, or grieving. There’s a pattern to it. Always has been.”

You don’t interrupt him. There’s something about his voice when he gets like this, slow, thoughtful, like his mind is running ten steps ahead but he’s choosing his words carefully so you can keep up. His hand slips beneath your hoodie slightly, just enough to touch warm skin, not suggestive, not anything other than grounding. He exhales, and you feel it move through his chest into yours.

You whisper, “Thank you.”

He pauses. “For what?”

“For talking. For letting me be here.”

His hand presses a little more firmly to your back. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

But you do. You don’t say it, but you do. Because it’s not just comfort you’re asking for when you sit like this. It’s something heavier. Something you can’t explain. And Sam.. Sam never asks for you to explain it. He just holds you like your silence makes sense.

You stay like that for a while, tucked into his chest, legs folded across his lap, head resting where his hoodie dips at the collar. His voice is still going, somewhere between a low hum and a quiet rhythm, talking about ancient creatures and broken hunter lore, old hunts that no one talks about anymore.

You stop listening to the actual words at some point; not because you don’t care, but because his voice gets so soft, so even, it blends into the same warm haze as the air in the room. It’s like static, like safety. The kind that makes your shoulders drop without realizing, like your body knows it’s allowed to rest now.

You keep running your fingers through his hair because it feels good. And because he lets you. You can feel the way his head leans into your touch now and then, subtle but there, like he doesn’t want to admit how much he likes it. You catch the way his voice slows when your nails graze just right against his scalp. He doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t tease, doesn’t even look at you. He just lets you keep going, and you know he’s melting a little from it. The thought makes your chest ache, quiet and soft.

You don’t really get how someone like Sam can exist. Like, this is a man who has seen things; real, awful things, things that should’ve made him hard, cold, distant. And maybe with some people, he is. Maybe he needs to be. But with you, he’s just this. He’s soft-spoken, patient, so gentle you could cry if you let yourself think about it too long. The way he looks at you sometimes when you’re not talking. The way he checks his tone when you’re already tired. The way he never demands anything from you, but somehow always gives everything anyway.

You glance up, cheek still resting against his chest, and study his face from this close. His hair’s curling a little at the ends, dampness giving it weight, and there’s a crease between his brows that never seems to go away, even when he’s calm. His lips are parted just slightly as he reads, and his eyes move slow across the page. His lashes are stupidly long, almost soft-looking in the low light.

Your hand trails down to the nape of his neck, warm and solid beneath your fingers, and he lets out a breath like he forgot he was holding it.

He hasn’t said anything in a few minutes. The book’s still open, but he’s stopped reading it. His other hand has gone still on your back, his thumb just resting now. It’s so quiet you can hear the blood moving behind your own ears. You don’t know what time it is, and it doesn’t matter. The room could vanish, and it wouldn’t matter.

You whisper, “You always let me do this.”

His voice comes back just as quiet. “Do what?”

“This. Sit with you. Be… small, I guess.”

He shifts a little, not to pull away, just to see you. His hand cups the back of your head, fingers slipping into your hair like he’s scared you’ll pull away if he says the wrong thing. “You’re not small.”

“I feel small. When I’m with you.”

There’s a beat. Not awkward. Just full.

Then, still looking at you, he says, “I think you make me feel human.”

You don’t know what to do with that. Your throat goes tight in that slow, creeping way that happens when someone is too kind to you out of nowhere. You blink a few times and lean in, pressing your forehead to his collarbone, right where his heart is. He’s warm. You can feel it even through the cotton. You think about what he just said, and it echoes in your chest like a bell.

You don’t tell him you love him. You don’t need to. You think he knows.

Instead, you keep running your fingers through his hair, slower now, more like a lull than a habit, and you whisper something so quiet you don’t even know if he hears it.

“You always feel like home.”

He doesn’t answer.

But his arms pull you closer, and his lips press to the crown of your head, and his hand curls into your hoodie like he’s holding onto something he doesn’t want to let go of. And maybe that’s all the answer you need.

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[wvyik]

gentle ⋆˚꩜｡

sam winchester x fem! reader

ꕤ summary: it’s your first time with sam. he’s nervous, you’re nervous, but you love each other so much it hurts. it’s slow, it’s soft, he’s hard (oops), and everything he does is full of love.

♯ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, lowkey sub! sam, honestly pretty realistic first time, me thinks, emotional intimacy, desperate praise, sam winchester fucking whimpers, body worship, extreme softboy behavior, p in v, sam’s big… yeah. just that.

♯ notes: idk what happened but i blacked out and suddenly sam winchester was soft and hard at the same time. this is very much written with stanford sam in mind. (sorry jess!! love you!! and so do ceilings!! ˚ˋঌ˖)

It was quiet in the bedroom, the kind of quiet that wrapped around you like a blanket. The only light came from the little lamp on the dresser, casting soft amber glows against the walls, and Sam’s shadow moved across it as he came back from the bathroom, freshly showered, wearing a worn gray t-shirt and sweatpants that hung just a little low on his hips.

He looked at you with that warm, boyish smile, the one that always made your chest ache. The kind that said I love you, even when he hadn’t said it out loud yet that day.

“You comfy?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, brushing his fingers lightly over your ankle.

You nodded, stretching a little under the blanket. “I am now.”

He chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Good.”

You watched him for a moment. The way his hair curled slightly behind his ears. The curve of his lips. His hands— big, careful, resting gently on your leg like he didn’t want to startle you. You’d been together for a while now, but something about tonight felt different. Softer. Slower. Like everything had paused just so you could feel it more.

You reached for him, and he came willingly, laying down beside you, head resting on his arm, his body warm against yours. He smelled like cedarwood and fresh air, like comfort and safety and everything good.

“I missed you today,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.

“I missed you too,” he said, turning his face slightly to kiss your palm. “All day. Kept thinkin’ about you.”

Your heart fluttered.

He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Like he could see straight through you and still wanted to hold every piece.

His hand found your waist, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt, but not moving further. Just resting there. His thumb stroked over the fabric, slow and soft.

“Can I hold you like this for a while?” he asked gently.

You nodded, cheeks warm.

He pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you completely, your face tucked under his chin, your legs tangled together. His hands moved slow— one at your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head like you were something fragile. He didn’t try anything else. He just held you.

“I love the way you feel in my arms,” he whispered after a moment, lips brushing your hair. “Like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

You sighed into his chest, your body melting into his. It wasn’t about heat or urgency. It was about being seen. About being wanted in the gentlest way.

He tilted your chin up, just a little, and kissed you— slow and sweet. Not deep, not rushed. Just enough to make your lips part and your breath catch.

His breath hitched the second your hips shifted under him, your thighs parting a little wider as he nestled between them. He was already hard, and god, you could feel it, the thick press of him against your core, even through the thin layer of fabric still between you.

“Sorry,” Sam whispered, his voice wrecked with need, his forehead pressing into your shoulder. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just…”

You reached up and cupped his cheek, heart thudding in your chest, “I want you to,” you said softly. “I want all of you.”

He shivered like the words physically hit him. His eyes fluttered shut, his hand brushing your cheek like he needed to ground himself.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” he whispered. “But I just… I need to go slow. You’re so important to me.”

You nodded, lifting your hips toward him in a silent invitation, and that’s when he let out the softest, neediest little moan you’d ever heard from him, like he was trying so hard to hold back but couldn’t help the way his body was reacting.

He pulled back just enough to slide off his boxers, and when you looked down and saw him, your breath caught. Thick. Heavy. Hard in a way that made your thighs tremble just from imagining how it’d feel.

Sam blushed, actually blushed, cheeks pink, eyes darting away for a second like he was embarrassed.

“I-it’s okay if it’s too much,” he said gently, rubbing your side. “I’ll stop if you want. I just—” his breath caught again, “I wanna make love to you. Not just rush through it.”

Your hands slid down his stomach, slow, and wrapped around the base of him, and he groaned, hips jerking forward just slightly.

“You’re perfect,” you whispered. “Please, Sam… just go slow like you said.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, body pressing down against yours, as you quickly disregarded your shorts and panties. You could feel the head of him slipping through your folds, dragging through the slickness that had built between your thighs, and he gasped against your lips.

“You’re so warm,” he breathed. “So wet for me… I can’t believe I get to do this with you.”

When he finally pushed in, slowly, carefully, you felt the stretch immediately. He was thick, filling you inch by inch, and he kept stopping to make sure you were okay, brushing your hair back, whispering little praises.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Just a little more, almost there…”

He was trembling above you by the time he was all the way in, buried deep and still, his arms locked on either side of your head.

“Y-you feel so good,” he said, voice shaking. “I’ve never… it’s never felt like this.”

You clung to him, your body trying to adjust, and when he finally started to move, just barely rocking his hips, shallow little thrusts, it already felt like too much.

So slow. So deep. So full.

You gasped, eyes fluttering shut, and Sam kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your mouth. “Is that okay?” he asked between kisses, his voice rough but still so gentle. “I’m not hurting you, right?”

You shook your head, breathless. “No—feels so good, Sam.”

He let out this soft, desperate sound, hips rolling harder, deeper, grinding into you just enough to make your back arch and your fingers clutch at his shoulders.

“I’m sorry—I’m trying to go slow,” he mumbled against your skin, “but you’re just so tight… and warm��� and I’m already so close, baby…”

His words made you clench around him, and he felt it, his whole body jolting, breath stuttering.

“Oh—just like that,” he gasped. “D-don’t move too much—I won’t last…”

His rhythm stuttered, hips grinding in deep, his forehead pressed to yours as he whimpered your name.

“I’m gonna—oh God—I’m gonna come already,” he whispered, voice broken. “You’re too perfect. You’re everything…”

And when he finally let go, it was messy. His whole body trembled, cock pulsing deep inside you as he filled you completely, his mouth never leaving yours. He moaned your name, soft and needy, like he was falling apart right there in your arms.

Afterward, he stayed buried inside you, breathing hard, fingers still brushing your cheek.

“I didn’t mean to finish that fast,” he mumbled, blushing. “You just… you felt like heaven.”

You smiled, pulling him closer. “It was perfect.”

And fuck, it couldn’t have been more perfect.

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[wvyik]

୭ ˚. ᰔ ILYSMIH. ⋆˚࿔

dean winchester x fem! reader

ꕤ summary: after giving birth, you are utterly exhausted but safe in dean’s arms, who’s the proudest, most supportive dad ever. through the haze of sleepless nights and overwhelming love, dean proves he’s got both your and baby’s back.

♯ warnings: mentions of childbirth and exhaustion (no graphic medical details, but some emotional rawness), emotional vulnerability & tearful moments, slow-building parenthood fluff, hints of postpartum struggle, focus on comfort, love, and care.

♯ notes: hi loves!! so please tell me im not the only one that’s borderline obsessed with kali uchis?? ilysmih is my favorite song on her recent album!! anywayzz hope this gives you all the warm fuzzies.

You don’t even remember falling asleep. Just the weight of everything crashing down once the room quieted, the pressure behind your eyes, the way your chest felt like it had been split open and filled with something too big to hold. There were voices. Nurses, footsteps, maybe even soft crying, and then nothing.

Then warmth.

Not the kind that blankets you, but the kind that feels alive. A palm brushing your forehead, calloused but careful. Fingers threading through your messy hair like you were something fragile. That’s what woke you. That, and his voice.

“Hey, mama.”

Dean’s voice wasn’t loud, it was barely there. Like if he spoke too hard, the moment would shatter. His eyes were red, but he wasn’t trying to hide it. He stood at the edge of the bed, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them, eyes locked on the tiny bundle resting on your chest.

He looked at you like he’d been struck. Like he’d seen a ghost and fallen in love with it.

“You— baby, you did it.”

You blinked slow, trying to pull yourself up on your elbows, but your body protested instantly. Everything ached. Your muscles, your head, even your teeth. Dean noticed immediately, rushing to your side and pressing a hand to your shoulder, shaking his head.

“No, don’t— don’t move. I got you. Just rest. Just breathe.”

And then he reached down; gently, reverently, and picked up the baby. Like it was holy. His hands were big around them, careful, sure. His breath caught in his throat the second he had them cradled against his chest.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “Oh my god, look at you.”

There was a beat. The kind of silence that means everything. And then he laughed, low and breathless and a little broken. The kind of laugh you let out when you’re looking at something you never thought you’d get to hold.

“You made this,” he whispered, glancing at you like you were the moon. “You made this, sweetheart. Jesus.”

The baby made this tiny, sleepy noise, and Dean’s whole body curled in around them. Like instinct. Like it was the only thing his body knew how to do anymore. He sat on the edge of your bed, eyes wide and heart in his throat, and rocked the baby with a rhythm that was too natural to be learned.

“I didn’t even know it was possible to love something this fast,” he said, voice cracking. “Didn’t know it could hit like this.”

You were so tired. Every blink felt like it might be the last before sleep pulled you under again. But you didn’t want to miss a second. Not this. Not him.

Dean looked over at you, tears sliding down his cheeks like they didn’t even belong to him. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” he said. “You’re so fuckin’ brave. I don’t know how I got this lucky, but I swear to God I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you know.”

He leaned over, kissed your temple. His lips stayed there for a while. Breathing you in. Like he needed proof this was real. Like if he let go, he might wake up in the Impala in some cheap motel parking lot, and this would all disappear.

