Hello and welcome to my masterlist! Most important things will be located here, as well as my self-indulgent writings. I write for fun and because it brings me joy and comfort. I currently only write for Heath Ledgerās Joker, The Detective (MatPatās character from ETN s3), Simon āGhostā Riley (Sam Roukinās portrayal), and possibly (?) Eddie Munson. I am a student (my studies and my mental health come first), so the expansion of this list as I write will be slow and gradual. I apologize for any typos and I hope you enjoy.
Apparently, SPN owns my eternal soul now.
Last updated: 03/02/2026
Oneshots
Drabbles
One Little Favor (J)
Nighttime Comfort (The Detective)
Much Needed Reminders (Simon āGhostā Riley) <- Most recent drabble
Headcanons
Anything under the tag #J headcanons (tried to link it here, might have to scroll)
Height Difference Headcanons (J) (The Detective) (Eddie Munson) <- Most recent headcanon
Thoughts (WIPs) ~ Random Writings I Mused One Day (typically SPN-related)
Sam Winchester whiteboard piece (Sammy) <- Most recent thing I've been brave enough to post after two years of Self Criticism
recently when im tempted to say 'i'm gonna kill myself' i try to correct it into saying "im gonna walk into the river and become a trout" or some other form of that. this is my new thing
summary ā after a hunt leaves you hurt and overwhelmed, dean finds you trying to be brave and refuses to let you fall apart alone.
pairing ā dean winchester x reader ( fem )
wordcount ā 770 genre ā fluffy fluff
warnings ā post-hunt injury, pain, crying, soft caretaking, dean being protective, gentle physical comfort
notes ā read at your own risk ā ļø soft dean below ā ļø
ā ļø¶ā ā support me on ko-fiā Żā šć
you make it all the way back to the motel before you cry.
which feels impressive, honestly. heroic, even. you get through the drive with your teeth pressed together and your arms folded tight over your middle, staring out the passenger window while the streetlights smear gold across the glass. you get through sam asking if youāre okay. you get through dean glancing at you every few seconds in the rearview mirror, jaw set hard enough to crack something.
you get through the door. then you sit on the edge of the bed, still wearing your bloody jeans and one boot, and realize you have absolutely nothing left.
everything hurts. your ribs ache every time you breathe too deeply. your shoulder burns where the thing slammed you into a wall. thereās dirt under your nails and dried blood on your sleeve and your head feels too full, too loud, too mean. you tell yourself to suck it up because thatās what hunters do. youāve had worse. everyoneās had worse.
the bathroom door opens, and dean steps out with the first-aid kit in one hand.
his face changes the second he sees you. āhey,ā he says, softer now. āwhatās going on?ā
you shake your head too fast. ānothing.ā
āthatās not nothing.ā
ādean, iām fine.ā
your voice breaks on fine. stupid. so stupid.
his expression folds, just a little, and thatās what ruins you. not the pain. not the blood. not even the hunt. itās dean looking at you as if he sees exactly how hard youāre trying, and how badly itās not working.
your face crumples.
āoh, sweetheart...ā he murmurs.
you press both hands over your eyes, embarrassed by the sound that comes out of you. āiām sorry. i donāt know why iāmāiām being ridiculous.ā
ānope.ā dean crosses the room fast and sets the kit down. ānone of that.ā
āit hurts,ā you whisper, and it sounds so small you hate it. āit really hurts, and iām tired, and i didnāt want to make it a thing.ā
dean sits beside you, careful not to jostle the mattress. ālook at me.ā
you donāt.
ābaby, come on.ā
you lower your hands, cheeks wet and hot, and deanās face softens in a way that makes you want to cry harder.
he reaches slowly, wiping beneath your eye with his thumb. āyou donāt gotta be tough with me.ā
your mouth trembles. āi kind of do.ā
āno, you donāt.ā his voice goes rough. ānot with me.ā
you try to answer, but another sob catches, sharp and humiliating, and dean just pulls you into him. not too hard. not careless. he guides you until youāre half in his lap, your knees tucked against his thigh, your good shoulder pressed to his chest. one arm wraps around your back while the other cradles the side of your head, fingers smoothing over your hair.
āthere you go,ā he murmurs against your temple. āiāve got you.ā
you cry into his shirt. ugly and quiet. he doesnāt comment on it. doesnāt tease. doesnāt ask you to explain while your ribs are screaming and your prideās already in pieces. he just holds you, kissing your temple once, then again, slow and warm, as if each one is meant to pin you gently back inside your body.
āhurts so bad,ā you mumble.
āi know.ā his hand moves carefully up and down your back. āweāre gonna clean you up, get some ice on that shoulder, maybe some painkillers if sam didnāt hoard āem all in his giant first-aid nerd bag.ā
a wet laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.
dean smiles against your hair. āthereās my girl.ā
āshut up.ā
ānope. youāre in my lap now. legally, i get to be annoying.ā
you sniff hard, fingers curling weakly into his shirt. āi hate that this helps.ā
his arms tighten just enough to make you feel held without making the pain worse. āyeah, well. iām very helpful.ā
the room stays quiet after that, except for your uneven breathing and dean opening the kit one-handed while refusing to let you move off him. he cleans the cut on your cheek with a gentleness that almost hurts worse than the antiseptic, and every time you wince, his thumb brushes your skin as if apology can be a touch.
youāre still aching. still a little embarrassed. but dean keeps you close, mouth resting near your forehead, and for once you let yourself be small because heās holding you as if small things deserve protecting too.
āstay,ā you whisper, barely meaning to say it out loud.
dean kisses your temple again. āyeah,ā he murmurs. āiām not going anywhere.ā
@fishfishcaterpillar requested ā Żā šć reader who got hurt during a hunt and is trying to suck it up but yknow, it hurts like hell and everything sucks, so when dean checks up on her she bursts out crying and he tries his best to helpĀ
.ā„ Ż Ė writing guidelines ā posting schedule ā all works
summary; using your boyfriend's laptop might not have been the best idea. or, dean's.. interest in tentacle hentai gets the better of you, and your relationship. 6.5k words.
content; heavy smut. vaginal/anal sex. double penetration. established relationship. older!dean/younger!reader (about 8-10 years??). tentacle sex. use of sex toys. kink negotiation/exploration. praise/crying/overstimulation/tentacle kink. soft/lover-boy!dean. mentions of porn/hentai/masturbation. reader is inexperienced but deanās a sweetheart about it. and a bit of a perv. <3
any notes? this is SO STUPID, but as usual @samcests has held me at gunpoint and made me write this /j. but nevertheless, here it is! and yes, this is inspired by the fact that dean watches tentacle porn. i can't remember what season the scene is from sadly, but i knew this had to be done..
deanās an.. interesting man.Ā
heās somethingā which sounds a slight bit more polite, if you think about it, and not as if youāre trying to insult him like heās an animal at the zoo. but the two of you together, though? thatās something.Ā
something thatās good. something more real than either of youād like to admit, but itās a bridge to cross when you get there. like how the first time it happened, you couldāve claimed it was a drunken accident.. if you still didnāt keep coming back to the bunker. and his bed, obviously.
now, every time it happens, thereās a clear absence of alcohol or a hangover, missing trauma from a hunt gone wrong or something to celebrate, so thereās no reason for it to keep happening. but it does, and each time it gets more real. itās proof enough for the both of you, though; dean looks at you like youāre the sun and moon combined when youāre in the bunkerās kitchen the next morning, playing it cool with sam, and youāre just happy that heās content with letting you exist in his life.
