Summary: Always hoping that your one-night stand is creative enough to earn a notch on your bedpost, the man you've chosen this time surprises you in more ways than one.
Warnings: A bit of foreplay; Implied sex
Word Count: 1,790
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader
Word of the Day: (June 3, 2026) - Notch
Author Notes: Thanks for the read-through @princessmisery666.
Graphics: Made by me.
Master List: Word Of The Day
Lips and tongues locked together in a delicate yet fiery dance of desire, you walk him backward into your bedroom while working his belt open. Jackets and shoes had been discarded in the foyer, his tie tossed over the stair railing, shirt abandoned on the first landing, your top and bra cast off in the hallway.
His surprised grunt when his back hits the solid wood breaks the kiss. Hands still snug on your hips, he spins and practically tosses you onto the bed. Eyes hungrily roam your body as he reaches to grip the bedposts and almost immediately drops his hands.
Raising an eyebrow, he leans over to inspect the detail he’d felt beneath those rough, warm, and wonderfully large hands. With a chuckle, he asks, “Are these what I think they are?”
“What,” slipping off the rest of your clothing as you shuffle up to the pillows, recaptures his attention, “do you think they are?”
The corner of his mouth curls as he removes his remaining garments.
Your eyes shift downward, hips rolling with the clench of your pussy. Pride triggers a wave of endorphins and heat pools in your core, certain in the knowledge that you chose well, and this one will earn the twist of your knife to mark his time here.
His smile is smug as he puts a knee on the mattress. “I think,” resting his weight on his forearms, he settles above you, “I’m going to be a notch on your bedpost.”
“Mmmm, well, that” he’s suckling the pulse in your neck, but not hard enough to leave a mark, “depends on how good you are.”
“Oh, yeah?” He kisses along your collarbone, fingers gently gliding down your side.
“Y-yeah.” You feel him smile against your skin when he hits a ticklish spot, and your body reacts. “Only the good ones earn a notch.”
“What if,” a tiny nip at the top of your breast, a quick flick of his tongue over a taut nipple, “I’m better than good?”
Your body instinctively arches, craving to have that perfect mouth latch onto you, teeth scraping your flesh. Instead, his fingers knead your thigh, holding you down as he places kisses across your stomach. “Then you get a place on the headboard. Or, if you’re really, really good, I'll let you carve it yourself …wherever you want.”
The answer distracts him from his descent. He pushes up enough to scan the unmarked panel behind you. Tilting his head, he searches the nightstands and the frame above. “Really?”
His shocked demeanor makes you chuckle, but there is also something akin to sadness in his expression. Like he’s displeased for you. Shaking your head, you sigh, “Sadly, no. I have very high standards.”
Lips pursed, he seems to mull that over for a moment. Lying on his stomach, he nudges a shoulder against your leg, urging you to rest it across his back as he wraps his arm around to hold it there. Face hovering over your mound, he lifts his gaze, and a lethal smirk slowly forms on plump, ruddy lips. “Challenge accepted,” he states, burying his gorgeous face in the wet heat between your legs.
You wake with a groan, muscles protesting as you stretch, but it’s a good ache. Memories of last night make you smile as you snuggle back into the pillow. Calloused fingers ghost over your shoulder and down your arm.
“Sleep well?”
“Mhmm,” Eyes still closed, not wanting to face reality quite yet, you ask, “You?”
“Best I have in a while.”
“Good,” you mumble, and pat his chest, feeling the laugh before you hear it.
You’re drifting off again when he clears his throat. “Uhm, so.”
“No.”
“No?”
Burrowing deeper into the covers, you whine, “Don't want to get up yet.”
“That’s not-“
“What?”
“Sorry. Never-”
Blinking your eyes open at the rustle of sheets and the shift in weight, you grip his arm before he can stand. “Wait. I’m sorry.” Shifting to a more upright position, you run a hand over your mouth to quickly check for drool and, thankfully, find none. “I’m not a cheery morning person.”