Then he whispered something to the baby. Too quiet to catch. Just soft enough that you knew it was sacred.

When he sat back again, he started humming. Some old rock ballad you couldn’t place through the fog in your brain. He rocked the baby like it was muscle memory, smiling down like he’d just been given the world wrapped in hospital blankets.

“I’m your dad,” he told them, chuckling to himself. “I’m your dad, holy shit.” he looked back at you again, eyes soft, “And you’re their mama. The love of my life. My girl.”

And maybe it was the exhaustion, or the hormones, or the rawness of it all, but you cried. Quietly. Just tears slipping out the sides of your eyes while you laid there, overwhelmed and in love and full of something you couldn’t name.

Dean didn’t panic. Didn’t freak. He just reached for your hand and kissed it like he’d do it a million times more. “Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We got you. Me and this little bean— we’re on night shift.”

You let your eyes fall shut, finally.

And the last thing you heard before sleep took you under was Dean Winchester singing your baby to sleep with a voice meant for backroads and lullabies.

The next morning feels like a dream dipped in gold. You’re not even sure what time it is. Could be noon, could be 4 AM, but you wake up to the sound of a soft knock, the rustle of flannel, and a baby’s breathy coo. Everything hurts less. Or maybe it still hurts, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Not with the way Dean looks standing by the window, sunlight catching the edge of his jaw, holding your baby like he was made to.

He’s swaying again. Same slow rhythm. Same whisper-singing under his breath like he’s telling secrets only the two of them get to hear. The baby’s nestled against his chest, all tucked into a blanket that he probably rewrapped five times to get perfect. He looks down at them like he’s memorizing everything; the tiny lashes, the soft fists, the weird little way their nose scrunches when they yawn. And then he sees you.

“Hey, sleepy girl,” he says, voice soft like syrup. “We missed you.”

You blink at him, hazy and warm, and he crosses the room like he can’t stand being that far from you. He leans down and kisses your forehead like it’s instinct, like he’d do it every hour on the hour if you let him. He’s so gentle when he sits beside you, so proud it hurts to look at him.

“She smiled,” he whispers like it’s breaking news. “I mean, probably gas or something, but still. She smiled. And she’s got your nose. Totally. It’s not up for debate.”

Your heart folds in on itself. You let him pass the baby to you, watching the way his hands linger for a second longer than they need to. He doesn’t want to let go. You don’t blame him.

And then, chaos, but the tiniest version of it. A nurse walks in with discharge forms. You’re cleared. You’re going home.

Dean’s whole face lights up like a Christmas tree. “We get to take her with us?” he asks, like she might still belong to the hospital. The nurse laughs. “She’s yours, dad.”

Dad.

That word hits him hard. You see it, the way he swallows it down, the way it echoes in his chest like thunder. He helps you dress, one hand always hovering at your back, as if the world might hurt you if he lets you go for a second.

And when it’s time to buckle the baby into the car seat, he hovers like he’s defusing a bomb. Arms crossed, pacing, muttering to himself. “Too tight? Is it too tight? Is her neck gonna snap? Holy shit, is this thing even safe?”

You have to gently lay a hand on his arm to stop him from spiraling. “Dean. She’s fine. You did good.”

He still insists on sitting in the backseat the whole drive home, one hand on the baby’s chest, the other gripping the side of the car seat like he could shield her from gravity itself. You’re driving— don’t ask how that happened, and he keeps glancing at you through the mirror like you’re some kind of divine miracle.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks every two minutes. “You need water? Food? A blanket? Jesus, I should’ve packed a cooler.”

Home is a safehouse two towns over. A small one. Quiet. Warm wood floors, soft lamps, the faint smell of sage and dust. Dean spent a week prepping it before the due date. Baby clothes folded into drawers, bottles lined up on the counter, a rocking chair in the corner that creaks with love.

He carries the baby in like she’s made of glass. You’re close behind, a little wobbly, but smiling. And the second you walk through the door, Dean exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the hospital.

“We did it,” he says. His voice cracks again. “We fuckin’ did it.”

You collapse on the couch, baby in your arms, body tired and soul full. Dean disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a peanut butter sandwich cut into triangles. “Best I could do,” he shrugs, and sits beside you like he’s been waiting his whole life to do exactly this.

You’re both quiet for a while. The baby’s breathing softens. The room is golden with early evening light. Dean reaches over and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re my whole world, y’know that?” he murmurs. “Both of you. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.”

And then, when the baby makes that tiny little noise again; that sleepy, airy half-laugh that sounds like she’s dreaming something sweet— Dean just loses it. Tears. No warning. Just full-on tears sliding down his cheeks as he laughs softly and presses a kiss to your temple.

“I didn’t know love could feel like this,” he says, voice thick. “I didn’t know I could feel like this. But I’m never going back.”

You nod, eyes full. You’re never going back either.

You look down at your baby— your baby, and you still can’t believe it. That they’re real. That they came from you. That you carried them, made space in your body, let your bones shift and stretch just to bring them here.

And now they’re here. Tiny and perfect and loud in the most beautiful way.

You’re not the same. You know that. You’re not just you anymore. You’re someone’s home now. You’re the arms they’ll fall asleep in. The voice they’ll search for in a crowd. The one who’ll know every cry, every little sigh, every look on their face before they even learn how to talk.

It’s terrifying. And holy. And so gentle it makes your hands shake.

You think about the way Dean looked at you in the hospital. How he still looks at you, like you’re the sun. The way he calls you mama now, like it’s always belonged to you. Like it’s more than just a title, it’s sacred. He doesn’t say it casually. He says it like it’s a promise.

There are moments, especially in the quiet, where you just hold your baby against your chest and cry. Not because you’re sad. But because it’s all too big. Because your love doesn’t have words big enough. Because you’ll never be able to explain it— but you’ll spend your life showing it.

This is what love is. What it’s meant to be. Loud and soft all at once. A song only the three of you know.

You kiss the top of your baby’s head and whisper, “I love you so much it hurts.”

And you mean it.

You’ll always mean it.

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[wvyik]

knees, baby ⋆˙⟡ ☾

dean winchester x fem! reader

ꕤ summary: dean comes home wrecked after a rough hunt. he’s exhausted, and barely holding it together; until you drop to your knees and remind him exactly who he belongs to. basically, desperate fucking in a shitty motel room.

♯ warnings: mdni!! explicit smut, soft dom! dean, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, praise kink, like, actually so much praise it’s embarrassing, mutual desperation, floor sex, dean’s very unrealistic stamina, creampie, this fic is 50% sex and 50% feelings, aftercare included bc we’re not animals.

♯ notes: i wrote this while kicking my feet in the air like a deranged housewife. i am unwell. may we all have a dean winchester to stuff us full and kiss us slow after. (｡- .•)

You hear his boots long before he opens the motel door.

The low, dragging thump of them, heavy like his body’s barely holding together. The hunt had gone bad; not fatal, but messy. Too many vamps. Too much blood. Dean didn’t call. Didn’t text. You waited by the window for hours, pacing in his shirt, heart in your throat, praying.

And now he’s here.

He kicks the door shut behind him and leans against it like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s a mess, mud on his jeans, dried blood across his temple, knuckles cracked open and dripping. That forest green shirt you like so much is torn across the chest, and his mouth is set in this brutal, tired line.

But when he sees you— bare legs, wide eyes, that old tee of his riding too high on your thighs, his whole body softens. Just a little.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says low, like he’s afraid to say it too loud and scare you off. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You cross the room without thinking, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face to his chest. He’s solid and warm and alive, and you can finally breathe again.

“I thought you were—” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss to your hair.

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

He leans back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing under your eye like he knows you’ve been crying. Then his gaze drops. To your mouth, to the way your hands are already sliding under his shirt, touching him like he’s precious.

And he’s so damn tired, but the way you look at him? Like he’s still your hero, even bloody and broken? He can’t help it. He starts to get hard right there.

“You wanna take care of me, baby?” His voice is lower now, rougher, like it’s dragging over gravel. “That what you need?”

You don’t answer. You just sink to your knees in front of him, hands already tugging at his belt, slow and deliberate.

“Ohh, fuck,” he groans, his head falling back for just a second. “Knew you’d do this. Knew you’d be waiting, fuckin’ angel on her knees, huh?”

You free him from his jeans, and he’s already half-hard, thick and heavy in your hand. The sight of it makes your mouth water. You pump him once, twice, slow and gentle, before leaning in and licking a long stripe from base to tip.

Dean shudders, one big hand finding the back of your head. Not to push. Just to feel. “Jesus, sweetheart. You got no idea what you do to me..”

You take him in slowly, letting the weight of him fill your mouth, your jaw going slack as he hits the back of your throat. His hips twitch forward, like his body’s reacting before he can even think.

“God, your mouth. Your fuckin’ mouth’s made for me,” he groans, jaw tight. “So fuckin’ warm. So good.”

You hum around him, sucking deep and wet, letting drool spill down your chin just to hear him swear again. Your fingers dig into his thighs for balance as he gets harder, thicker on your tongue, his breathing going rough.

“You’re my fuckin’ dream, y’know that?” he pants, voice cracked with emotion. “Little thing like you… taking me this deep? Pretty eyes, pretty lips, just for me.”

You moan softly, and the vibration makes him snap, his hand tightening in your hair as his thighs tense. He’s fighting not to fuck your mouth right there, and you can feel it in the way his hips rock forward once, then again.

“Shit—shit, baby, I’m not gonna last if you keep—”

You don’t let up. You look up at him through your lashes, cheeks hollowing as you swallow him deep, spit pooling down your chin, dripping onto your chest.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it— fuck, m’gonna cum— shit, baby— fuckin’ take it—” He groans so deep it rattles in his chest, and then he’s spilling down your throat, his hand gripping your hair like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth. You swallow every drop, not breaking eye contact once.

You pull off with a soft pop, licking your lips, eyes glassy with affection and spit and heat. Dean sinks to his knees in front of you.

“C’mere,” he breathes, pulling you into his lap, cupping your face like you’re something holy. He kisses you like a man starved, tongue tasting himself on you, moaning into your mouth like he wants to crawl inside you and stay there.

“Need you, baby,” he mutters against your lips. “Need you on me. Right now.”

You don’t even hesitate, you straddle him right there on the motel carpet, your knees bracketing his hips, tugging that ruined green button-up off his shoulders. He winces when it drags over a healing cut, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. He can’t. He mouths at your lips, your jaw, your throat like he’ll die if he doesn’t taste every inch of you.

“You sure?” you whisper, your breath hitching as you grind your hips against the bulge growing again beneath your soaked panties.

His hands slide up your bare thighs, settling on your waist. “Sweetheart, I haven’t felt right since I left this room. All I want… all I fucking want is you.”

You reach down, push your panties down low, and lift your hips just enough to line him up. You’re already so wet, aching and open for him.

“Go slow, baby,” he breathes, eyes locked on your face. “Wanna feel every fuckin’ second.” You sink down onto him— inch by inch, and it knocks the wind out of both of you.

Dean’s head falls back with a guttural groan. “Jesus Christ, you feel unreal.”

Your hands settle on his shoulders as you start to move, slow and gentle, rolling your hips in tight circles. He fills you so perfectly it’s obscene, thick and deep and hot inside you, dragging against every sweet spot like his body was made to live in yours.

His eyes flutter open, and he looks wrecked. Pink in the cheeks, chest heaving, lips parted like he’s been starved of air.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he moans, hands roaming up your spine, down to your hips, holding you like you’re the only thing tethering him to this earth. “So fuckin’ tight, so good, just… yours, I’m yours, okay?”

You ride him slow, not chasing anything, just feeling. Just being. Your forehead brushes his. He’s breathing like he’s about to cry. And maybe you are too.

“You love me?” you whisper.

His arms wrap fully around you, dragging you closer, fucking deep into you even from under. “Love you so much,” he growls. “Been in love with you since the second you looked at me like I wasn’t broken.”

You bury your face in his neck as you keep grinding on him, your body trembling with how full you feel. “You’re not broken,” you whisper.

He groans, desperate, in awe of you. “Gonna cum inside you,” he pants, voice shaking. “Fill you up, sweetheart. Gonna stay buried right here, keep you stuffed with me. You want that?”

You nod into his shoulder, kissing his throat. “Want it so bad.”

He holds you tight and thrusts up hard, once, twice, and you moan into his ear as he spills inside you, hot and thick and endless. His arms lock around you as he comes, hips twitching, burying his face in your shoulder like he can’t handle it.

“Fuckfuckfuck, I love you— love you, baby, fuck—”

When it’s over, you stay just like that. Breathing hard, still joined, your chests heaving against each other. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans back against the wall and pulls you with him, cradling you in his arms like something fragile.

You both stay on the motel floor for a while, his cum leaking out of you slowly, your thighs still shaking, his hand rubbing lazy circles on your lower back.

Dean’s arms wrap you tighter as you both slump against the grimy motel wall, the world outside fading into nothing. His chest rises and falls with slow, heavy breaths, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, steady against his.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, his lips warm and rough like he’s memorizing every part of you. “You okay, baby?” His voice is low, husky, filled with something that sounds like relief and awe all tangled up.

You nod, resting your head against his collarbone, listening to the steady thump of his heart under your ear. “Yeah. I’m good. With you.”