itās funny. if itād been that one time, then neither of you would be where you are right now (and right now? itās some backwater state, one you canāt remember the name of because a case of āwere-piresā is more important). you know not to get ahead of yourself, like youāve done in the past; for a start, deanās about a thousand years older than youā or so you lovingly claim, much to his dismayā and youāre both hunters. sure, thereās no application for this job, but monogamous isnāt exactly a concept to many in this line of work.Ā
so, what was a casual, one-time thing, fueled by adrenaline-laced blood and god-knows what else, has turned into something else.Ā
a relationship. love.
and what you like to believe is the sudden realisation that dean is actually very interesting.Ā
she lies in the dark, exposed, just begging for the monster under the bed to emerge, rub its tentacles up and along her inner thighs and make its way to her wet, aching cunt.Ā
and when it does slip in, her mind goes numb. the tentacle thrusts in and out, whilst another one trails up her body, toying with her soft tits, rolling and suckling against the flushed skinā
yeah. interesting.
maybe if it was just this one time, you could ignore itā pretend you never found this. but you canāt.Ā
simply put, you canāt get it out of your head. you will never get this out of your head. youāve known for a while that deanās got acquired tastes, especially when it comes to sexā heard the snarky comments from crowley about things theyāve done together; rowenaās utterances about how sheās surprised that youāre ānot some stuffed sex dollā yet; samās grimaces and castielās concerns about what you two do in privateā but you didnāt expect it to be this.Ā
tentacle hentai.
you sit on the edge of the motel bed, eyes scouring the screen of deanās fucked-up laptop thatās been abused by years of viruses from porn viruses and whatever else he does on here. youāre seeking out more than you should, than you need, but you canāt stop it. you want to read this. if anything, youāre getting the best version of dean youāve ever had; the daddyās soldier, porn-addicted dean, put together by your snooping through his personal, explicit belongings. and you canāt really pretend that it doesnāt intrigue you.Ā
whilst it shouldnāt surprise youā you always seem to roll your eyes at his comments laden with sexual innuendos or poorly-timed sex jokes; a part of his personality, you assumedā it sort of does. this is the same man who goes to you, first, after a huntā no matter how good or bad it is, no matter if youāre in different states or not. he makes you laugh. he (sometimes) makes you cry. he buys you things with that credit card that the charlie girl fixed up for the winchesters, takes care of you like itās a part-time job that he actually enjoys, even if thereās no pay. maybe definitely, he just wants you.
so. youāre in too deep. youāre both in too deep. the lines between co-workers (waitā is that even a thing when youāre hunters? co-hunters?) and lovers blurs, and suddenly, you find yourself finding interesting, albeit slightly nauseating, hentai and smut on your boyfriendās laptop whilst heās out getting beer from the only store in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.
nothing could be any more romantic. really.
it fucks her for hours, its appetite insatiable no matter how much she cums on it. her fluids leak down her dripping, stretched hole, run down her thighs as it ravages her body. she drifts in and out of consciousness, wondering if itās all realā
āwhat are you doing?ā
you grasp the sides of the laptop tightly, freezing up like youāve become paralysed. itās as if youāve been caught with your hand down you pants as you will yourself to tear away your eyes from the glowing screen, only to find dean standing in the centre of the motel room. you were so engrossed with.. whatever it is that youāve been doing that you didnāt notice him coming in. and, you also didnāt notice that the laptop started playing some of the porn thatād been saved on the hard drive.
āi, um, didnāt think you could read,ā you reply, feeling your face warm up as thereās an overdramatic moan from the speakers. thereās an ache between your thighs as you eyes glance back at the screen, and then back to the man who probably definitely wants you to get fucked by tentacles. āis thereāā another moan. squelching. your fingers fumble over the keyboard as you finally mute the video. āis there something you want to tell me?ā
somehow, deanās face is expressionless. he crosses his arms over his chest defensively. ādunno what youāre talkinā about,ā and whilst he seems calm, in control, the laugh that accompanies his oblivion is unconvincing. āuh, you seem busy, so iām gonna come back laterāā
now, you could not put up a fight, accept that heās going to live in denial that you now know about the erotic porn heās in to, but you wonāt. for a start, the evidence is right in front of youā bright, technicolour images of women getting fucked brutally by pulsing tentacles; literature thatās made of stuff that would give anyone a heart attackā and youāre not entirely sure if you can look him in the eyes after this.Ā
youāre not going to lose him over thisā no, thatās too childish, getting embarrassed over your boyfriendās interests. but, to your knowledge, thereās no wiki-how or anything that tells you how to handle something like this.
āāsweetheart?ā
you snap your head back up, lowering the laptop screen just a bit. heās still keeping a distance between you two, as if your budding curiosity is actually some strange, infectious perversion, and it makes something in your chest ache.Ā
āi donāt know what to say,ā you decide to keep it honest, a little lighthearted, as he nods slowly. he shifts on the spot. āi meanā i donāt see anything wrong with thisā itās justāā
āāitās just that youāre not into it,ā he answers for you, leaving no space for you to confirm nor deny his claim. āand thatās fine, itās coolā likeā iām not expecting you to be into that shit, ācause itās justā itās fuckinā weirdāā
between the two of you, neither of you can get out a coherent, complete sentence. your heart beats faster, your body aching with it, as dean rambles on. heās trying to dig himself out of this hole heās gotten himself stuck in, and you just canāt help but to imagine what he looks like when heā
legs spread. hand wrapped loosely around himself because, unlike you, he can actually hold himself with one handā well, just about. head tipped back a little, as he strokes himself, wanting it to be you in the videosā
you shake your head. ādeanā i. donāt. care,ā even though you do, if the way your underwear seems to grow wetter with each passing second. āi mean, everyoneās got something that turns them on, and, yāknow, it could be like child porn or something you were into.. and only then would we have issues,ā and, of course, your poorly-phased and ill-timed joke lands with no laughs, but still, you continue. to try and make this as not weird as possible. āi just didnāt know you were into all this stuff, and you couldāve told meāā
āwhat, you wanna watch tentacle hentai together? let me hold your hand like i do when i eat you out?ā
maybe this is because youāre a pervert (which, maybe). maybe itās because you know that dean likes this, that you now canāt get the image of him touching himself to the vulgar content out of your head, your cunt throbbing like youāre literally on fire as your vision is filled with the lurid colours of cartoon girls getting all her holes filled by some tentacle monster.
but you really canāt forget what youāve seen. the feeling of your heart poundingā much like the tentacles did into some young womanās cuntā inside your chest as you try to process this new realisation is something of a heart attack.
tentacle porn. thereās tentacle porn on deanās laptop. thereās tentacle porn on deanās laptop and he enjoys it.
and maybe thereās also the fact that you enjoy it as well. you like it so much that itās taking every bit of your self-control not to look back at the screen, even though you can see slivers of it in the reflection on the keyboard of the laptop, see how the girl writhes and moans. your skin feels hot.
however, this isnāt about you.Ā
āitāsā godāā you whine, you catch how dean looks unreasonably pleased, bobbing slightly on the balls of his feet when you do so. ālike, iām all for kink exploration, and iām definitely down to do whatever you likeāā
āso youād be into it?ā thereās more excitement in his voice than necessary, and you feel yourself grow even hotter. you realise your face is sort of in line with his dick at this height, and you have to drop your eyes to the slightly-closed laptop so you donāt think about how hard he is from all of this.Ā it's all-too obvious as his dick strains against his jeans.