“No worries.” Turning to place a knee on the bed, he leaves the other foot planted on the floor, and you realize he’s already half-dressed. “I get it.” He smiles, his demeanor seems expectant.
You smile back, giving a weird little shrug, not sure what to say. Why is this so awkward?
Oh, right. They usually don’t stay.
Then it clicks. None of the others had noticed the marks. Or if they did, they didn’t bother to ask. He’s the first one you discussed it with. He woke you to see how he did. A laugh bubbles in your throat, but then he pats the bed.
“Well, I should probably go.”
“Wait.” The word is pushed out on a frantic exhale, louder than you intended. “Sorry. Just …hold on, I have something for you.”
He arches a brow, feigning surprise, but you can tell he knows what’s coming and expected this outcome. This time, you do laugh and tease, “Ass.”
A hand goes to his chest in mock offense, but the laugh he shares is genuine.
Reaching behind the wood frame next to your head, you pull the knife from its hidden sheath and hold it out to him.
“Wow.”
You’re not quite sure if he’s scared or impressed; maybe it’s both. “Safety first, right?” you unapologetically state.
“Uh, yeah. I’m a little frightened now, but that’s badass.”
He carefully grips the hilt, testing its weight before thoroughly inspecting it. “This is a good knife.”
“Thanks,” you say cheerfully, unsure why you’re elated by his approval. “Alright, I’m gonna,” sliding from the bed, you tilt your head toward the bathroom, “while you, uh, do your thing.”
“Headboard?” he calls out as you reach the doorway.
Peering over your shoulder, you match his cheeky grin. “Anywhere you’d like.”
You’ve never seen a more brilliant smile in your entire life.
Though expected, you’re disappointed to find him gone when you exit the bathroom. You’d taken a few minutes to make yourself more presentable just in case, or to give him a little extra time if he wanted to leave without further conversation.
His mark is easy to find, and your smile grows as you draw closer. He scarred the headboard, right above your pillow. Not with a simple notch, but two distinct letters—D.W.
Fingers tracing the freshly carved wood, you’re reminded that this is where you flattened your hand to protect your head and to give you leverage as he railed into you. Pressing your hand against the carving, you find that the letters fit perfectly within the space of your palm.
Impressed by his attention to detail, you check behind the headboard to find your knife safely back in its hiding place. Yep, you chose well. He’s going to be a hard act to follow. Too bad you couldn’t have more time with him.
Heading downstairs after getting dressed, you hear him before you see him. He turns, phone to his ear, as you hover in the doorway.
He holds up a finger and quickly finishes his conversation, “I gotta go. Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll see ya then.” Stuffing the phone back in his pocket, he gives you a sheepish grin. “Sorry. That was my brother. I was gonna make you some coffee before I left,” he gestures to the pot and bag of coffee grounds on the counter, “but then he called.”
“You were going to make me coffee?” Sexy and sweet.
Grimacing, he rubs the side of his neck. “That’s, uh …yeah, that’s not weird at all. OK, right,” he gives a clipped nod and points toward the door, “I’m gonna go.”
As he’s about to pass by you, you ask, “Would you like a cup?”
“What?”
Walking toward the coffee maker, you repeat, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Uh. Yeah, that …that would be awesome.”
“Great. Have a seat.” He offers to make it for you, but when you decline, he sits, fingers fidgeting with a dish towel you'd left on the countertop. Checking the carton in the fridge, you find the cream is only two days past expiration, but give it a sniff test to be sure and find it passable. “Cream or sugar?”
“Black.”
Nodding, you pull two cups from the cupboard, and though it’s not done brewing, you fill one nearly to the brim, adding cream to the other as an escaped drop sizzles on the base plate.
"Thank you." Dragging his bottom lip between his teeth as you set the steaming mug in front of him, he states, “You don’t have to be polite. I’ll leave if you want me to go.”
“Huh?” He lifts his chin toward the machine behind you as another drip falls to bubble and burn away. “Oh. No.” You wave off his concern with a laugh as you replace the glass decanter. “I’m impatient. I always have at least one cup before it finishes.”