He lets out this soft grunt, like a laugh mixed with a sigh. “Damn right you are.” His fingers ghost along your spine, tracing lazy patterns that send shivers down your skin.

For a minute, you just sit there, tangled up in each other, the silence between you filled with quiet warmth. Then Dean pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, those green eyes, glossy and soft.

His breath hitches, his hand tightening around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. “You’re my whole world, sweetheart. When you’re with me, nothing else matters.”

You press your lips to his, slow and tender, tasting him, still warm, still yours. The kiss lingers, full of promises and comfort, and when you pull away, Dean’s forehead rests against yours again.

“I wanna hold you all night,” he whispers. “Tell you how much I love you till you fall asleep. Let you know you’re safe. Let you know you’re never alone.”

You sigh, heart swelling. “I want that too.”

Dean’s fingers trail down your arm, his touch feather-light but grounding. He moves so carefully, like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. His thumb strokes your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you didn’t even realize had fallen.

“Don’t ever forget, baby,” he says, voice breaking just a little. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of leather, sweat, and something soft, “I don’t forget.”

Minutes stretch, but time doesn’t matter here. Just Dean’s hands in your hair, his whispered love, your steady breathing against his chest.

Eventually, he presses a kiss to your hairline, then pulls a threadbare blanket from the bedspread behind you. Wrapping you both up like a cocoon, he holds you close, humming low and soothing.

“Sleep if you want. I’m right here.”

You close your eyes, feeling his heartbeat slow, matching yours. Safe, warm, and loved.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @incubusimmolation @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlejackles @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @tendertulip @tinas111 @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah @cupidzbunny @amsliajskxkxkx @anxiety-prime-max @ninii-winchester @suckitands33 @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @dollyfetti @riteofpassage77 @kimxwinchester ⊹ ࣪ ˖

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[wvyik]

paws and promises ᝰ ‧₊ ᵎᵎ

sam winchester x fem! reader

ꕤ summary: a rainstorm brings an unexpected guest into your life, but it’s the way sam cares for her that makes you fall even harder for him.

♯ warnings: extreme fluff, cat dad sam supremacy, nurturing! reader, kitten cuddles, pre established relationship, bunker life but make it dreamy, you’re in love and it’s soo obvious, peach the cat is the third main character actually, don’t read while ovulating.

♯ notes: hi my lil lovebugs… did u miss me?? because I’ve been GONE for like 10 whole days (insane) and yes it was because of stardew valley. but i’m back now with fluffy sam content to heal us all. love u. missed u. pls enjoy sam being the softest cat dad alive.

The rain had been coming down in sheets by the time he got back. Loud, unrelenting, like the sky was trying to wash the world clean. You’d been curled up on the couch in your favorite sweater, blanket pulled over your knees, the bunker feeling oddly hollow without Sam there.

He was only supposed to run out for a quick supply run, but of course, things never stayed simple for long when you were a Winchester. Still, you didn’t expect to see him burst through the door, dripping wet, carrying the grocery bags in one arm and something small, shivering, and wrapped in his flannel in the other.

You blinked, confused for a second; until the flannel moved and you heard the softest mew you’d ever heard in your life, “She was in the middle of the road,” he said, like it explained everything. And maybe it did. Because Sam couldn’t not care.

He couldn’t look at something tiny and helpless and keep walking. That’s just who he was— someone whose heart broke open for things that needed gentleness. “I didn’t even think about it. I just… I couldn’t leave her.”

And that was it. She was in your home. In your lives. In your hearts within minutes. You named her Peach, because of how fuzzy and small and soft she was. She took to Sam immediately, climbing his sweatshirt, curling into his chest like she knew exactly who had saved her.

But she didn’t avoid you— she liked curling up in your lap when you were journaling or napping with her cheek pressed to your neck when Sam carried both of you to bed. She had a favorite nap spot on top of the laundry you always forgot to fold. She started kneading on Sam’s pillow. And she had this tiny little purr that only started when you were all three together, like she knew she belonged.

Sam turned into a full-on cat dad overnight, without even realizing it. You’d wake up some mornings to find him lying flat on his stomach, using his phone light to peer under the couch because she’d chased a toy under there and refused to move. He talked to her constantly. Sometimes when he thought you were asleep, you’d hear him whispering to her in that low, careful voice, telling her stories or just… rambling softly like she was a baby in his arms.

You caught him once reading from an old lore book, letting her fall asleep on his chest while his fingers absently traced little circles behind her ears. You didn’t say anything, you just stood in the doorway, watching, your heart feeling like it could hardly hold all the love inside it.

It made you fall for him all over again, seeing that side of him. Not the hunter. Not the protector. But the caretaker. The nurturer. The boy who had once been expected to carry the world and still managed to find space for something so small. You’d be doing dishes, and he’d wander up behind you with Peach perched on his shoulder, her tiny paws settled like she was born to live there.

You’d be mid-book and he’d gently place her in your lap like a warm little offering, her purring a rhythm against your thighs. He bought her toys, a miniature bed, even little bow collars; one in soft pink that matched your favorite mug. When she scratched him once while playing, he didn’t even flinch. Just looked down at the mark and said, “She’s got your spirit,” with a soft smile.

Nights became your favorite. After lights-out, Peach would usually find her way to the foot of the bed, curling herself into the warm pocket between you two. Sam would always pull you closer, arm slipping around your waist, lips brushing the shell of your ear with a soft, “Goodnight, baby,” before everything went quiet. You’d lie there, cocooned in warmth, one of his hands resting against your back and the faint sound of Peach’s purring in the dark. And sometimes, when sleep didn’t come fast enough, you’d whisper to him about how lucky you felt. About how it felt like having a family. Even if it was just the three of you.

He’d kiss the tip of your nose and say, “It is a family,” without hesitation. And that would be enough to make your eyes sting a little.

You’d never thought a stray kitten in the rain could change so much. But now, every morning felt a little lighter. Every evening felt a little softer. You had your person. You had your home. And somehow, against all odds, you had this tiny heartbeat that reminded you to slow down, breathe deeper, and love harder.

And when you caught Sam on the floor one afternoon, curled up with Peach nestled in the crook of his arm, both of them fast asleep in a patch of sunlight, you swore you could actually feel your heart stretch with how much you loved them.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep there too. The plan was to just sit with them a little, maybe rest your eyes while the kettle boiled. But when you saw them on the floor, both of them breathing slow, wrapped in each other like they’d always belonged— you couldn’t help yourself. You laid down behind him, one hand on his back, cheek resting between his shoulder blades. And then… everything just drifted.

When you woke up, the sun had dipped lower, throwing soft gold light across the floor. The room smelled faintly like the herbal tea you never finished and the warmth of clean laundry. Sam stirred first, shifting just enough that Peach flopped gently off his bicep and into the blanket beside her like a princess tossed from her throne. She made a soft noise of protest, then curled right back into his chest like nothing ever happened. He smiled when he felt you move behind him.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, breath brushing your jaw. “Did we nap through the whole afternoon?”

“Almost,” you whispered, nuzzling against his shirt. “It was nice.”

“Peach snores,” he said quietly, like it was a secret only the two of you should know.

You giggled, fingers brushing over the edge of his hoodie sleeve. “You do too sometimes.”

He groaned softly, burying his face into your arm. “Don’t expose me like that.”

You reached up, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. “It’s cute. Everything you do is cute.”

“Yeah?” he said, lifting his head, eyes heavy and soft. “That’s dangerous information to give me.”

You smiled shyly, tucking your face into his shoulder again, feeling that warm flutter in your chest that only he ever managed to stir. You always felt like this with Sam— safe. Held. Like the world outside could be falling apart and it wouldn’t matter, because in here it was always quiet and warm and yours.

Peach chose that moment to stretch across both of your legs, her little paws flexing in her sleep like she was dreaming of chasing something. Sam watched her for a second, then looked at you with that look. The one where his eyes get soft at the edges and his lips part like he wants to say something, but he’s scared it’ll make him feel too much all at once. You knew that look by heart.

“You think she knows?” he asked quietly.

“Knows what?”

“That she owns us.”

You blinked, then smiled so softly it barely made it to your lips. “Yeah. I think she knew from the minute you picked her up.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just leaned in, brushing his nose against your cheek, thumb stroking across the back of your hand where it was tucked into his. You felt him breathe in, like he was holding something sacred inside his chest. And maybe he was.

“I like it like this,” you said eventually, voice barely a whisper. “You. Me. Her. It feels like… a little life. Not a big one. Just a soft, slow, quiet one.”

Sam closed his eyes and pulled you even closer, Peach still snoozing peacefully at your legs. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he said. “Just… this. Something that doesn’t hurt. Something warm.”

You didn’t need to say anything. You just pressed your forehead to his and let yourself sink into the moment. The golden light. The hush of the room. The sound of Peach’s tiny breathing and Sam’s thumb tracing your knuckles. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t thinking about what came next. There was no monster to fight, no crisis to solve. Just a boy, a girl, and a kitten who made everything softer.

And God, if that wasn’t enough to make you believe in a little bit of magic.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @tendertulip @tinas111 @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah @amsliajskxkxkx @anxiety-prime-max @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @kimxwinchester ⊹ ࣪ ˖

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[wvyik]

slippery when wet ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

dean winchester x fem! reader

ꕤ summary: you thought dean was still asleep. so you took a long, hot shower. and you got desperate. real desperate. too bad dean was not as asleep as you thought.

♯ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, f! masturbation, shower sex, unprotected p in v, wet skin, shy! reader, slippery bodies, choking (light), dirty talk, possessive dean, hair pulling, degradation kink, face-fucking (slight), overstimulation, oral (f!receiving), your thighs will be shaking.

♯ notes: hi mah babies!! i woke up today and chose to let the horny demon take over (once again). anyways i think if i counted right there’s like— 7 new bots from me on c.ai!! so make sure to check that out if you’re into it, ty for reading. <3

You didn’t mean for it to happen like this.

You’d just wanted a moment to breathe. One hot shower in this cheap, peeling-tile motel bathroom to wash the day off you. Just you, the water, and some peace. The door was locked. Dean was asleep, knocked out cold from the hunt.

Or so you thought.

The second the water hit your back, your body softened. The ache of tension in your shoulders began to melt. You let your mind wander— dangerous territory, really. Because your thoughts always drifted the same way when you were alone.

Dean.

His voice, deep and teasing. The way his jaw clenched when he was angry. The veins in his arms when he loaded his gun. The smell of his cologne on your pillow. The sounds he made when he slept.

God, it made your thighs rub together.

Your hand slipped between your legs before you could even stop it.

One little touch. Just to ease the pressure. Just to imagine what it would feel like if he wasn’t sleeping in the next room, if you could moan his name out loud without shame.

But once you started… you couldn’t stop.

You pressed your back to the cold tile, eyes fluttering closed as your fingers moved against your slick folds. You gasped, soft and breathy, head tipping back under the hot spray.

And then it started.

“Dean…” A whisper. Then a whimper. Then full-blown begging as your hips rolled into your own hand, chasing the fantasy.

He was behind your eyelids, in your head, in your bones. You pictured him pinning you to the wall, snarling in your ear, telling you to “Keep those fuckin’ legs spread.” You imagined his voice telling you to rub your clit faster.

You imagined his cock inside you, hard and deep and perfect.

“Dean—please—need you so bad—”

And that’s when you felt it.

That shift in the air. That thud of boots dropping to the ground outside the bathroom. Then the slow slide of the shower curtain being pulled back.

“D-Dean—?”

He was already stepping in.

Naked. Eyes locked on you like he hadn’t eaten in days and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His hair flattened under the water, his jaw clenched, chest already heaving. The steam didn’t even compare to the heat in his gaze.

“You tryin’ to kill me, baby?” he muttered, voice low and feral. “You walk around all day bein’ a sweet little angel, and then you come in here and start moanin’ under the fuckin’ water like you don’t wanna be ruined?”

Your back hit the slick tile before you could answer. His hand was on your throat; gentle, but firm enough to make your breath catch. His other hand gripped your waist, sliding lower, palming your ass like it belonged to him.

“Dean, I was just—”

“Just what?” he cut you off, crowding your body with his. “Just bein’ a little tease? Standing here all wet, touchin’ yourself like I ain’t in the next room?”

“I wasn’t—!”

He grinned. That dark, sinful grin that made your stomach drop and your thighs tremble. “You gonna lie to me, sweetheart?” he growled, knee slotting between yours to force your legs apart. “I can smell how fuckin’ needy you are.”

His fingers slid down your stomach, over your mound, and between your folds; already wet from the water, but soaked from him. “Christ,” he hissed, rubbing slow circles over your clit. “You’re drippin’, and I haven’t even gotten started.”

Your head fell back against the tile with a moan. You were losing it, fast. The way he touched you, the way he owned you in the smallest movements, like he already knew exactly how to destroy you.

Then, he dropped to his knees. Right there on the wet shower floor.

“Dean, what are you—”

“Gonna make you scream,” he said simply. “Gonna eat this sweet little pussy until your legs give out. Hold on, baby.”

You had no time to prepare.

His mouth latched onto your clit like he was starving. Tongue flicking, lips sucking, fingers spreading you open so he could get deeper. He moaned into you like the taste of you was holy.