āno, itās justā but iā i mean, this?ā you find yourself saying to him, ignoring the visceral demand from your body to say āyesā. you push the laptop open, your eyes hurriedly looking for an excerpt to read aloud. to prove a point to himā that you are not into tentacle porn like he is. āhereā and i quote; āeach time the tentacles enter her, a spurt of liquid seeps from her pussy, joining the sheen of sweat on her body. they fuck into her relentlessly, brutally, never giving her a chance toāāā
and before you can continue, heās gone. like, āout the door and probably not coming backā gone.
you sigh to yourself, putting the laptop to one side. in hindsight, you shouldāve known this was bound to happen;
maybe youāre just not perverted enough for someone who has enough trauma to fill the grand canyon. for someone whoās used hyper-sexuality like a shield to get through life, fucking one woman after random woman. daddyās little soldier, or so youāve heard over the years.Ā
but itās weirdā youāll admit it because you canāt deny it any longer without feeling insaneā fucking bonkers, and yet so undeniably intimateā even if he didnāt exactly share this with you. that, yeah, he may have run away, but he didnāt lash out, or even try to throw hands or some shit (compared to some guys youāve been with, who lost their minds when you suggested they might have a mommy kink).Ā
youāre pretty sure the tightness in your chest is guilt. heavy-laden, sticking your bones and all to your muscles, restricting your breathing. itās stupidā stupidā to feel like this, because you havenāt done anything wrong. neither of you have, actually. itās just that youāre here, alone, and dean is somewhere, alone.Ā
all over fucking tentacles..
..but, to your surprise, he does come back. about five or so minutes later. bursting through the door whilst heās slightly flushed in the face, looking as if heās ran a marathon.. and the suspicious damp spot on the front of his jeans. naturally, your eyes wander there, and it doesnāt take you half a second to work out why itās there.
āokay, uhā sorry ābout thatāā
you blink slowly. āyou jerked off?ā
āhey, iām only a man,ā he points an accusatory finger your way, like youāre to blame for all of this, as if he wasnāt the one who had to go and jerk himself off over the thought of hentai. but he must catch your guilt-ridden face, because heās straightening up soon enough. āi just.. i know thereās a lot of freaks out there, but i didnāt think you would be, yāknow, into that.ā
āwhat do you mean?ā you laugh nervously. āiām down for.. it.ā you try to sound convincing, even though the words feel like barbed wire in your mouth as you force them out.Ā
āsweetheart, iām not judging you or anything, but your version of ādown for itā typically consists of some apple-pie level shitā and, yāknow itās not that iām not into it, but..ā
you wave a hand, nonchalant. āitās fine,ā itās not. āi get it.ā you donāt get it.
youāre not very convincing, it seems, because he keeps going. āseriously, sweetheart? should i remind of when i tied you up and we did anal?ā you feel that guilt dissipate, instantly replaced with horny nostalgia and mild shame. you know where heās going with this. āhow much you cried? jeez, even sammy cries during sex, but itās nothing like the way you didā or do, really.ā
you canāt decide if thatās an insult or a compliment.Ā
āso, uhā yeah, i can see it in your face that you wanna try it, but you really donāt have to if youāre not comfortable with it,ā dean pushes the laptop across the crumpled motel sheets, before sitting down next to you. youāre glad heās now next to you, instead of before youā he canāt see the way your eyes glass over. ābut i know you, and i know you wonāt let this go no matter how much i say it, but iām tellinā youā we donāt have to do it.ā
..so. you arenāt a pervert.
what you really are, is just a girl in love. a girl in love with someone much older than her, who knows things, is into kinky things.Ā
you swallow that uncomfortable ache in your throat, realising that he probably finds you endearing, enamoured by your innocence. empathy and sympathy donāt really exist in the dean winchester dictionary, but with you, they do. and you notice itā how, when heās with you, those parts of his brain and heart are active.Ā
and as a man who thrives on repressed emotion and bloody hands, heās going to have more.. perverse tastes. itās only natural, because never in his life has he had something like thisā precious and delicate, something to be kept behind glass and observed.Ā
simply put, it consumes you. the overwhelming peace youāve seem to brought upon him, with that deep pit of senseless dread as you wonder when the impending end of your cookie-cutter relationship will hit you. because this isnāt him. this is not dean. heās not made for domestic solitude. the yearning.
and all because youāre notā
āi want to do it.ā
āwaitā are you sure?ā deanās got your face between his hands, his eyes intent on your own. āācause, we really donāt have to, sweetheart, iāll survive.ā
you shake your head as best you can. āno, iām serious. i want to do it.ā
and itās the first time youāve sounded confident throughout this whole conversation.
of course, dean being dean, he just canāt help himself. with his mouth suddenly on yours, you canāt will yourself to pull away, and especially not when he drags you harder onto him, crushing his lips against yours. itās sloppy, eager, loving.Ā
and when he pulls away, he grins at youā lovingly, unbelievably wide. youāre pretty sure youāve died.Ā
āyouād really do it.. for me?ā
fuck.
you canāt tell if this will be a bad idea or not.Ā
in hindsight, you shouldāve known dean would pay for express shipping.Ā
however, youād downplayed his excitement a little too much; not realising that the next morning, heād been online and looking at custom-made dildos that were shaped like tentacles, talking feverishly about how many inches he could stuff inside your cunt. all the while you silently nodded and smiled, pretending you were not internally freaking out about those.. things going inside of you.Ā
(also, you donāt think sam will ever look at you the same way again, considering dean was hypothesising about how much tentacle dick you could take at the goddamn breakfast table).Ā
and now, youāre in the bedroom on the bedā the shared bedā elbow on your knee and your hand over your mouth. nothingās actually happening at the moment, but your adrenaline-ridden anticipation is threatening to make an appearance in the form of a scream. or vomit.
every minute noise sets you more on edge than you were before. youāre merely waiting, something youāve done before, but this feels different. it is different. youāre waiting, because deanās gone to pick up his āspecial deliveryā, and you wanted to get ready. for what, youāre not sure, as heās kept his plans for you quiet. and deanās not one to be quiet.
your mind feels like a never-ending hamster wheel of thoughts. the other hentai he has that he showed you earlierā and, yes, he did hold your hand like he said he wouldā plays on loops in your mind, making your cunt even wetter than it already is. and you just kept saying āyesā over and over, agreeing mindlessly to whatever he said or suggested, until you ended up here. feeling like youāre two seconds away from an euphoric-induced heart attack. because, soon enough, itās going to be you.
using an anthropomorphic toy isnāt the type of thing you do in front of people (unless thatās your job, of course), let alone allow your boyfriend fuck you with a tentacle dildo and have a front-row seat. since this discovery, you thought about telling him how you used to ride his pillow to get off, make it fair and all, but youād rather die before you did that. whatever this is, itās enough extremely sexual intimacy for now.Ā
(though, you doubt that dean would judge you for that, considering what youāre about to do. it was only like.. just around one hundred times. but to be fair, you lost count in the end, so it was probably more).
the door to the bedroom creaks open, and dean strides in. heās got something behind his back. as he catches the sight of you, his face lights up with that predatory grin, and thatās when you see it.
the box.
you gape at it. for something small (because he was kind enough to not want to kill you with this.. thing), itās thirty-five, maybe forty inches. and whilst you know thatās only the size of the box, youāre more concerned with the contents inside.
silently, you pray thereās ice at hand.Ā
āyou put that in.. someone?ā
āyeah? thatās the whole point?ā dean frowns, but softens up soon afterā he must see the disturbed concern thatās etched into your face like a second skin. and, of course, he interprets it as you being concerned for him. ādonāt worry, sammy didnāt see this,ā he gently shakes the box, and you swallow thickly when you hear the dull, heavy thudding from inside. āyouāre gonna be alright, promise. i know what iām doing.. sort ofāā
and when you find the words you really want to say, you cut him off and ask, āi still canāt believe youāre into this.ā
āwell, you never know what a guy may be into,ā he shrugs, as if itās the most normal thing to admit to. itās fucking tentacle porn, your brain screams. āand, i mean, i know what youāre into, sweetheart.ā
itās your turn to frown.