You screamed.

Your hand flew to his hair, yanking hard, but he just groaned, grinding his face into your cunt like it was the only thing that mattered.

And then? Two fingers.

He slid them inside without warning— deep, crooked just right, while his tongue worked your clit with dizzying precision. “Dean—oh my God—”

“You gonna moan God’s name now, baby? Or mine?”

You screamed as his fingers curled deep inside you, pressing right into that spot that made your legs give out. He caught you, of course. Pressed you hard to the tile and started pumping his fingers in and out like he owned the place.

You were shaking. Gasping. Losing yourself against the wall while the shower poured over you and your boyfriend wrecked you on his knees.

“F-Fuck, Dean—Dean, I—”

“You gonna come on my face, baby?” he growled, breath hot and wet against your core. “Do it. I wanna taste it.”

And you did. Loud. Helpless. Walls clenching around his fingers while your knees buckled.

But he caught you. Hands on your thighs, lifting you off the floor like you weighed nothing. Your back hit the tile again, this time with your legs around his waist and his cock rubbing against your soaked folds.

“Think I’m done?” he growled, lining himself up.

“Dean, please—”

One thrust.

You cried out. Loud. Head falling back as he filled you— thick, hard, perfect. “God, this pussy’s tight,” he hissed, pulling back and slamming in again. “Like you were made for me.”

He started to move. Rough, punishing thrusts that shook your whole body as water streamed down your chest and his cock hit every spot inside you that had never been touched like this before.

“Yours,” you gasped. “It’s yours, it’s always been—”

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he snarled. “No one else gets this. No one else hears these sounds. You moan for me. You come for me.”

You were delirious.

Between the steam, the heat, the sound of skin on skin, his cock slamming deep and fast inside you, it was too much. “Say it,” he growled, hand back around your throat, not squeezing—just holding. Owning. “Say who fuckin’ owns you.”

“You, Dean, you do,” you cried. “All yours, please don’t stop—!”

“Not gonna. Not until this whole shower smells like sex. Not until you can’t fuckin’ stand up without thinkin’ of me.”

You came again. Harder. Screaming.

Your body clung to his, shaking and sobbing while he kept thrusting through it, chasing his own release now. His mouth found yours—messy, wet, desperate—and when he finally came, it was with a groan so deep it shook you both.

Hot ropes of cum spilled inside you as he buried himself to the hilt, teeth biting your shoulder, hands digging into your hips to keep you in place.

The water kept running. The room was soaked. You were drenched in sweat, water, and him.

And Dean?

He nuzzled into your neck, voice hoarse and wrecked,

“Next time, don’t start the shower without me, baby.”

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @tendertulip @tinas111 @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah @cupidzbunny @amsliajskxkxkx @anxiety-prime-max @ninii-winchester @suckitands33 @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @dollyfetti @riteofpassage77 @spookyysinsanity ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

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[wvyik]

NEW THEME ALERT .ᐟ.ᐟ

GOING BACK TO BLACK..

okay sooooo… GUESS WHAT ??? i just updated my blog theme and i’m literally squealinggg.. it’s giving vintage elegance. i wanted something clean & classic but still full of heart, a little quiet, a little loud… soft edges, sharp details, all that duality magic. ᢉ𐭩

go take a peek, and don’t be shy to let me know what you think!! also if anything looks wonky or broken… no it doesn’t xoxo jk lmk and i’ll fix it.

ps. my queue is full of goodies and i may or may not be working on something new hehe ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

stay tuned angel babies ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[wvyik]

stoner bf! dean headcanons ⋆˚

dean winchester x gn! reader

ꕤ summary: stoner! dean is all sleepy kisses, vinyl records, and joints rolled just for you. he’s soft when he’s high, clingy in the best way, and swears you’re his soulmate every time the stars come out.

♯ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, 420 we ball, kissing, cuddling, weed naps, clingy stoner bf, movie nights & vibes, lap sitting, food cravings, soft!dean, praise, sleepy makeouts, forehead kisses, domestic fluff, himbo behavior, space talk & soulmate shit, high and in love.

♯ notes: this has been living in my head rent free for weeks. also if he ever passed me a blunt i’d simply fall in love on sight. anyway enjoy my delulu. reblogs = forehead kiss from him <3

HE LOVES GETTING YOU HIGH.. Like he lives for it. He rolls for you, lights it, puts it to your lips, and watches you with those hazy green eyes like you’re his favorite movie.

HIS MUNCHIES ARE CHAOTIC.. This man will eat a grilled cheese with pie inside it and call it “gourmet.” He also thinks Cool Ranch Doritos and peanut butter are “a bomb combo.” You’re stuck enabling him.

HE GETS REAL CUDDLY.. Dean + weed = clingy lil baby. He’s got his arms wrapped around you, face buried in your neck, mumbling stuff like “You smell like heaven, y’know that?” in a deep, raspy voice that’s half-asleep.

HAS A RANDOM URGE TO TEACH YOU POOL.. Halfway through he’s not even holding the cue stick right anymore. “Okay, okay, now bend over. No not like that— wait, yes, exactly like that.” Then he forgets what the lesson was.

STONER MOVIE NIGHTS ARE SACRED.. You two binge Pineapple Express, Half Baked, and Dazed and Confused on rotation. He always quotes Matthew McConaughey’s “alright, alright, alright” and then says you make him feel that way. Ugh.

HE MAKES HIS OWN EDIBLES AND THEY’RE.. WEIRDY GOOD?.. Dean will make weed brownies but then he’s like “what if we did a THC bacon mac n cheese?” and you’re like “pls no” and next thing you know you’re drooling on his chest 20 minutes later after one bite.

DEAN GETS THE GIGGLES SO BAD.. Like, full-on belly laughing over nothing. You’ll say “pass the lighter” and he’s crying like “yo you sounded British for a sec.” He thinks you are the funniest person alive when he’s high.

NOT THAT MUCH FOR BIG TALK WHEN HE’S HIGH, BUT HE’LL ALWAYS FIND WAYS TO SHOW LOVE.. Like making you your favorite drink, lighting candles, or just sitting beside you in silence, holding your hand.

SURPRISINGLY GOOD AT READING YOUR MOODS WHILE HE’S HIGH.. If you’re quiet and anxious, he’s your silent rock, just holding you close. If you’re a little overwhelmed, he’ll softly remind you to breathe and maybe put on some chill tunes.

„WEED NAPS” TOGETHER ARE A FULL ON RITUAL.. He’ll get you both stupid high, pull you into his chest, kiss your forehead, and knock out mid-sentence. You wake up and he’s snoring softly with a dumb lil smile and his hand still on your thigh.

TRIES TO TEACH YOU HOW TO ROLL A JOINT, BUT ENDS UP GIGGLING LIKE A CHILD.. He’s all, “Okay, babe, lemme show you—this is high-level skill,” and then drops the weed all over the table and starts giggling like “shit… ignore that, I got it.”

TALKS TO HIS JOINTS LIKE THEY’RE FRIENDS.. “Alright little guy, let’s do this.” lights up “You’re burnin’ nice, buddy. Real proud of you.” You’re just staring like ??? and he’s chillin’ like it’s normal.

SMOKES OUT OF STUPID STUFF.. “You think I can turn this apple into a bowl?” He does it. Successfully. And grins like he just won the Super Bowl. “MacGyver ain’t got SHIT on me, baby.”

GETS EMOTIONAL OVER LITTLE THINGS.. Like seeing you laugh or watching you tuck your hair behind your ear, he’s totally smitten and might get a little teary-eyed, whispering “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

HIS STONED KISSES? SLOW. METLY. OBSESSIVE.. He leans in real lazy, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown, and just melts into your mouth like he’s never been fed before. You pull back for air and he chases your lips like, “Nuh-uh. More.”

GETS HIGH BEFORE DOING CHORES AND TURNS IT INTO A CONCERT.. Vacuuming in just a flannel (unbuttoned), doing the dishes while singing into a spatula, shaking his hips with a joint hangin’ from his lips. You’re just sitting there, blushing and dying.

GETS WAY INTO ASMR WHEN STONED.. Whispers into your ear like a pro, “Babe, you hear that? That’s the sound of love.” Then he makes weird mouth noises and you’re dying.

SAID „I COULD TOTALLY BE A STRIPPER” ONCE.. Put on ’Pony’ by Ginuwine, tried to do a sexy dance, tripped over a sock, and fell into the laundry basket. You almost passed out laughing. He’s still proud of himself. “Tell me I wasn’t kinda hot tho.”

STILL MANAGES TO BE THE MOST ATTRACTIVE HUMAN ALIVE.. Even with red eyes, messy hair, and a Dorito stuck to his hoodie, he’s somehow radiating sex appeal. Like he winks at you and you’re just like— ugh, fine, let’s make out.

TRIES TO INITIATE SOFT MAKEOUTS AND ENDS UP MAULING YOU.. Started with a forehead kiss. Then a peck. Then a soft little “Hey pretty…” and BOOM now you’re straddling him, shirtless, and he’s breathless whispering “God, I’m so high and you’re so hot.”

“CAN WE HAVE SEX IN THE BUNKER LIBRARY?”.. Deadass high and suddenly asking the most degenerate stuff. “I just think it’d be hot, like, you bent over the table, surrounded by old books. Kinda academic. Kinda slutty.”

LOVES PULLING YOUR UNDERWEAR TO THE SIDE, NOT OFF.. Something about the laziness of it drives him wild. He’s like, “I ain’t wasting time, sweetheart. I want it now.”

LIKES TO MAKE YOU RIDE HIM WHILE HIGH.. Sprawled out on the couch, joint still smoldering in the ashtray, hands on your hips like he’s watching a movie. “Mmm, just like that, baby. Show me how pretty you are.”

LAZY, SENSUAL STROKES.. He’s not pounding you into oblivion; he’s rolling his hips, slow and deep, mumbling “you feel too good… can’t stop…” It’s sloppy. Sweaty. Sooo vocal. Just full-blown “fuuuuck, baby—uhhh—yeah…”

GOES DOWN ON YOU LIKE IT’S A RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE.. High Dean is locked in. Hair pushed back, gripping your thighs like you’ll float away. Will not stop until you’re shaking. And when you’re done? “You taste like heaven. I need another hit.”

PUTS HIS FINGERS IN YOUR MOUTH WHILE HE’S FUCKING YOU.. He’s like, “Suck, baby. Just like that. God, I love those lips.” And then keeps thrusting harder every time your tongue swirls around.

HIGH DEAN GETS DISTRACTED BY HIS OWN DIRTY TALK.. Mid-sentence, he pauses, laughs, and goes, “Wait… did I just say that out loud? Fuck, I’m high as hell.”

LOVES IT WHEN YOU TAKE CONTROL, BUT ONLY A LIL BIT.. High Dean loves it when you tug his hair or bite his lip, he gets that glint in his eye like “Yeah, show me what you got, baby.” But then he always wins with a growl and a kiss that steals your breath.

AFTERWARDS, YOU CUDDLE AND HE’S STILL KINDA HORNY.. Hands back on your ass, mumbling half-asleep, “Round three in like… fifteen minutes. Just lemme nap inside you.”

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @tendertulip @tinas111 @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah @cupidzbunny @amsliajskxkxkx @anxiety-prime-max @ninii-winchester @suckitands33 @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @dollyfetti @riteofpassage77 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library.

[wvyik]

small update ꨄ︎

hi my loves, just wanted to write a quick lil note about something i’ve been getting a few asks about. i’ve decided to take down that series i posted a few days ago. i know some of you were really into it (and i love you so much for that), but to be super honest, it just didn’t feel right to me. it felt a little unfinished, a little off from what i imagined, and not something i was proud of keeping up.

thank you for giving it your time and support even if it wasn’t perfect. i might revisit the idea later in a new form, or maybe not, i’m not sure yet. just know that i’m always thinking of ways to bring you guys stuff that feels more me. (｡•́︿•̀｡)

also… 500 followers?? that’s absolutely wild. i’m still wrapping my head around it. i started posting just for fun, and now there’s this whole little community of you who show up, leave kind words, reblog, like, ask questions… it means everything. seriously. you make me feel so seen and inspired every day. thank you for loving what i create. (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

more stories, more love, and more brainrot coming very soon. pinky promise. ‹𝟹

[wvyik]

i'm okay now. s.w. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

sam winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: your cramps are unbearable, your mood is fragile, and all you want is sam. good thing he’s already there; warm hands, soft voice, and all the love in the world just for you.

⤿ warnings: period cramps, general fluff, tummy rubs that will melt your heart, a little emotional but mostly just cozy vibes, pre-established relationship, a whole lotta warmth, both physical and emotional.

⤿ notes: just a lil sam being the best boyfriend ever because we all deserve that. hope this brings you some comfort and warmth, just like he would. (..◜ᴗ◝..)

The pain had started early, one of those mornings where your whole body felt like it had been wrung out and left in the cold. Your lower stomach throbbed in a deep, mean rhythm, like some cruel little drummer inside your body was banging on the walls of your uterus just to see how loud you’d scream. You were cramping hard, your back hurt, and no matter how you arranged your blankets or curled into yourself, nothing seemed to help.

The world outside your bedroom might as well have not existed. Your phone buzzed with messages you couldn’t bring yourself to answer, your tea went cold on the nightstand untouched, and you hadn’t even bothered changing out of Sam’s old hoodie. It smelled like him still, warm cotton and the faintest trace of cedarwood shampoo, and maybe that’s the only reason you hadn’t started crying yet.

By the time you heard the familiar creak of your bedroom door, you didn’t even lift your head. You just curled a little tighter, tucking your freezing toes under the blanket and squeezing your eyes shut against the sting of tears.

“Hey, sweetheart,” came that voice—his voice—low and soft and threaded with concern. “Heard it’s a bad one today.”

You didn’t move, didn’t even try to fake a smile. Your throat felt tight, and your body was too heavy, like your bones were waterlogged. “It’s stupid,” you mumbled, voice hoarse from disuse. “I’m being a baby.”

You felt the dip in the mattress before anything else, and then suddenly Sam was there, his long body pressing up behind yours, arms wrapping gently around your waist like he didn’t want to jostle you. His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers warm and grounding, and when he kissed your temple, you finally let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“You’re not being a baby,” he said gently. “Your body’s working overtime right now. You’re allowed to feel like crap.”

“I just…” You hesitated, your voice so soft it barely made it past your lips. “I feel gross. My stomach hurts, my back’s killing me, and I almost started crying because I dropped my hair tie earlier. Like, who even cries over a hair tie?”

“You, apparently,” he said with a little chuckle, brushing your hair off your forehead. “And honestly? Valid. I’d cry too if I didn’t have this much self-control.”

You giggled weakly, then winced as another cramp rolled through you. You turned a little in his arms, curling your fingers into the soft fabric of his hoodie and burying your face in his chest like it might shield you from the world. He didn’t hesitate— he just pulled you in tighter, kissed your head again, and rubbed your back in slow, careful circles.

“Sammy,” you whispered, voice trembling just a bit. “Can you—could you maybe rub my tummy?”

He didn’t even answer. Just shifted slightly so he could reach under the blanket and rest his hand right where it hurt. His fingers were warm and wide and sure, and the second he started moving them in gentle circles, something in you broke open. Not in a bad way, more like you’d been holding yourself together so tightly, trying to power through, and now you could finally exhale. The pain was still there, but it felt… softer somehow. Easier to bear with him there.

You sighed, pressing your cheek against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Thank you,” you murmured. “For taking care of me. Even when I’m kind of pathetic and bloated and hormonal and mean.”

“You’re never pathetic,” he said firmly. “And if this is your mean version? I think I’ll survive.”

You laughed again, properly this time, and when you looked up at him, his smile was so full of love it made your chest ache.

He reached for the book on your nightstand—the one you’d been too uncomfortable to hold for more than a few pages at a time—and opened it to where your bookmark stuck out. “Mind if I read to you for a bit?”

You shook your head, nose scrunching slightly. “No. That sounds nice. I like your voice. It makes everything feel less… sharp.”

So he did. He leaned back against the pillows, one hand resting protectively over your stomach, and started to read. His voice was soft and steady, the words wrapping around you like another blanket. You didn’t follow the story exactly, but it didn’t matter. It was the sound of him, the warmth of him, the way he’d pause every few paragraphs to kiss your forehead or shift the blankets to make sure you were tucked in just right.

At one point, you mumbled sleepily, “How’d I get so lucky? You’re like… the ultimate period boyfriend.”

He huffed a laugh, nuzzling your hair. “You’re the one who’s stuck with me reading 600 pages of fantasy just to make you forget you’re cramping. I think I’m the lucky one.”

You smiled against his chest. “You could read a cereal box and I’d still fall asleep happy.”

“Noted. Next time I’ll bring you Frosted Flakes lore.”

You were drifting in and out of sleep now, your body finally relaxing for the first time all day, and just before you let go completely, you murmured, “I love you so much it hurts.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just held you tighter, pressed a lingering kiss to your hairline, and let his hand keep moving in slow, gentle circles over your tummy.

“I love you more,” he whispered. “Even on the crampy days.”

And that’s how you fell asleep— safe in Sam’s arms, wrapped in the softness of his voice, the warmth of his touch, and the kind of love that asks for nothing but to be felt.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @tendertulip @tinas111 @unstable-cucumber @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah @amsliajskxkxkx ⊹ ࣪ ˖

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tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library.

[wvyik]

unspoken. d.w. .𖥔 ݁ ˖

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: the silence between you and dean grows louder with every passing day, filled with unacknowledged feelings. you both know there’s something more, but neither of you is brave enough to face it.

⤿ warnings: angst, silent tension, friend-zone, miscommunication, heartbreak, internal conflict, no comfort/resolution, subtle longing, emotional distance.

⤿ notes: hi guys!! im back (kinda) and feeling super unmotivated; trying to change my writing style though, so i hope you enjoy some longer paragraphs. love youu!! writers block is a bitch.

It was the silence that got to you the most. Not the words you didn’t say, but the ones that had been said and couldn’t be taken back. The air between you and Dean had shifted somewhere along the way, and it didn’t matter how many hunts you survived, how many hours spent sitting in the Impala with him, the space between you both felt like it was widening, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

You didn’t want to look at him, but you couldn’t help it. He was there, sitting next to you in the Impala, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel, the low hum of the engine filling the empty spaces. He hadn’t said much since the last hunt, and neither had you. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly— more like the kind of ache that comes from something unfinished, something that neither of you were brave enough to bring up.

You shifted in your seat, glancing out the window at the blur of passing trees, trying to focus on the road ahead. You knew Dean was glancing at you, his gaze just heavy enough to make you feel the weight of it, but you kept your eyes straight ahead. If you didn’t look, it wouldn’t feel so much like he was pulling you in, right? You didn’t feel that tightening in your chest every time your gazes almost met.

The night had been long. Longer than you remembered, longer than it should have been. You had killed the last vampire, wiped the blood from your hands, and tried to move on, but you couldn’t shake that feeling. That feeling that maybe Dean wasn’t looking at you like he used to. Not like he used to look at everyone else. Not like he used to look at you.

You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want to be that girl. But it was there, and you couldn’t ignore it. You couldn’t ignore the way his gaze seemed to linger just a little longer than it should, the way his hand brushed against yours whenever you were passing him something, or the way his voice softened when he said your name, like it meant something more than it ever had before.

And it made your heart ache.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Dean said, his voice low, not accusing, but there was a trace of concern in it. His eyes flicked toward you again, but you didn’t look at him. You kept your gaze locked on the road, even though it felt like you were staring at nothing.

“Just tired,” you muttered, the lie slipping easily from your lips, even though you knew it wasn’t true. Tired? Yeah, maybe physically, but mentally, you were exhausted in a way you couldn’t even begin to explain. You were tired of pretending it didn’t hurt. Tired of pretending that you didn’t feel the way your chest tightened every time he was too close. Tired of keeping the truth buried inside you.

You heard him let out a quiet breath, and when you dared to glance at him, you saw his jaw clenching, his eyes fixed on the road, but there was something in the way his shoulders tensed that told you he wasn’t buying it. He always saw through the walls you built, even when you did everything to hide it.

The miles stretched on, the silence thickening. There was nothing comfortable about it anymore. It was like you were both stuck in this limbo of half-finished thoughts, of words you couldn’t say, of feelings that couldn’t be acknowledged because the moment you did, everything would shatter.

Dean’s hand twitched on the steering wheel, like he wanted to reach out to you, like he wanted to say something, but even he wasn’t sure what to say anymore. He wasn’t the type to beat around the bush, but lately, everything felt… delicate. Like if he said the wrong thing, it would all fall apart.

The song playing on the radio was some old classic rock hit, something that didn’t quite match the mood, but somehow, it felt fitting. You were both trapped in the past, both stuck on something you couldn’t let go of, and it was as painful as it was familiar.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you?” Dean asked after a long stretch of silence. His voice was quieter this time, a little softer than usual, like he was walking on eggshells, like he wasn’t sure if he should even ask.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “There’s nothing to tell, Dean,” you said, your words slipping out too quickly, a little too sharp. You weren’t mad, but your heart felt like it was breaking in two, and you hated that he was making you feel like this. You hated that he was making you face things you weren’t ready to deal with.

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened again, and this time, you could hear the frustration in his voice when he spoke. “I don’t believe you. I haven’t believed you for weeks now.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. What were you supposed to say? You didn’t even know what was going on with you. It was just there— this thing between you two that neither of you were brave enough to face.

Dean didn’t push. He never did when it mattered most. He just let the silence sit there between you like it belonged, like maybe he understood the words you couldn’t find. His fingers drummed once against the steering wheel, slow and uneven, like he was thinking about reaching for you but stopped himself at the last second. And maybe it would’ve been easier if he had gotten mad, if he’d barked something sharp to cut through the air. But Dean didn’t yell. He just sat there, breathing slow, carrying the weight of everything unspoken like he’d gotten used to it.

You turned your head, finally daring to look at him, and the moment you did, you wished you hadn’t. His profile in the dark was all hard lines and soft glances. The set of his jaw stubborn, his mouth pressed into something that wasn’t quite a frown but damn close. And then there were his eyes, catching yours for just a breath, and in them was all the heartbreak you didn’t have the guts to name. You hated yourself for it. Hated yourself for not being brave enough.

“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like you don’t see it,” Dean said finally, and his voice was so quiet it almost wasn’t there. Like he didn’t trust it. Like maybe if he spoke too loud, everything would crack wide open. He turned his head toward you a little more, eyes searching yours in that way he did when he wasn’t sure if he was about to get punched or kissed. “Whatever this is… it’s real. You know it is.”

You felt something twist inside you, sharp and sudden. It would’ve been so easy to reach across the seat and grab his hand, to anchor yourself to him the way he wanted you to. It would’ve been so easy to say I know. To finally stop running. But you didn’t move. You sat there, heart hammering, hands frozen in your lap, and all you could do was look at him like you didn’t recognize yourself anymore.

“I can’t,” you said, barely above a whisper. The words scraped their way out of your throat, and you hated how small you sounded.

Dean’s mouth tugged into a bitter smile, the kind he wore when he was pretending he wasn’t bleeding inside. He nodded once, slow, like he was already expecting it. Like he had known you would say that, and still somehow, he had hoped you wouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back against the seat like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I figured.”

The Impala’s engine rumbled under you both, steady and unbothered, the only sound filling the awful space you had carved between yourselves. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t about him—that it wasn’t because you didn’t feel it, because God, you felt it. It lived under your skin, a constant ache, a heartbeat you couldn’t silence. But what good would it have done? The damage was already there, bleeding out between you, staining everything that had been easy and good and real.

“I’m sorry,” you said, because it was the only thing left. Because it felt like the only thing you could give him, even though it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

Dean let out a breath that sounded more like a laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t be. Just… don’t.” He gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles white, and you wondered if he realized he was doing it. “You don’t owe me anything.”

But the thing was— you did. You owed him everything. All the late nights laughing over beers, all the quiet moments fixing each other up after hunts, all the times he looked at you like you were the only goddamn person in the room that mattered. You owed him the truth, and maybe part of you knew you weren’t strong enough to give it.

You stayed quiet after that, the words lodged in your throat, heavy and useless. Dean shifted the Impala into drive without another glance your way, the tires crunching over gravel as he pulled out onto the dark stretch of highway. And as the miles slipped by under the tires, you realized that whatever it was between you and Dean; whatever could’ve been, it wasn’t just on pause,

It was slipping away.

And you were letting it.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @tinas111 @unstable-cucumber @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah @cupidzbunny ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library.

[wvyik]

dad! dean headcanons. d.w. ꒰ঌ ໒꒱

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: dean might slay monsters, but his heart belongs to his little one. from diaper disasters to sleepy snuggles, these headcanons show dean as the softest dad, proving that no matter how tough he is, his love for his baby is even bigger.

⤿ warnings: pure fluff, cuteness overload, you might need tissues, too much dad! dean for your heart to handle, this post is not responsible for any unintentional squealing or melting, i MIGHT make this a series, uncontrollable awws guaranteed.

⤿ notes: so, in case you didn’t know, i’m officially in my “dad! dean makes me weak” era, and i’m not sorry about it. if you’re reading this and you’re like, ‘why does my heart hurt in the best way right now?’ then welcome to the club. we all fam. ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

DEAN WANTS TO GIVE THEM THE CHILDHOOD HE NEVER HAD.. So he overcompensates. Birthday parties. Christmas mornings that look like a Hallmark movie. Camping trips. Home videos. He keeps everything. “I just want them to know they’re loved. Always.”

HE HATES MISSING MILESTONES.. If he’s on a hunt and misses a first word or first step? He’ll make Cas rewind time or beg Sam for a cursed object to see it. He’d call you in tears like “babe, what’d they say? Was it ‘dada’? Please tell me it was ‘dada.’”

HE BUILDS THEM A BUNKER-LEVEL PILLOW FORT.. Rainy day? You better believe that living room becomes a war zone of blankets, snacks, and Flashlight Tag. “No demons in this fort, soldier. Only snuggles.”

HE TEACHES THEM HOW TO RESPECT PEOPLE.. Manners. Loyalty. Standing up for others. “You protect the people you love. Always. No matter what.” Dean raises the kind of kids that other parents admire.