āitāsā justāā you lose your thoughts as he begins to hurriedly unbox it. something flips in your stomach when you hear him let out a quiet, low whistle. āsex doesnāt always have to be so.. violent.ā
he turns to you slowly, raising a brow. āi know that,ā his hand lingers over the half-open box. āand iām not sayinā thereās anything wrong with it, sweetheart. iām happy enough to do what you like.ā
āand thatās the thing!ā you jump up from the bed, making your way over to dean. when you reach him, you feel a shiver of dreaded anticipation rush over you as you see it; the dildo. dark pink and swirled with purple glitter, probably definitely about ten or so inches. itās obviously bigger than him, already making your insides hurt from the look of it, as you take in the pointed tip and thick base. the ridges that run up and down it, the slight curve at the end. as you freeze up from the sight of it, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in, your noses touching. anything to get rid of your fears. āyou always do so much for me, and what do i do? nothing, thatās what. pleaseā i just wannaā want toāā
ālet me fuck you silly because i deserve it?ā
itās not the exact phrasing youād use, but heās not wrong. even outside of the bedroom, heās doting; a downright lover-boy. thereās also the small thingsā showering you with affection and gifts, like he needs to anything and everything to keep you happy, even though youāve told him countless times that he doesnāt need to. rakes his hands through your hair, buys you the ice-cream you like (even though itās a flavour he hates). youāre something for him to take care of.
itās sickā sickā how much he loves you. youāre in debt to him. and so, youāre going to push yourself out of the comfort zone, be a big girl, even though youāve never been one to willingly get yourself hurt, let alone do something like.. this.
but all you want is for dean to feel good, just like he does for you.
āiā sweetheart,ā he sighs, bringing you back to the present. you meet his eyesā ones youāve looked at time and time again, but right now? they seem too intent; too serious. he must pick up on the anxieties that wash over you. ānone of that matters to me, okay? all that i care about is how you feel. but the fact you want to do thisā do this for me? okay, yeah, it means the world to me, but you..ā he cups your face with one hand, lips grazing yours. ānow. shall we get this plug out and.. stuff you?ā
you nod shyly, feeling your cunt clench around nothing as he reaches around to palm your ass, his fingers fumbling blindly to find the plug. heād wanted you to be readyā ready for you to take his cock as well as the dildo he bought for you.Ā
and because youāre nice and kindā and, well, youā you said yes.Ā
heās quick to strip you downā drags your jeans off with no hesitation, chucks your panties onto the bed along with the dildo. when heās gotten himself comfortable on the bed, he pulls you onto his lap, his hard cock brushing against your cunt and making you gasp slightly. you shift your position as you grind a little on him, your ass feeling strangely empty and loose now without the plug. but you donāt even have a chance to think of a complaint, before heās pushing himself into your ass, making you cry out.Ā
āshhā ās okay,ā dean gently clamps his hand over your mouth, forcing you to look at him through blurring vision. āām not gonna hurt you sweetheart; you know that. youāā he hisses through his teeth as your nails dig into his flannel. āyouāre gonna be okay. just gotta trust me.ā
every inch of him has you whimpering against his hand, you teeth wetting his skin. itās nothing short of a lot, made possibly more painful and pleasurable as he begins to grind upwards into you, pushing himself further into your ass. the stretch isnāt like what you felt with the plug; new, moving, but it begins to mellow as you feel your breathing return to normal, your body (and ass) adjusting to his cock.Ā
āyou good?ā he asks, one hand on your waist as he finally removes the other from your mouth. you donāt trust yourself to speak, but nod firmly, blinking away the tears.
āyeah, iāmā ās just a lot,ā you manage to get out, even if your stomach tenses every time your cunt clenches around nothing. he hums in response to this, his fingers wet as he drags them lazily over your cunt. āitāsā deanāā
āalready so wet fāme,ā he mutters, wet teeth grazing your jawline. you whine in response, feeling so exposed and vulnerable, as he pushes his fingers in. ābeinā so good right now, yeah?ā
you let out a stifled gasp as he rubs against your clit. āyeah, iā i am.ā
dean laughs softly at that, his mouth finding yours, as he continues to finger you. making you as readyā and looseā as possible, ready for what heās about to do. and all you can do to contribute to this is whine and writhe, tell yourself over and over that heās never anything but gentle and kind with you. heās not going to hurt you.Ā
and, once youāre reduced to a begging mess on his lap, he pulls his fingers from you and picks it up. your brain goes numb at the sight of it, your mouth dry as he guides the fat, silicone tip to your wet cunt. the firmness of it startles you, threatening to push forcefully into your wet folds as he pokes and prods at you with it. in another timeā one where youāre not about to get fucked with a tentacleā youād have laughed, but not now.Ā
now, your breath catches when he pushes a bit harder, the fat tip grazing up against your clot and making you whimper. you press your face into his shoulder, his cock pulsing slightly in your ass.Ā
heās most definitely getting off on this alone.Ā
you decide that by doing thisā hiding your face away, because out of sight; out of mind is applicable hereā it wonāt be as bad, but as soon as the head pushes past your folds, stretching you ever-so slightly, youāre more than ready to chicken out. but you wonāt. you will not do that to dean.Ā
a shiver runs over you as your cunt tried to grasp onto the couple of inches heās got in you; those thick and ridged and thick inches. heās still got you by the waist, hand wrapping around to the small of your back to pull you closer to him.. and also the toy.Ā
ādonāt have to do this,ā he reminds you, hesitating. āitās fine, we canāā
you pull quickly away from his shoulder, shaking your head. āi can do it,ā slips from your mouth, before you place your head back where it was. he doesnāt complain. āiāmā justāā
you take in a deep breath, holding back a whine as the girth of the dildo becomes too much. heās still pushing it in, going as slow as he can, until heās got as much as humanly can into you. he holds it there as he gives you time to adjust; the stretch is enough to bring tears to your eyes, you cunt tightening and spasming around the toy. you can feel the ridges against your walls, the corded veins of varying shades of pink that are never to soften. itās just so fucking big.
itās nothing short of overwhelming, even with dean ensuring you that this is safe and comfortable. but you can tellā heās desperate to shove the toy into you. and you canāt deny that you also want him to do that. however, the two of you both know that this needs to be slow, taken at a certain pace.. though, youāre beginning to grow restless.
his hand gropes at the small of your back and your ass as you breathe in and out deeply, trying to regain control of your overwhelmed senses. his other hand leaves the toy where it is, sandwiched between his abdomen and your cunt, coming up to cup your cheek and bring your eyes to meet his.
āyou promise me that youāre fine?ā heās smiling softly, but his tone is concerned. he brings your face closer to his, your noses touching. āācause you sound like youāre seconds away from a heart attack.ā
and despite how your head is currently swimming, everything feeling like youāre on cloud nine, you nod lazily. it canāt have been more than five or so minutes, but it feels like youāve been doing this for forever.