BUT HE SUCKS AT DISCIPLE WHEN THEY CRY.. One look at those watery eyes and he’s DONE. “Aw c’mon, don’t do that to me, sweetheart… I wasn’t even that mad.” Ends up cuddling them on the couch whispering “daddy’s not mad, just worried.”

ALWAYS TUCKS A NOTE IN THEIR LUNCHBOX.. Little post-its with stuff like “Be brave today, champ!” or “Love you more than pie. Almost.” You find the notes years later, kept in a shoebox.

DEAN HAS A WEIRD OBSESSION WITH CAR SEATS NOW.. He installed that thing like it was a bomb. Double-checks it every single time. “My kid’s not going anywhere unless it’s safely strapped into Baby’s throne.”

HAS ZERO CHILL WHEN THEY’RE SICK.. One cough and he’s pacing like a war general. Blankets, soup, forehead kisses. “You okay, bug? You want Daddy to beat up the virus?”

HE KEEPS BABY PICTURES OF THE KIDS IN HIS WALLET.. And he shows them to random strangers at gas stations, “That’s my little kiddo in their first flannel. Got that same ‘handsome’ face.” with that stupid grin on his face.

HE CRIES AT DANCE RECITALS AND LITTLE LEAGUE GAMES.. Tries to hide it behind his sunglasses, but you can see the sniffles. “That’s my kid out there. Did you see that spin?? Better than Michael Jackson!”

HIS RINGTONE IS THEIR LAUGH.. He recorded it one afternoon when they were giggling at his fart jokes. It’s been his ringtone ever since and he refuses to change it. “Best sound in the damn world.”

CARRIES THEIR ART IN EVERYWHERE.. You open the Impala’s glove box and there’s a crayon drawing of Dean with a giant smile labeled “My Hero.” He pretends to be chill about it but he’s totally cried over it in the garage.

HE TEACHES THEM TO SAY ‘NO’ EARLY.. “I don’t care how small you are. If someone makes you uncomfortable? You say ‘no’ loud. Clear. Mean it. And if they don’t back off, tell Daddy. I��ll handle it.”

BABY-PROOFING THE BUNKER TURNS INTO A WHOLE MISSION.. Sam walks in and Dean’s like “I’ve sealed every electrical outlet, covered all corners, and enchanted the nursery against monsters. What have you done today, Uncle Sam?”

HE STARTS CARRYING DIAPERS AND WIPES IN HIS WEAPONS DUFFEL.. Like a damn multitasking king. There’s holy water, salt rounds, and a pastel blue binky. He pulls it out like “don’t judge me, I’m prepared.”

TEACHES THEM HOW TO SHOOT WITH NERF GUNS FIRST.. You come home and find the house COVERED in foam bullets. He’s in full camo, kids are giggling like maniacs, and he’s yelling “Cover me, soldier! We’ve got a diaper bandit on the loose!”

WHEN THEY GET HURT, HE BLAMES HIMSELF.. They fall off a bike? Scrape a knee? Dean acts like the sky is falling. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve caught ‘em.” And you have to literally hold his face and be like “They’re okay, babe. You’re a great dad.”

HE STARTS READING PARENTING BOOKS IN SECRET.. You catch him late at night with What to Expect the First Year under a flashlight like it’s a case file. “Don’t look at me like that, woman. I just wanna be prepared. Babies don’t come with manuals; this is the closest thing.”

HE LETS THEM PAINT HIS NAILS AND DOESN’T WASH IT OFF FOR DAYS.. He’s out on a hunt with chipped sparkly polish and when Sam’s like “what the hell’s on your hands?” Dean’s all, “My daughter’s masterpiece. You got a problem with that?”

DEAN’S SECRETLY TERRIFIED HE’S GONNA MESS THEM UP.. Sometimes he stares at them sleeping and whispers, “You deserve better than I ever had, kid. I’ll never let anything happen to you.” And then he crawls into bed and pulls you close because you’re the only thing that calms that storm.

HE GETS JEALOUS WHEN THEY CLING TO YOU TOO MUCH.. Playfully, but still. “C’mon, they were on your hip all day. Daddy needs cuddles too!” He pouts until the kid crawls into his lap and he’s smug like “that’s right, Daddy’s the favorite now.”

GETS SO MAD WHEN PEOPLE SAY ‘JUST WAIT TILL THEY’RE TEENAGERS’.. Like— no. “I’m gonna love ‘em through every stage. You don’t stop being their damn parent when they get loud and moody. You step up. That’s my kid.”

ALWAYS MAKES TIME FOR ONE-ON-ONE DATES.. He’ll take each kid out individually for a milkshake or a trip to the arcade and call it “dad-and-me time.” He says it’s for them, but it’s really for him, too.

WRITES THEM LETTERS “JUST IN CASE”.. Stored in the bunker. One for every birthday. Every milestone. “If something ever happens to me… I want them to know I was there. I loved ‘em every second.”

WHEN YOU’RE ALL SNUGGLED UP IN BED, HE HOLDS THE BABY AND WHISPERS TO YOU.. “We really did it, huh? We made this little life. And I’m not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart. Ever.”

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @twelveyearsofit @tinas111 @unstable-cucumber @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library.

[wvyik]

s’more than you can handle. d.w. ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: dean takes you on a ‘proper date’ which apparently involves fire, sugar, and him trying to one-up you in marshmallow roasting.

⤿ warnings: fluff, banter, marshmallow chaos, sticky kisses, fire safety violations, dean being competitive over s’mores, reader nearly burning the forest down (affectionate), pre-established relationship, idiots in love.

⤿ notes: this is just soft chaos and sweet nothings by the fire. dean’s a menace. you love him anyway. thank you for reading, I hope this made you smile!

You’re halfway convinced this is just an excuse for Dean to play with fire and eat chocolate, but you’re not mad about it.

The Impala’s parked near this little clearing he found off a back road, far enough from town that it’s quiet except for the crickets and the occasional owl that hoots like it’s judging you. He’s got a fire going like it’s second nature, and you’re sitting on a worn blanket, legs stretched out in front of you, hoodie zipped halfway up, and Dean’s flannel draped over your shoulders because “you always steal it anyway, might as well make it official.”

He’s crouched in front of the fire now, focused like he’s defusing a bomb, turning a marshmallow slowly over the flames. His tongue is poking out a little in concentration and it’s so unnecessarily cute, you’re kind of obsessed.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you note, eyebrows raised.

Dean doesn’t even look at you. “Sweetheart, if we’re doin’ this, we’re doin’ it right. No charred marshmallow nonsense. I have standards.”

You lean back on your hands, grinning. “Okay, Gordon Ramsay. Impress me.”

“Oh, I will.”

A minute later, he’s stacking the marshmallow between graham crackers with a square of chocolate that’s already melting in the fire’s heat. He finishes and holds it out to you like it’s a priceless gift. “For you, m’lady.”

You snort, “I feel so honored.” as you take a dramatic bite, your eyes widen. “Oh my gosh. This is amazing.”

Dean puffs his chest like a smug golden retriever. “Told ya. Ten outta ten.”

“Okay, my turn,” you say, already grabbing your stick. “Let’s see if I can live up to your high-class marshmallow standards.”

You try to mimic what he did, but yours catches on fire almost immediately, burning like a tiny marshmallow torch.

“Whoa—oh my God—” You start flailing the stick around like you can put it out by waving. Dean’s already laughing, grabbing the stick from your hand and blowing on it dramatically until the flames die.

“You were supposed to toast it, not summon Satan,” he teases, dropping the blackened marshmallow into the grass.

“I panicked!” you cry, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “It escalated fast!”

Dean’s grinning at you, full dimples, all bright eyes and boyish charm. He brushes his fingers through your hair quickly, like he just can’t help touching you. “You’re dangerous with a sugar stick, babe.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You still love me.”

He smirks. “That’s true. But I’m making your s’mores from now on. For safety reasons.”

You roll your eyes, but let him build another one for you anyway. This time, you feed it to him, smearing chocolate on his lip on purpose just so you can lean in and kiss it off, giggling against his mouth.

He licks his lips afterwards, and like he’s in heaven— flops back onto the blanket. “You’re killin’ me, woman.”

You crawl over and lay beside him, resting your head on his chest while he steals another marshmallow straight from the bag and pops it into his mouth. He offers you one too; no stick, no roasting, just plain and pillowy, and you take it with a happy little hum.

The stars are crazy bright, the fire’s still crackling, and Dean’s arm curls around you like he was made to fit there.

And sure, your fingers are sticky, your hoodie smells like smoke, and there’s chocolate on your jeans, but it’s still the best night ever.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @twelveyearsofit @tinas111 @unstable-cucumber @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[wvyik]

sam’s shy gf headcanons. s.w. ₊˚⊹⋆

sam winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: general shy dating hc again!! spoiler; sam is the softest, most patient boyfriend ever. he understands your awkwardness, your shyness, your nervousness—all of it—and he loves you for it.

⤿ warnings: lots of cuteness, emotional moments/support, comfort!! soft boy affection overload, sam being the gentlest giant to ever giant, safe relationship energy that might make you cry, pre-established relationship.

⤿ notes: on the request of the sweet @everythingisaspectrum!! sorry this took so long (╥﹏╥) for anyone worried on the taglist who signed on just for dean, just hit me up and ill make sure to not tag you on any other characters. plus the taglist got an update!!

HE DOES GROCERY SHOPPING IF YOU’RE TOO STRESSED.. But not in a ‘ugh, fine I’ll go’ way. No, this man is walking out the door with a list you scribbled and texting you stuff like “Do you want the strawberry yogurt or the peach? I forgot which one’s your favorite :(“

HAND-HOLDING IS HIS FAVORITE THING EVER.. He knows you’re shy about PDA, so he never forces it, but when you do reach for his hand? Oh, he cherishes it. He’ll squeeze your fingers gently, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, completely focused on you.

LOVES HEARING YOU TALK ABOUT THE THINGS YOU LOVE.. Even if you’re shy, when you finally start opening up about something you’re passionate about? Sam is so happy. He’ll listen intently, nodding along, asking questions— just completely mesmerized by how cute you look when you get excited.

SAM READS TO YOU.. Like actually, out loud. You’re laying in bed, curled up under a blanket, and he’s got a book in one hand, your hand in the other. He has the most soothing voice ever and every few lines he’ll glance over at you with the softest smile like, “Still with me, sweetheart?”

LOVES IT WHEN YOU GET SLEEPY AND CLINGY.. If you ever get too tired to keep up your usual shyness and just snuggle into him, Sam is in heaven. He’ll wrap you up in his arms, stroking your hair, whispering, “You can fall asleep, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

HE KEEPS A LITTLE MENTAL LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE YOU ANXIOUS.. Crowds, loud places, random new people — he notices and makes plans around it. If you’re ever somewhere you don’t like, he’ll quietly lean over and whisper, “Want to head out, babe?” And if you nod? He’s already guiding you out like a prince in plaid.

HE LEGIT BRAGS ABOUT YOU IN PRIVATE.. Like, if he’s talking to Dean or someone he trusts, he gets this dreamy little smile and is like, “She’s shy, yeah… but she’s got the biggest heart. Smartest girl I’ve ever met.” He’s so down BAD.

WHEN YOU’RE OVERWHELMED, HE GIVES YOU HIS HOODIE.. And i mean, immediately. You’re not even asking, he just sees you getting overwhelmed and wordlessly tugs it off, wraps it around you, and kisses your hair. Now you smell like him and feel safe.

SAM IS OBSESSED WITH YOUR VOICE WHEN YOU TALK JUST TO HIM.. You might be quiet around others, but when it’s just the two of you? When you’re cuddling and whispering things only he gets to hear? He treasures it. He’ll literally say, “I love your voice. It’s like… peaceful.”

HE NOTICES EVERY TINY CHANGE IN YOUR MOOD.. You don’t even have to say anything; he can just tell. He’ll come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, rest his chin on your shoulder and softly ask, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

HE HAS A BABY VOICE, JUST FOR YOU.. Not like silly-baby talk, but that extra soft, affectionate tone that only comes out when he’s holding you close or waking you up in the morning. “C’mon, sweetheart… time to get up. I made your tea.” Like PLEASE he’s your emotional support giant.

HE’S SO GENTLE WHEN YOU’RE UPSET.. If something’s bothering you, he’ll never push you to talk, but he’ll always make sure you know he’s there. He’ll rub slow circles on your back, murmur soothing words, and just be there until you’re ready to open up.

SAM LOVES WHEN YOU PLAY WITH HIS HAIR.. You’re shy about touching him, but the first time you nervously threaded your fingers through his hair? Sam melted. He closed his eyes, leaned into your touch, and let out the softest sigh. Now he begs for it. “C’mere, baby. Just for a minute.”

YOU HAVE A SAFE WORD FOR SOCIAL EXITS.. Sam came up with it. Like if you’re somewhere that’s draining you, all you have to do is say the word (maybe something dumb and cute like ‘moose tracks’) and he’ll immediately get you out, no questions.

HE WRITES YOU NOTES.. Like little sticky notes with stuff like “Drink water today, babe <3” or “I miss you, even if you’re just in the next room” and sticks them where you’ll find them. Your journal, your laptop, the fridge, your pillow, everywhere.

HE FINDS YOUR AWKWARDNESS SO HOT.. Like when you try to be flirty but your voice shakes? Or you avoid eye contact after saying something bold? Sam is grinning so hard. He’ll bite his lip and softly say, “That was really cute. Keep going.” and you’re immediately done for.

IF YOU CRY, HE’S IN FULL ON SOFT MODE.. No panic, no ‘don’t cry’ BS. He just holds you close, rocks you gently, and says stuff like, “Let it out, sweetheart. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Literal human comfort blanket.

HE NEEDS A KISS BEFORE BED.. Even if it’s just a shy little peck. And if you’re being all bashful and hiding your face under the covers? He’ll laugh softly and coax you out with kisses to your hands. “Don’t hide that pretty face, baby.”

HE BUYS YOU BOOKS THAT REMIND HIM OF YOU.. The titles are always something like “Quiet is Beautiful” or “Loving Someone Soft” or just some cheesy romance novel with a blushing heroine. He always scribbles a note inside like “Saw this and thought of you. You’re my favorite.”

HE LIVES FOR THE LATE NIGHT CONVOS.. You’re in bed, half-asleep, and you whisper something like “do you think the stars look different in heaven?” and this man is suddenly wide awake and in full philosophical mode, holding you and telling you what he thinks while stroking your arm.

HE TOTALLY PICKS UP ON YOUR SOCIAL ANXIETY AND SUBTLY HELPS YOU OUT.. If you’re in a conversation and get flustered, Sam will gently step in without making it obvious. He’ll steer the conversation smoothly so you don’t feel pressured to talk too much, all while giving you reassuring little touches, like a hand on your back.

SAM OFFERS YOU HIS JACKET WITHOUT YOU ASKING.. Cold? You get the jacket. Nervous? You get the jacket. Just existing in the world? Guess what, you’re getting the damn jacket. It’s like a hug from him, and you know he gets a little weak seeing you wrapped up in it.

HE NEVER LETS YOU DOUBT HOW MUCH HE WANTS YOU.. You’re quiet and might have moments of thinking you’re too awkward or not enough. Sam sees it immediately and pulls you into the warmest hug, whispering, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, sweetheart. Don’t ever think you’re not.”

ADORES THE WAY YOU TUCK YOURSELF INTO HIS SIDE.. Like a little shy koala. If you ever burrow into him, face in his chest, holding onto his flannel? He’s DONE. He’ll just wrap you up and murmur, “God, I love you so much.”

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @twelveyearsofit @tinas111 @unstable-cucumber ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[wvyik]

click, play, stay. d.w. °˖➴

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: you walk in on dean watching porn, and the girl? looks just like you. one thing leads to another, and it gets way too real.

⤿ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, best friends to lovers?, oral sex, p in v, breeding kink, swearing, porn watching, dub-consent (you did walk in on him), spoiler alert: dean is NOT your average best friend, accidental discovery, intentional fucking, you wanted slowburn? lol, no. welcome to chaos.

⤿ notes: new format?? mhm! also, i’m pretty sure this is the exact moment i crossed all boundaries. but hey, it’s dean. enjoy… or don’t. but you will. you’ll definitely enjoy.

You were supposed to be asleep.

The bunker was dead quiet, the only sounds the soft hum of overhead lights and the occasional creak of ancient pipes. You tiptoed out of your room in nothing but your usual sleep fit— those stupid little pink shorts and that baggy tee with a faded band logo, barely awake, just craving something cold to drink.

What you didn’t expect to find was him.

Dean. Lying on his bed, legs sprawled out like he owned the place — which, to be fair, he kinda did; laptop propped open on his thighs, the soft slap of skin echoing off the walls, low moans slipping from his lips like sin.

Your brain didn’t catch up right away. You blinked, thinking maybe it was just some dumb movie. Something graphic on late-night cable. But then he shifted. Jaw tight, chest heaving, one hand moving under the thin gray waistband of his sweats, and the sound from his laptop speakers made your stomach drop straight to hell.

Wet. Rhythmic. Desperate.

You froze in the doorway.

It was porn.

Very, very intense porn.

You were about to turn and bolt when you actually looked at the screen— and saw her.

Saw you.

Or, okay, not you exactly. But enough like you that your breath caught in your throat. Same hair. Same curves. Same little whimpering gasp when the guy in the video; who had messy hair, broad shoulders, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dean’s, gripped her thighs and pushed in deeper.

Your eyes went wide.

And that’s when Dean looked up.

He didn’t panic. Didn’t scramble to close the laptop or hide what he was doing.

Instead, he smirked.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice gravelly from arousal. “Didn’t think you were the sneaky type.”

Your whole body went numb. Your knees locked in place and your voice came out squeaky and stunned:

“I—I didn’t mean to— Dean, I didn’t know you were— what the fuck!”

“Mhm,” he said, not even flinching. So casual. One hand finally moving away from his waistband, resting on his stomach like he wasn’t still hard as hell beneath the fabric. “Didn’t know I had an audience tonight. You like what you saw?”

“That girl looked like me,” you whispered.

He arched a brow.

“Did she?”

“Dean.” Your voice trembled, shame twisting in your chest. “Why would you… why would you watch that?”

He clicked the laptop shut like it was nothing.

“Why d’you think?” he said, standing up slow, that cocky saunter in his step, towering over you before you could even think of moving. “I’ve had to sit around for months watchin’ you prance around here in those tiny fuckin’ shorts, crawlin’ into my bed when you get nightmares, sleepin’ next to me like you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. Your brain had shut down.

“You ever think about me like that?” he asked, voice dropping an octave. “You ever get curious what I sound like when I’m inside you?”

You choked on your own breath.

“Jesus, Dean—”

He stepped even closer. Barely a foot between your bodies now.

“Don’t get all shy now, sweetheart. You walked in. You stayed. You looked at that screen and kept watching.” His eyes dragged over your body, slow and hot and possessive. “So if you’re gonna act like a good girl, tell me the truth.”

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, heart racing.

“…Was it really about me?”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, voice dark and full of sin,

“Every fuckin’ time.”

You swallow.

His breath brushes your skin.

You hate the part of you that wants more.

“So what happens now?” you whisper, voice barely there.

He grins, but it’s not playful anymore. It’s dark. Focused. Hungry.

“Now,” he murmurs, “you tell me if you want this. ‘Cause once we start, baby, I’m not gonna pretend I don’t wanna know how you sound when you moan anymore.”

Your whole body lights up like a goddamn fire alarm.

You nod— slow, shy, unsure, and Dean’s hands find your hips, big and hot and grounding you before you can float away from the sheer weight of this moment.

“Fuck,” he mutters, like it’s physically painful. “You’re actually sayin’ yes to this.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

He lets out a sharp laugh— shocked. His grip tightens, and his mouth brushes your cheek before he growls into your ear,

“You’re my best fuckin’ friend, sweetheart. The girl I’ve been tryin’ not to fuck for years. But now? You’re standing here all pretty and wet for me after catching me jerk off to a video of someone who looks just like you.”

He steps back just long enough to grab the laptop. “So we’re gonna watch it again. Together.”

You blink.

“Dean—what?”

“No no,” he says, pulling you into his room, sitting down on the bed and tugging you into his lap like it’s the most normal thing in the world. His hard length presses up against your ass as you straddle him. “You’re gonna watch what I was watching. And you’re gonna feel exactly what I felt.”

The video starts again.

The moans fill the room.

Your cheeks burn.

His hands start roaming, slow at first. Just resting on your thighs. Then sliding up under your shirt, thumbs grazing over your hips. “See that?” he murmurs, mouth brushing your neck. “How he’s got her pinned down? How deep he’s fucking her?”

You nod, breath stuttering.

“That’s what I was thinkin’ about,” he says, pressing a kiss to your pulse. “Pushing you back on this bed, spreading those pretty legs, and just ruining you.”

You let out a shaky little gasp.

“You always get this wet just from watchin’?” he teases, fingers sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “Or is it me?”

You can’t speak. He doesn’t need you to.

One thick finger dips into your panties and he groans— low and deep, like he’s just tasted something addictive.

“Ohh, fuck, sweetheart…” He nips at your jaw. “This pussy was made for me.”

You whimper.

“You want me to fill you up like that?” he asks, gaze flicking from the screen to you. “You want me to make you so full of me, you’ll be feelin’ it for days?”

You nod helplessly.

And then he’s flipping you beneath him, pushing your shirt up, yanking your shorts down— his mouth hot and hungry as he kisses down your belly, his voice ragged,

“You better be fuckin’ sure, baby. ‘Cause once I start… I’m not stopping ‘til I’m all the way in and you’re begging me to put a baby in you.”

You don’t even get a chance to breathe before Dean’s dragging your panties down your thighs, slow but greedy, like he wants to savor it, wants to remember what you look like like this forever. Laying on his bed, flushed and wide-eyed, already soaked for him.

And he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

The video’s still playing on the laptop beside you. Your own soft moans mixing with hers, the sound of skin against skin driving Dean insane.

“Fuck, baby, look at you,” he mutters, dragging his mouth across your inner thigh, leaving open-mouthed kisses. “Shakin’ like a virgin on prom night.”

You let out a breathy little whimper, thighs twitching.

“I’m not—”

“No, but this pussy’s mine,” he cuts you off, voice all grit and possession. “And I’m gonna treat her like she’s never been touched before.”

And then his tongue’s on you.

Oh. My. God.

No teasing. No slow warmup. Dean dives in like he’s starved— like he’s been dreaming about this for years and now that he has you, he’s gonna take his fucking time.

His tongue licks a long, slow stripe up your slit, then circles your clit until your hips buck against his mouth. “Dean—Dean, holy shit—”

He groans into you like he can’t help it. Like you taste like heaven and he wants to drown in it.

One thick finger slides into you, curling just right, his mouth never stopping. You’re shaking. Moaning. Whimpering his name like a prayer.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growls, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin slick with you. “You’re squeezin’ me so good, baby. So fuckin’ tight for me.”

He slides a second finger in. Pumps slow. Deep. Crooks them just enough to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back.

You gasp, fisting the sheets.

And then he leans up, hovering over you, eyes dark as sin.

“Wanna know somethin’ sick?” he rasps, rubbing slow circles on your clit. “When I came earlier? I imagined this pussy. You— on your back, beggin’ me to put a baby in you.”

You let out a choked moan.

“Dean—”

“You gonna let me, sweetheart?” He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your lips—hot, messy kisses between every filthy word. “Gonna let me fuck you raw? Fill you up so deep it sticks?”

You nod like you’re drunk on him.

“Please.”

He groans—feral now; like that one word snapped the leash clean off.

He yanks his sweats down, and his cock springs free. Thick, flushed, leaking. You’ve never seen anything so hot. He lines himself up with your entrance, and pauses, just for a breath.

“You sure?” he asks, voice tight.

You reach up, grab his face, and whisper, “Dean, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.”

That’s all it takes.

He slams into you— slow but deep, dragging it out, like he wants you to feel every inch.

You cry out, nails digging into his back. He groans like he’s dying.

“Fuuuck,” he hisses, burying himself to the hilt. “So fuckin’ tight, baby. You were made for me.”

His hips start to move. Slow at first, grinding into you, heavy and rough and intentional. He kisses you like he owns you. He fucks you like he’s claiming you.

And the whole time?

He doesn’t stop talking.

“You feel that?” he pants. “That’s my cock stretchin’ you open, fillin’ you where no one else ever will again.”

“I’m gonna fuck you full, sweetheart. Breed you so good you’ll feel me for days.”

Your body’s writhing under him— shaking, trembling, your orgasm building like a tidal wave.

“You close?” he growls, thrusting harder, snapping his hips against yours. “C’mon, baby. Cream on my cock. Show me how bad you want it.”

And when you fall apart?

It’s a wreck.

You clench around him like a vice, crying out his name, and he loses it— slamming into you once, twice more before burying himself deep and groaning, “Fuck—take it—take all of it, baby—fuckin’ take my cum—”

He holds you tight, grinding into you as he empties himself inside, thick and hot and endless. You’re both panting, covered in sweat, trembling from the aftershocks.

He doesn’t pull out.

Just collapses on top of you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Told you we’d make a better video,” he mumbles against your skin.

You laugh, breathless. “Holy shit.”

He grins.

“Round two?”

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @twelveyearsofit @tinas111 @riteofpassage77 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[wvyik]

signed, sealed, seduced. d.w. ⋆˚࿔

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: she’s high-maintenance, deadly, and doesn’t take shit from anyone; especially not from dean. but when their worlds collide, the hunt becomes personal… and a whole lot more complicated.

⤿ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, (i couldn’t help myself) tons of sexual tension, mild explicit content, cursing, dirty jokes, fluff + filth combo, (because why settle for one?), some light violence, a sprinkle of possessiveness, lots of playful banter, reader is so bela talbot coded, frenemies to lovers.

⤿ notes: thank you anon for the request!! im happy to oblige, such an awesome idea btw >ᴗ< think mr. & mrs. smith meets supernatural with just a pinch of unholy sexual frustration.

The first time you ever met Dean Winchester, he tried to shoot you.

In his defense, you had just scammed a warlock out of a cursed amulet that he’d been trying to track for three weeks. In your defense? He was being a little bitch about it.

“You stole it,” he’d growled, all puffed chest and righteous fury.