ālook so fuckinā pretty fāme like this,ā he comments, planting soft kisses on your lips inbetween his words. āfeelinā good?ā
āās good,ā you find his hand on your face, removing it entirely and bringing his fingers to your mouth. ābut i want you to fuck me.ā
his brows furrow. āand i willā but letās take this slow, yeah?ā heās looking at you in a way youāve never seen beforeā all soft and tender; almost vulnerableā and it melts you, even if youāre whining and pawing at him.Ā
āwanna feel you,ā you mutter. dean sighs, laying back against the headboard of the bed like he hasnāt got his cock shoved entirely up your ass, or an eleven-inch dildo in your cunt. despite the claims that youāre okay, that you can do this, youāre already sweating and panting. āās so deepāā
āyeah, i know,ā he stifles a laugh, before heās guiding your head back to his shoulder. heās working the dildo in and out of you slowly now, his other hand either petting your hair or holding onto your waist and pulling you down onto him. he keeps praising you as you pathetically ride the two cocks stuffed in you. āand youāre doinā so well, sweetheart. gonna be so gentle with you, ākay?ā
his hand gently gropes the fat of your ass as he begins to push his hips up into you a bit harderā even though his cock is buried in youā making you whine. your face burns when his fingers scrape against your scalp, keeping you down on him. ājust gottaā gotta stay where you are,ā deanās gritting his teeth, and if you werenāt so delirious, youād pick up on his purposeful obliviousness. āhelpinā me out so much..ā
his groans fill the sex-stained air, along with your own noises of either discomfort or pleasure (and with the way you currently are, youāll never decide which one it is), as his hand tightens on your waistā especially when you tighten around him a little too much, whimper because youāre struggling to take two cocks. in a way, itās comforting, having him to do, but itās also not. itās slightly humiliating, letting your boyfriend have his way with your body, stuffing you full in two very special places. itād be rude to start complaining.. right?
when he pulls back the dildo again, using a bit more force than the last time to thrust it into your wet cunt, a sob slips past your lips and you grind your hips into his. you hear him hiss through gritted teeth, before his hand is leaving your waist and finding one of yours.Ā
āiām fiā fuck,ā your voice is all high and strung-out, the way it tends to do when youāre deeply overstimulated. though, on this occasion, youāre deeply, deeply overstimulated. āyouāre just really good at this.ā
without moving your head, you hear him huff. he places his jaw on top of your head as his fingers intertwine with yours. the sanctity, if you can call it that, of the moment invades your body with a certain warmth, some invisible and inexplicable promise. it makes you shiver.
āso fuckinā good fāme, sweetheart,ā dean mutters into your hair, pushing the toy into your faster; deeper; harder. the feeling of something so big and unruly being stuffed into your gaping cunt each time only makes you grind down onto his cock even more feverishly. āgod, ām so glad you did this. gonna fuckinā fill your ass, yeah?ā
you let out a muffled mumble, something incoherent that even you donāt understand, trying to comprehend the pleasure you feel from the weight of both cocks against your walls. truthfully, thereās nothing left in your headā all you can hear is your own pathetic sobbing, his slight pants and strained groans. your cunt makes the most obscene sounds youāve ever heardā sounds that would put those porn videos to shameā and leaking, getting him and the bed all wet. and he seems to show no mercy as he repeatedly starts to shove the toy into you over and over, even when you stop grinding entirely.
dean pushes your legs further apart over his thighs, giving himself a better angle to fuck the dildo into you. youāre opened up enough for him to get one, maybe two, more inches in you, as you begin to writhe and grind on his lap again. you bite down on your bottom lip, ignoring the sheer burn that comes with the new stretchā deep, a little forceful, but soften slightly when his hand lets go of yours and finds its way to your clit.
with your face still buried in his shoulder, you open your eyes to a blurred, watery vision. you pull away entirely and meet his gaze. even as the tears start to fall more freely, your brain feeling like mush from the overstimulation that you think should definitely be considered a crime, heās suddenly cooing at you, wiping away the stray tears from your face.Ā
ājesus, sweetheart,ā he chokes on a laugh as his cock pulses in your ass. āyāsee, i told youā you always cry durinā sex. but at least you look pretty when you do.āĀ
slews of praise fall from his lips as he keeps fucking the toy into you, his thumb moving from your cheek and to your mouth, sliding it over your bottom lip and right in. you whimper around the digit as he starts rutting his hips up into you a bit more feverishly now, that tell-tale sign heās close to orgasm.Ā
heās rutting needily, desperately, whilst still thrusting that damn toy into your cunt that clenches around it tightly each time. you can tell heās going to finish firstā after all, this is his fantasyā wanting to get as much of himself in you as possible.
his breath hitches as he cums, a final, deep and hard roll of his hips, and you feel warm cum seep into your ass. you moan loudly around his thumb, your cunt and ass spasming around the two cocks shoved deep inside of you. youāre also close, and when he suddenly grabs your face by the jaw and gets you to look at him, you think youāre done. youāre completely fucked raw; covered in drool, eyes half-lidded as you gaze hazily at the man you so perversely love.Ā
āput it in,ā you sob, your head aching with a nasty case of overwhelmed euphoria. heās shaking his head, his hips stuttering under yours again as you feel more cum being pumped into you. āput it all in.ā
āfineā fine. yāwant me to put it all in?ā dean asks, and you catch the way his hand shakes slightly with anticipation. you nod fervently, mutter something that comes out as incoherent nonsense. youāre determined to do the right thing for himā the best thing for himā and right now, thatās letting him fuck you raw. in both holes. āākay, then, just gottaā gotta take a bit more..ā
through wet lashes, you notice how he looks down; admiring your gaping cunt, the one he made gape. the same cunt heād worship any day.
the small yelp that you let out as he forces the final inches of the dildo into your cunt make him pause momentarily, before heās grinning wickedly at you. with that, he manages to bury the toy into you right to the base, reassuring and cooing at you. ālook at that.. fuckinā did it for me, sweetheart,ā dean admires, before thrusting all of it in and out of you.Ā
you donāt know if itās all of the toy, or that youāre just too damn overstimulated, but youāre pretty sure you die when you do cum. the whole world seems to disappear, except for the feeling of two cocks in your body, the constant motion of them moving in and out of you. if you felt dumb before, enshrouded in a tranquility that you can only refer to as cockdrunk, you have no clue what it is that youāre feeling now. your grinding becomes extremely sloppy as your orgasm gets the better of you, leaving him to do all the heavy work again.
he keeps shoving the dildo into you over and over, at such a harsh pace until youāre sure that youāre blue in the face. your face is pressed to his, cheek-to-cheek, as he thumbs your face, still brushing away your tears, whilst you keep crying and whining. and by the time youāre both done, thereās at least three loads of cum stuffed into your ass, more of it leaking out and onto the sticky bedsheets. youāre both overstimulated, nerves shot straight to hell, but dean keeps up his promise of never hurting you; just holds you in his arms, his cock still pressed up inside of you, the toy buried in your sore cunt. the two of you arenāt moving any time soon, so, through laboured breaths and whispered sweet nothings, he keeps you in his lap, treating you like you might break at any moment (and youāre pretty sure you will). just like a lover would.
maybe you are a pervert. and maybe thereāll be a next time.
Summary: Nursing a child is not easy, at least when you still have a hard time controlling your milk. Lucky for you, Deanās more than willing to help.
Warnings: Smut, lactation kink, thigh riding, hand jobs.
A/N: It was written for spn kink bingo 2019.
Dean watched Y/N cradle their newborn daughterās head as she held her to feed. The babyās small hand grabbed at Y/Nās newly enormous breasts. They were full and almost bursting with milk. A couple of purple veins could be seen, lining her delicate, honey colored flesh. Her areolas had grown a couple of sizes. Dean had read that it was what nature intended so that the baby would find the milk source much better. Theyād also grown darker in color. Dean didnāt mention that her huge nipples strangely turned him on so, so much.
As Y/N fed their baby girl, Dean saw her bite down on her bottom lip when his baby latched its mouth to her swollen and tender nipple, sucking it in as if its life depended on it. Well, to be fair, it did. He also noticed the little frown in Y/Nās brow subside as she sighed in relief.