You’d just smiled, blood-red lipstick flawless, one perfectly arched brow lifting. “I acquired it. Stole is such a blue-collar word.”

He hated you instantly.

They say hate is just the other side of passion. Dean’s starting to believe it. Every time you roll your eyes, every time you sass him, every time you bend over in that tight little pencil skirt that definitely wasn’t accidental— he gets closer to just snapping and pinning you to a wall.

And you know it.

You flirt like it’s war. Batting your lashes just to watch him sweat. Dropping dirty little one-liners that leave him choking on air.

“So serious, Dean. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying not to get hard.”

He whips his head toward you. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh relax,” you hum, leaning your head back against the seat. “I’m not gonna jump you. You’re not my type.”

He scoffs. “Good.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “I like men who at least pretend they don’t want me. It’s more fun when they break.”

You’re a ghost in the hunter world. No last name. No phone number. Just rumors and red lipstick. You’ve sold hex bags to demons and then double-crossed them for hunters. You flirted your way through vampire nests and stole angel blades from under Heaven’s nose. Nobody knows whose side you’re really on.

That’s your whole thing.

Dean hates that it turns him on.

The job takes you to Louisiana. Swamps, heat, and the kind of cursed object no sane hunter touches without gloves, prayers, and a last will and testament.

It’s an old Creole relic. An amulet that traps souls in a loop of violent death. You’ve seen it before. Once. You didn’t walk away clean.

Dean doesn’t ask about it.

You don’t offer.

Instead, you two ride down in the Impala, sniping at each other the whole way. He complains about your luggage (“We’re not staying at the goddamn Ritz!”) and you call his music “sad divorced dad anthems.”

But underneath the sarcasm, something’s shifting. You catch him looking at you longer. Laughing under his breath at your jokes. And when you fall asleep in the car, head resting against the window, he doesn’t say anything. Just glances at you, once, and turns the music down.

The house is cursed, because of course it is. Two people already dead, one missing, and a sulfur trail leading straight to the basement.

You go in first. Dean protests, obviously.

“You’re not bulletproof, you know.”

You glance over your shoulder, smirking. “Neither are you. But I look better while risking my life.”

He doesn’t argue.

Not out loud, anyway.

Inside, the air is heavy. Thick with bad energy. The kind that sticks to your skin. Dean’s right behind you, flashlight sweeping, gun drawn. You’re holding a small dagger you stole got from a Haitian priest once. Dean always makes fun of it— until it saves both your lives.

Which it does.

Twice.

“You okay?” he breathes after the second time, chest heaving.

You glance at your bleeding shoulder and shrug. “Ruined another blouse. Guess you’ll have to buy me a new one.”

He glares at you, then rips part of his flannel and presses it to the wound. “Stop joking.”

You blink. His hands are warm. His voice is serious. “You could’ve died,” he mutters.

You smile, softer now. “So could you.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours. And for once, there’s no banter. No sarcasm.

Just that look.

That goddamn look.

The one you’ve seen flicker in motel rooms and over diner coffee, in the lull between hunts. The one he always hides before it can mean anything.

This time, he doesn’t hide it.

He brushes your hair back, careful of the blood. And you let him.

You defeat the cursed object together; barely. It shatters in a flash of flame and screams, and when it’s over, you’re both on the floor, breathless, singed, bleeding.

You laugh.

Dean groans.

“You’re the worst,” he says.

“I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but stops. Because he’s realizing you might be right.

Next thing you know, the air in the motel room is heavy. You’ve both cleaned up—sort of. You’re in a silk robe now, blood rinsed from your skin but not from your memory. Dean’s wearing an old band tee with a rip near the collar and sweatpants, barefoot, jaw still clenched. He hasn’t looked at you since the kiss.

You don’t know if that’s a good sign.

You sit across from him at the little table between the beds, picking at your nail polish, pretending you’re not waiting for him to say something. Anything.

“You could’ve died today,” he finally mutters.

“You already said that.”

He looks up, eyes sharp. “You didn’t react the first time either.”

You shrug. “I didn’t feel like getting all misty-eyed about it while covered in ghost goo.”

Dean leans forward, elbows on the table, and you swear— his gaze softens. Just for a second.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your stomach flips. Violently.

And now you’re just… staring at him. He’s not looking away. He’s not covering it with sarcasm or barking an insult or making some gruff joke about how everyone dies in this line of work, sweetheart. He’s just sitting there, looking at you like losing you would gut him.

You don’t do emotions. Not like this. Not in daylight. So you smirk, instead. “God, you’re being so clingy.”

Dean chuckles under his breath, but it’s not amused. It’s devastated.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend this doesn’t matter.”

You open your mouth to toss something clever back, but nothing comes. Because it does matter. And you both know it.

So instead, you get up.

Walk over.

Slide into his lap like it’s nothing.

But it’s everything.

His hands automatically grip your hips. His breath catches.

And you whisper, “I don’t want to lose you either.”

It’s the softest he’s ever seen you. And he looks at you like he’s memorizing it — like this might be the only time he gets to see you with your guard down.

Then he presses his forehead to yours. You sit there for a long time, just breathing each other in. Not kissing. Not speaking. Just holding.

The line between friends and lovers? It’s already blurred. Hell, it’s obliterated.

You slide your hand up the back of his neck. His breath hitches. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I’m not gonna run anymore,” you whisper. “So stop looking at me like I’m gonna disappear.”

Dean exhales shakily.

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

Like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat. His hands grip your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. You sink into him like he’s home.

It’s not neat. It’s not soft.

It’s messy.

Years of denial crash in one second— teeth, tongues, groans swallowed into skin. You push him back further against the mattress and climb over him, still straddling his lap, your hands yanking at his shirt like you’ve waited lifetimes to touch him without consequence.

Dean flips you, presses you into the mattress, mouth hot on your neck.

“Should’ve done this the second I met you,” he mutters into your skin, voice wrecked.

“You were too busy pretending I annoyed you.”

“You did annoy me.” He grins against your collarbone. “Still do.”

You moan when his hands slide under your robe. “Shut up and take it off.”

Dean’s hands are on you; rough, urgent. His fingers digging into your waist, your body pressed flush against his. His breath is ragged, hot on your neck. You’re both trembling, not from the cold but from something deeper, more raw.

You gasp as his lips meet yours again, his mouth is hard against yours, like he’s trying to consume you. And you’re not exactly pulling away either.

Your hands are on his chest, pushing his shirt off, nails scraping against his skin, making him groan low and deep in his throat.

“You sure about this?” he growls, his hands sliding up your thighs, his grip firm and possessive. His lips move down your neck, kissing and biting, and you can’t stop the shiver that races through you.

“I’ve been sure since the first time I laid eyes on you, Winchester,” you breathe out, your voice shaky but bold. The words feel like they’ve been building up for months, desperate to spill out.

Dean’s hands slide lower, just shy of where you need him. “Yeah? Then why’d you keep running from me?”

You’re not sure if it’s the heat, the pressure, or the way he looks at you with that fire in his eyes, but you snap, your patience snapping like a rubber band. You rip his belt off, hands shaking but determined.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this too,” you snap, before kissing him hard again, all teeth and tongue, pushing your body against his, aligning the two of you in one swift motion.

Dean’s breath hitches in his throat, a low growl escaping his lips as he finally lets you have control. His hands are on your hips, guiding you, the pressure between your legs sending an electrifying jolt through your entire body.

The world outside the room disappears. There’s nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing, the slick slide of skin on skin, and the rhythm you’re both setting— raw, frantic, desperate.

His voice breaks as he pulls you closer, his lips pressing against your ear. “God, you feel so good, baby. So fucking good.”

You don’t hold back. The tension, the need, it’s been bubbling beneath the surface, and now, it’s exploding. You move against him, your body finding its rhythm with his, chasing that overwhelming heat, that burn that has nothing to do with the hunt, with monsters. It’s just the two of you now, tangled in sheets, no masks, no pretenses.

Dean groans as you shift, his hands gripping your hips tighter. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Should’ve had you like this from the start.”

You smile, teeth grazing his jawline as you pull back just enough to look him in the eye, your breath uneven. “Took you long enough to catch up.”

“You feel so good,” he mutters between kisses. “Damn, you feel better than I imagined.” His voice is low, strained, the heat in his tone like fire. “Always knew this was gonna happen… didn’t realize it’d be this fucking good.”

Your movements become faster, rougher, and Dean matches you, his hands gripping your hips harder as he takes control of the rhythm. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, the soft, breathy moans you both can’t hold back, fill the room. And you can feel his eyes on you, burning with an intensity that sends a wild thrill straight through your core.

His name is a whisper on your lips as you both fall into it. That final, explosive moment when you can’t tell where you begin and he ends. It’s pure, intense, all-consuming.

And when you both finally collapse into the bed, gasping for air, sweaty and wrecked, there’s no question.

You’re not just two people sharing a night anymore.

You’re tangled up in something deeper.

Something that’s not going to fade in the morning.

After, you’re tangled in the sheets, your head on his chest, his hand lazily tracing patterns across your bare back.

“You’re mine now, huh?” he murmurs, voice all husky and smug and soft.

You hum. “I was starting to think you’d never ask...”

Dean kisses the top of your head. “We’re really doing this?”

You look up at him. “Yeah. We are.”

Dean’s face breaks into a grin, clearly amused, but his eyes flicker with that intense, familiar heat. “You sure you’re ready for all this, sweetheart?” He motions to himself dramatically. “I’m a lot.”

You pause, staring at him, before letting out a mock gasp. “Oh no. Does that mean I’m gonna have to be the one saving you next time?”

Dean laughs, the sound rich and full of life. “Baby, the only thing you’ll be saving is my dignity— if there’s any left after last night.. And maybe if you get lucky a few monsters along the way.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.” You give him a wink, running your fingers through his hair. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you out of trouble, huh?”

Dean leans in, catching your lips in a kiss that’s lighter than before but still packed with that unmistakable Dean Winchester intensity. “You’re my trouble now, sweetheart.”

And for the first time, it feels like everything’s exactly as it should be.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @twelveyearsofit @tinas111 @riteofpassage77 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

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tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[wvyik]

tied up in you. d.w. ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: dean in a suit is already a problem, but when you fix his tie? yeah, you’re done for. he’s all smug smirks, teasing touches, and a promise that maybe you’ll be the one taking it off later.

⤿ warnings: fluffy, dean being a menace™, teasing, lowkey shy! reader??, mildly unfair levels of attraction, no actual smut, just dean making it everyone’s problem.

⤿ notes: listen… dean struggling with his tie? teasing the hell out of you while you try to keep it together? yeah, i had no choice but to write this. i fully blame him and his stupidly attractive smirk. hope y’all enjoy suffering with me <3

The hunt called for undercover work, which meant Dean Winchester in a suit — a sight so rare it should’ve been illegal. He knew it, too. The way he stood there, all cocky confidence in that dark jacket, crisp white shirt stretching just right across his broad chest; it was unfair. And you? You were trying so hard to keep it together.

But then, of course, he had to ruin it.

“This thing’s choking me,” Dean grumbled, yanking at his tie like it had personally offended him. “Feels like I’m being strangled.”

You swallowed, watching his fingers fumble with the silk, twisting it into something that barely resembled a tie at all. It was painful to witness.

With a deep breath, one you really needed, you stepped closer, reaching out hesitantly. “Um… here, let me—”

Dean smirked instantly, eyes flicking up to yours. “Knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks went hot immediately. “That’s not—”

“Shh.” His smirk widened as he tilted his head down, watching you through dark, hooded eyes. “Go on, then. Fix me up.”

You hesitated, your fingers hovering just above the knot. He was so close, the scent of his aftershave and warm leather wrapping around you, making it even harder to focus. With a quiet breath, you carefully loosened the mess he had made, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

Dean let out a low hum, amused. “Damn, sweetheart. If I knew this was all it took to get you this flustered, I would’ve worn a suit ages ago.”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on fixing the tie, but he wasn’t making it easy. His hands found your waist, warm and steady, resting there like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your pulse hammered, your fingers trembling slightly as you adjusted the silk, smoothing it down against his chest.

Dean caught it instantly. His smirk deepened. “Nervous?”

You bit your lip, not trusting your voice.

His voice dipped lower, teasing. “C’mon, sweetheart. It’s just me.”

That’s the problem.

You exhaled shakily, finishing the knot with a soft tug. “There. All done.”

Dean glanced down briefly before his eyes flicked back to yours, glinting with something entirely too smug. “Damn. Looks almost too good to take off.”

You barely had time to process that before he leaned in just slightly, dropping his voice.

“…But I bet you’d like to do that for me later, huh?”

Oh, he didn’t. Your breath hitched. Your entire body went hot.

Dean grinned, watching your reaction like it was his new favorite pastime. “Aw, look at you.” His fingers squeezed your waist just a little. “All shy on me now, sweetheart?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Nothing coherent, at least. Dean’s smirk turned downright wicked.

“Tell you what,” he murmured, straightening up, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. “Be a good girl, help me get through this case, and maybe I’ll let you take it off me later.”

Your brain completely short-circuited.

Dean just winked, patting your hip before stepping back. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go play dress-up.”

You stood there, still burning, still speechless, as he walked off— whistling, like he hadn’t just ruined you.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @twelveyearsofit @tinas111 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