Not the distant, fleeting warmth of a sunbeam through a window, but something all-encompassing. A solid, radiating heat that seeps into your very bones. It's the kind of warmth that makes you want to burrow deeper, to press yourself closer to its source and never move again.
The second thing you become aware of is that you can't move.
Not in a panicked, trapped sort of way, no, this is something else entirely. Your limbs feel like they've been filled with lead, heavy and unresponsive, and there's a fog in your brain that makes the simple act of thinking feel like wading through honey. Your eyelids are impossibly heavy, and the world beyond them is dark and soft and quiet.
But you're warm. And you're safe.
Because you're in someone's arms.
You can feel them around you. Strong, solid arms wrapped around your body, holding you close with a gentleness that borders on reverence. There's a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek, a rhythmic heartbeat that you can feel through the fabric of someone's shirt. Your head is tucked into the curve of someone's neck, your body cradled against someone's chest like you're the most precious thing in the world.
And you are so, so comfortable.
Some distant part of your brain tries to piece together how you ended up here. The last thing you remember isā¦ nothing. There's a void where your memories should be, a black hole that swallows up any attempt to reach back and grasp at what came before this moment. It should probably scare you, the emptiness, the not-knowing.. but it doesn't. Not when you're this warm. Not when you're this safe.
A voice rumbles through the chest beneath your cheek, low and rough and achingly familiar.
"ā¦and when you wake up, I'm gonna take you to that diner you like. The one with the pie that's almost as good as mine." A pause, and you feel the arms around you tighten just slightly, as if the speaker is trying to pull you impossibly closer. "Almost. Not quite. But close. And I'm gonna let you order whatever you want. Whatever you want, sweetheart. Even if it's the whole damn menu."
The voice is Dean's. You'd recognize it anywhere that gravelly rasp, that particular cadence that's become as familiar to you as your own heartbeat. But there's something different about it now. Something softer. Quieter. Like he's trying not to wake you, even as he speaks to you.
"Maybe we could even get Sam to come," Dean continues, and you can feel the vibration of his words in his chest, can feel the way his throat moves against your hair. "He'd bitch about the calories, but we could make him. It's good for him to get out. We could make it a thing. A whole thing. You, me, and Sammy. Like old times, exceptā¦ except we've got you now, don't we?"
You feel a hand in your hair, stroking, petting, gentle fingers carding through the tangles with infinite patience.
"And when you wake up, I'm gonna teach you how to change the oil in the Impala. You've been asking me for months, and I keep putting it off. I know I do. That's on me. That's my bad. But I promise, sweetheart, soon as you open those eyes, we'll get you out there. Get your hands dirty. You'll love it. It's good, honest work. And it's a skill you should have."
A pause. The hand in your hair stills for a moment before resuming its gentle motion.
"Or maybe we'll do something else. Something you want. You tell me what you want, and we'll do it. We'll do anything. Anything you want, sweet girl. Justā¦ just wake up. Please. Please, justā¦"
His voice breaks on the last word, and you feel a shudder run through his body, a tremor that he tries to hide by pulling you even closer.
"I'm sorry." he whispers, and his voice is so raw, so broken, that something in your chest aches. "I'm so sorry I never said it. I was gonna say it. I was gonna tell you how much you mean to me, how much you matter, how you're-" He chokes on the words, swallows hard. "How you're the best thing that's happened to us in a long damn time. But I kept putting it off. I kept thinking we had time. I kept thinking tomorrow, next week, next month. I was gonna tell you, I swear I was gonna tell you."
His hand moves from your hair to your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles.
"And when you wake up, I'm gonna tell you. Every single day. I'm gonna tell you until you're sick of hearing it, until you're rolling your eyes at me and telling me to shut up already. I don't care. I don't care if you think it's stupid or embarrassing or whatever. I'm gonna say it. I'm gonna say it because you need to know. You need to know that you're- that you're ours. That you're family. That you're mine."
Another pause. His breathing is uneven, shaky.
"And when you wake up, I'm gonnaā" He stops, and you feel him press his lips to the top of your head, a kiss so tender it makes your heart flutter. "I'm gonna hold you just like this. For as long as you'll let me. And I'm not gonna let go. I'm never gonna let go again."
You've been trying to process his words through the fog in your brain, but they're not making sense. Nothing is making sense. Why is Dean crying? Why does he sound so broken? Why is he talking about you waking up like it's not an inevitability, like it's something he's desperately hoping for?
But the warmth is so nice, and his voice is so soothing, and you're so comfortable.
So you snuggle closer to him.
It's an involuntary movement, one you don't even think about. Just the natural response of your body seeking more comfort, more warmth, more of this incredible feeling of being held and safe and loved. You burrow your face deeper into his neck, your nose pressing against his skin, and you let out a tiny sigh of contentment.
The arms around you freeze.
For a moment, nothing happens. Dean's body goes completely still, his breath catching in his throat. The hand on your back stops moving. The heart beneath your cheek stutters, skips a beat.
Then his grip tightensāso suddenly, so fiercely, that it almost hurts. His arms crush you against his chest, and you feel his whole body start to tremble.
"Sweetheart?" His voice cracks on the word, so high and desperate that you barely recognize it. "Sweetheart, are you- can you hear me? Are youā"
His arms relax a fraction, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you, you suppose. You can feel his gaze on your face, can sense the intensity of it even through your closed eyes.
"Hey," he says, and his voice is shaking. "Hey, sweet girl. Are you awake? Can you hear me? Give me something, baby. Please. Please give me something."
You want to answer him. You want to open your eyes, to tell him that you're here, that you're okay, that everything is fine. But your eyelids are so heavy, and your body is so heavy, and you can't seem to find the words. Your throat feels like sandpaper, your tongue like a dead weight in your mouth.
But you can do this much: you can hum.
It's barely a sound, a tiny vibration in your throat that you're not even sure he can hear. But you try, and you try, and eventually, a tiny "mm" escapes your lips.
Dean makes a sound like he's been gutted.
"Sam.." His voice is ragged, desperate. "Sam! SAM! SAMMY!"
There's a crash somewhere in the distance, the sound of something falling, and then the pounding of footsteps. They're rushing, frantic, and they're getting closer.
"DEAN?!" Sam's voice is panicked, breathless. "Dean, what's wrong?! Is she-"
"She's awake!" Dean's shouting now, his voice cracking on every other word. "She's conscious! SAMMY, SHE'S AWAKE! SHE HUMMED! I HEARD HER!"
New hands touch you. Larger hands, gentler hands. They brush your hair back from your forehead, and you feel a palm cup your cheek, tilting your face up slightly.
"Hey," Sam says, and his voice is so soft, so careful. "Hey, sweetheart. Can you open your eyes for me? Can you try?"
His thumb strokes your cheekbone, and you lean into the touch without thinking. It's instinctive: the way you tilt your head, the way you press your cheek more firmly into his palm, the way you let out another tiny hum of contentment.
Dean makes a sound that's almost a sob.
"You saw that. You saw that, right?" He's babbling now, the words tumbling out in a rush. "She leaned into your handāSam. SAM. Did you see that?!"
"Dean." Sam's voice is strained, trying to be calm even as his hand trembles against your cheek. "Dean, I need you to breathe. You're gonna scare her."
"I'm not- I'm not trying to-" Dean's voice falters. "I justāshe's awake. She's actually awake. After three days. After.."
Three days? The words echoes in your foggy brain, but you can't make sense of it. Three days of what? Why have you been asleep for three days?
But it's hard to focus on that, because Dean is moving again. He's pulling you back against his chest, and then there are hands in your hair and lips pressed to your forehead and a voice whispering, "She's awake. She's awake. Oh god, she's awake."
And then there are kisses. So many kisses. Pressed to your forehead, your temples, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. Dean's lips are warm and soft and trembling, and he's making sounds that are almost coos, almost baby talk, his voice dropping into that low, purring rumble that he only ever uses when you're sick or upset or having a nightmare.
"Open your eyes," he murmurs against your skin. "Come on, sweet girl. Open those pretty eyes for me. Let me see them. Let me see those beautiful eyes."
His hand strokes your hair, gentle and soothing. "You can do it, baby. I know you can. Just a little bit. Just open them for me. Show me those eyes. Let me see you. Come on, sweetheart. Come on."
You want to. You want to so badly. Because Dean's voice is like honey, dripping into your brain and melting through the fog, and you can feel how much he needs this, how badly he needs you to respond.
So you try.
It takes everything you have. Your eyelids feel like they're weighted down with lead, like someone has glued them shut. Every muscle in your face protests the effort. But you push through it, ignoring the resistance, forcing your eyes open.
The world swims into focus in pieces. First, blurred shapes and indistinct colors. Then, gradually, sharpening into something recognizable.
Dean's face is the first thing you see.
He's beautiful like thisāeven with his eyes red and swollen, even with tears streaming down his cheeks, even with his nose running and his lips swollen from crying. He's beautiful because he's looking at you like you're a miracle, like you're the most precious thing he's ever seen, like you've just saved his life by opening your eyes.
"There you are," he breathes, and his voice cracks on the words. "There you are, sweet girl. There you are."
His grip on you tightens to the point of almost-pain, and you feel him start to shake.
"Sam-" His voice is strangled, broken. "SammyāSammy she's opening her eyes. Sam, look- oh my god, look at her- Sam."
"Dean." Sam's voice is a warning, a plea. "Dean, you're going to scare her. Take a breath."
"I don't care!" Dean's voice rises, cracking and breaking. "I don't care! She's awake! She's actually awake! She came back to me!"
And then he's crying.
Not just tearing up, not just a few tears slipping down his cheeks. No. Dean is crying. Ugly, messy, wrenching sobs that shake his entire body. His face crumples, his breath hitching and stuttering, and he buries his teary and snotty face in your hair and holds you so tightly that you can barely breathe.
But you don't want to breathe. You want to stay right here, in his arms, with his tears soaking into your hair and his heart pounding against your cheek and his voice whispering broken, desperate things.
"I thought you were gone-" he chokes out. "I thought you were never gonna wake up. I thoughtāI thought I'd never get to see you again. I thought-"
"Dean-" Sam's voice is thick, and when you turn your head slightly, you can see that he's crying too, silent tears streaming down his cheeks, his jaw tight with the effort of holding himself together. "Dean, c'mon, you're gonnaa suffocate her."
"don't care." Dean sputters weakly, but he loosens his grip just a fraction, enough for you to take a deep breath. "don't care. m'never letting her go again. Never. She's not going anywhere."
You're so confused. You don't understand why they're crying. You don't understand why Dean is holding you like you're going to disappear. You don't understand what happened, what could have happened to make them so upset.
But you understand this: they're upset, and you want to make it better.
So you smile.
It's a tiny smile, barely there, just a slight upturn of your lips. But it's enough. It's enough to make Dean freeze, to make him pull back and look at you with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Did you just-" He swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Did you just smile at me?"
You try to speak, but your throat is too dry, and all that comes out is another tiny hum. But you keep smiling. You keep looking up at him with all the love you can muster, with all the adoration and affection and gratitude you feel for this broken, beautiful man who took you in and made you family.
And Dean breaks all over again.
"Oh, baby." he whimpers, and it's the most broken sound you've ever heard. "Baby, I love you so much. I love you so fucking much."
The words hit you like a physical blow, taking your breath away. Dean has never said that to you before. He's never said those words to anyone, as far as you know. He's been so careful to keep his heart guarded, to keep his feelings locked away where no one can hurt them.
But he's saying them now. He's saying them to you.
"I should have told you," he continues, the words spilling out like a dam has broken. "I should have told you every single day. But I was scared. I was so scared. I thought if I said it, if I made it real, I'd jinx it. I'd lose you. And I couldn'tāI can't lose you. You're everything. You're everything to me, sweetheart."
Your eyes are getting heavy again, the weight of consciousness pressing down on you. But you fight it, forcing them to stay open, because every time you blink, Dean's face crumples a little more, and you can't bear to see him cry again.
Sam must sense your struggle, because he moves closer, his hand coming up to stroke your hair. "It's okay, honey." he says softly, tearyly. "You can rest. We're here. We're not going anywhere."
"No." Dean says quickly, his voice sharp with panic. "No, nono, she can'tāshe just woke up. She can't go back to sleep. She can't-"
"Dean..." Sam's voice is firm but gentle. "She's exhausted. She needs to rest. Her body needs to heal."
"But what if she doesn't wake up again?" Dean's voice breaks on the question, and you feel his grip on you tighten. "What if she-"
"She will." Sam's hand moves from your hair to Dean's shoulder, squeezing. "She's strong. She's a fighter. And she knows we're here waiting for her. So she'll come back."
Dean shakes his head, burying his face in your hair again. "I can't lose her, Sam. I can't. She's all- she's everything. She's the only good thing I've ever- the only good thing that's come outta me is her-"
"Don't," Sam cuts him off, his voice sharp. "Don't do that. Don't talk about yourself like that. You know she doesn't want you to."
Dean doesn't respond, just holds you tighter and cries into your hair.
The fog is getting thicker, pulling you down into its depths. You want to stay awake, want to be here with them, but your body is so heavy and your eyes are so tired and the warmth is so encompassing.
But before you let yourself drift off, you manage one more thing. One more tiny gesture.
You lift your hand, it takes so much effort, so much concentration, and you reach up. Your fingers find Dean's cheek, trembling and clumsy, and you pat him softly.
It's the best you can do. A tiny pat, a gesture of comfort, as if to say I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. It's okay.
Dean's breath hitches. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your palm more firmly against his cheek.
"Oh, sweetheart.." he whispers, and his voice is so full of love that it makes your heart ache. "Oh, my sweet, sweet girl..."
And then the world goes dark.
You wake up again sometime later.
You don't know how long it's been. The fog is still there, but it's thinner now, less suffocating. Your eyelids are still heavy, but they're not as impossible to open as they were before.
And you're still in Dean's arms.
He's lying down now, you realize. Stretched out on what feels like a bed, with you cradled against his chest. His arms are wrapped around you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other resting on your back. And he's asleep, his breathing deep and even, his heart a steady rhythm beneath your ear.
You can see Sam, too, if you turn your head slightly. He's sitting in a chair next to the bed, his head tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed. But he's not asleep. You can tell by the way his fingers are twitching, the way his brow is furrowed.
He must sense you watching, because his eyes snap open, and when they meet yours, his face breaks into a smile so bright it nearly rivals the sun.
"Hey, sweetheart." he says softly, and his voice is warm and gentle and full of love. "Welcome back."
You try to smile at him, but you're so tired, and it comes out as more of a grimace. But Sam seems to understand, because he reaches out and brushes your hair back from your forehead.
"Take it slow," he murmurs. "There's no rush. Just rest. Dean's got you, and I'm right here. We're not going anywhere."
You want to ask what happened. You want to know why you're here, why Dean and Sam are so upset, why everything feels so strange and off.
But you're so tired. And you're so warm. And Dean's arms are so secure around you.
So you let your eyes drift closed, let yourself sink back into the fog. And you feel Sam's hand on your cheek, and Dean's heart beneath your ear, and you know, you know, that everything is going to be okay.
Because you're home.
You don't remember the hunt. You don't remember the monster that attacked you, or the wounds that nearly killed you, or the two hours that Dean and Sam spent fighting to keep you alive until the doctor could arrive.
You don't remember the three days you spent unconscious, your body fighting to heal itself while Dean refused to leave your side.
You don't remember the doctor's grim prognosis, the words "there's really no way to know if she'll wake up" echoing through the bunker like a death sentence.
You don't remember the way Dean held you for the first two days, his fingers constantly checking your pulse, his ear pressed to your chest to make sure you were still breathing.
You don't remember the way he broke down on the third day, crying into your hair and begging you to come back to him.
But you remember this.
You remember the warmth of his arms around you. You remember the sound of his voice, low and soft and so full of love. You remember the feel of his lips on your forehead, the gentle touch of his hand in your hair.
And you remember the words he said.
"I love you so much. I love you so fucking much."
You're not sure when Dean Winchester became your family. You're not sure when this gruff, broken hunter softened around you, when his harsh words grew gentler and his volume dropped to a purry rumble. You're not sure when you became the sugar in his bitter coffee, the light in his dark world.
But you're grateful for it. You're grateful for every moment of it.
And as you drift in and out of consciousness, wrapped in Dean's arms with Sam close by, you realize something.
This is what family feels like. This is what it means to be loved.
And you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
The next time you fully wake up, Dean is already awake.
He's looking down at you with red-rimmed eyes, his face haggard and drawn, but there's a smile on his lips. A real smile, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners.
"Hey, sweet girl.." he says softly. "There you are."
You try to speak, and this time, your throat isn't quite as dry. "Dean-" you croak. "Whuā¦ what happened?"
His face flickers, something dark and painful passing through his eyes before he masks it. "You don't remember?"
You shake your head weakly.
He exhales slowly, his hand coming up to stroke your hair. "That's okay. You don't need to remember. All that matters is that you're okay. You're here. You're alive."
"I'm- I'm sorry.." you whisper, because you can see how much this has affected him, can see the shadows under his eyes and the tremor in his hands. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"Hey." His voice is firm, but not harsh. "Don't you dare apologize. Don't you ever apologize for this. You didn't do anything wrong. You got hurt, and we couldn't get you to a hospital, and we had to fight like hell to keep you alive. That's not your fault. None of this is your fault."
"But you were crying.." you say, and your voice cracks on the words. "You were crying because of me."
Dean's face softens. "Yeah, sweetheart. I was crying. Because I thought I was gonna lose you. And that'sā¦ that's terrifying. You're so important to me. To us. You have no idea."
"I love you too." you say, because you need him to know. Because he said it first, and you need to say it back. "I love you. Both of you. You're my family."
Dean makes a sound like he's been punched. His face crumples, and he pulls you close, burying his face in your hair.
"I love you too, sweetheart," he chokes out. "I love you too. So much. Don't ever forget that. Don't ever forget how much you mean to me."
You feel Sam's hand on your shoulder, warm and solid. When you look up, he's crying again, silent tears tracking down his cheeks.
"We love you." he says softly. "You're our family. And we're never going to let anything happen to you again."
You reach up and take Sam's hand, squeezing weakly. You reach up with your other hand and touch Dean's cheek, patting him softly.
And you smile.
"I'm okay," you say. "I'm okay. You don't have to worry anymore."
Dean laughsāa broken, wet laugh that's half-sob. "Yeah, sweetheart. I'm always gonna worry. That's what family does."
He presses a kiss to your forehead, and Sam squeezes your hand, and you realize that this is it. This is what it feels like to be loved.
headcannons Ł ą£Ŗā Dean Winchester x sensitive!reader (f), non-explicit, Deans smitten, lwk self indulgent, no major r look descriptionsā Iām so sorry tpm pt3 is taking so long, hereās this while yāall wait and I try to gain more motivation to write!!
Ł ą£Ŗā The first time he saw your eyes well up out of nowhere made him panic, what had happened so fast to make you so upset? You were just watching a movie! That panic dwindled when he realized the sad emotional scene in said movie was the one that had moved you to tears, his panic was replaced by a soft yet deep fondness for your tender heart. Now, when he looks over at you during any remotely sad sceneā from fictional, documentary, unrealistic, sitcom, even animated, whatever it isā he knows heāll find tears in your eyes and a pout on your lips. He wonāt dismiss you or tell you itās just fake, or to toughen up, heāll just pull you closer with a gentle smile on his lips, and kiss the top of your head and your tear-damp cheeks.
Ł ą£Ŗā You guys donāt fight much, which actually comes as quite a surprise to many (especially Sam), but when you do thereās been many a times where tears build in your eyes. Whether itās from you being angry and upset, or because his voice is even slightly raised towards you, or even because you felt too mean. After youād both gone your separate ways heād find you with tear streaked cheeks and a blank expression on your face, often curled up and stewing in your own thoughts. If he were still fuming, even with good reason, it would disappear once he saw you. His heart would clench and his shoulders would drop. āBabyā¦ā heād practically whisper before making his way to you. Even if you shy away from him, hiding your face, heād still reach out. Gently and kindly making you focus on him. āmāsorry for raising my voiceā¦ didnāt mean toā¦ āwas just worked upā¦ wasnāt mad at you, sweetheartā his voice so soft and earnest, waiting for your stubbornness to subside before pulling you into him.
Ł ą£Ŗā (for my fellow girlies with PMDD) Your Luteal phase kicks your butt every time. As an already sensitive person itās sometimes a little bit of a whirlwind for Dean, but he canāt imagine how much worse it is for you, heās not the one who feels like the world is against him, times a million. Like if you two and Sam are out on a hunt, doing normal hunter things, like Dean trying to get information out of a lady. The lady is obviously infatuated with him, I mean who wouldnāt be? But your rational thinking exits the building when you need it mostā¦ because on the drive back to the motel, even with Dean's hand on your thigh, you canāt stop thinking about the womanās hand on his bicep or the way he smiled a little as if he was flattered, you couldnāt stop your mind from drifting to the thoughts of āI bet sheās not a soft emotional wreckā and āshe looks like she can hold her ownā or even āDean doesnāt actually want someone like meā¦ā Your extra quiet state made Dean ask what was wrong and you stubbornly tried to brush it off before you were back in your shared motel room and you just blew up. A sad, irritated, sensitive, blubbering mess. Dean was patient, then gave you the āI only want youā speech and meant every word, which only made you cry more because now you felt bad for making him feel bad by being too insecure. To which he just kissed you so gently and so all-consuming that you could only think about him, and to shut you up in the nicest way possible.
Ł ą£Ŗā Dean hates the way your bleeding heart can make you your own enemy, how it can twist things and make you feel so much. But he also adores how you feel so much, and the way your heart is too small to contain all the love you have. He adores the way you crouch down to pet stray kittens in alleys behind diners and beg him to help you take them somewhere warm and safe, he adores how sentimental you can be about things like certain shirts or cups, he adores how you always smile and say hi to little kids and babies as if you knew them personally. He loves how much you love, and he will never take it for granted, especially when itās directed towards him.
YOU š«µ Imagine your f/o kissing you. NOW!!! Your f/o peppering kisses all over your face and down your neck, giving you a couple playful nips at sensitive, ticklish skin before trailing right back up to kiss you on the lips again!! Imagine giggly kisses! Imagine sultry kisses! Imagine soft reunion kisses! Imagine sweet goodbye kisses! Imagine kissing your f/o!!!! Right now!!!! Your f/o wants to kiss you so bad!!!!!!!