You’re also horrible at small talk, and wonder if he is too, or if he's sensing the same surreal tension as you. You can hear the soft rattle of the metal barstool as his leg bounces while you stand across from him, each silently drinking your coffee. Should you ask his name? Or would that make it even more awkward at this point? The faint clanking stops with the thud of his foot hitting the floor.
“So," you say simultaneously, then chuckle in unison.
With a lopsided grin, he raises a hand, indicating for you to go ahead.
"You have plans today?” It feels like a strange thing to ask, but it's the first thing that popped into your head that seemed appropriate to say aloud.
“Actually,” setting his cup down, he runs his hands over his thighs, “my brother and I just finished up a job, and he decided to go visit his girlfriend. So I have a couple of days free.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“It’s not?”
“Well, it’d be more fun if I had someone to spend it with.” Lips pursed, he waggles his eyebrows, nearly causing you to choke on the coffee you just slurped down. “What’dya think?”
“Are you actually asking, or testing the waters?”
Color tinges his cheeks, but then the confidence that drew you to him decides to shine. “I’m asking if you’d like to put a couple more notches on that bed, with me.”
Laughing, you set your cup aside and lean on the counter in front of him, giving him a nice view of your cleavage. “That’s not how that works, but I’d love to spend more time with you …”
Summary: Sometimes there is no need for words.
Author's Notes: Light angst; Emotional comfort
Word Count: 270
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader
Word of the day (May 25, 2026) - Visit
Beta: @princessmisery666
Graphics: Made by me.
Master List: Word Of The Day
Shadowed, bloodshot eyes greet her as she opens the door. Rumpled clothing and stiff movements denote the miles he's traveled. He always seems to have come from so far away.
Tracing her fingers over the back of his collar, her hand gently lands on his shoulder.
A tiny flinch …then he settles.
Only slightly, though. It takes time.
Helping him remove the jacket, she strokes his arm and briefly squeezes his wrist.
His eyes close …fingers uncurl.
Flannel is next—so many layers. She's teased him about it, but it doesn't change. It's not important anyway. What matters is him.
A sharp inhale …his feet shift.
She smooths soft, worn cotton over his torso and flattens a palm against his chest.
A tight exhale …slowing pulse.
The soft pad of her thumb strokes along his jaw until it unclenches.
He breathes.
She waits.
When the rumble of the engine is the phone call she didn't receive, she knows. She won't be gifted a brilliant smile or cheeky grin. No darkened, hungry gaze, or bright, mischievous eyes. That will come later—when murky moss gives way to sparkling peridot.
Visits like this start quietly, slowly, with soft grounding touches, unspoken reassurance.
When his muscles finally sag, and a haunted, but grateful gaze lands on her, she blinks away a tear and snuggles against him. Holding him as tightly as she can, she splays her hands across his back. Strong, thick arms encircle her and squeeze as he rests his cheek against her head.
It's difficult to breathe, but it doesn't matter.
What matters is he's here. He's safe. He's with her.
Summary: Sometimes your conviction is too heavy to carry alone.
Warnings: A bit of angst
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader
Word Count: 640
Graphics: By me
Author's Note: Collab with @princessmisery666
Word of the day (May 15, 2026) - Creed // Master List: Word Of The Day
Everything hurts—arms, legs, back, hell, even your fingernails have a heartbeat beneath them.
It went sideways. Fast. It always does lately.
Still shaking with adrenaline, you sit on the edge of the bed, attempting to wrap gauze around your forearm.
The bathroom light buzzes like a dying fly. The A/C splutters every couple of seconds. Still, all you hear are the screams.
Dean paces, each heavy footfall a tiny jolt to your senses. It's doing nothing to lessen his anger. Instead, it's winding him up to the boiling point.
“You wanna tell me what the hell that was back there?”
Not looking up, you expel a breath. “I had to try.”
“Yeah?” He barks a laugh with no humor in it. “You almost got yourself killed.”
It was supposed to be a simple case. A milk run. Then you heard crying from somewhere below and charged in before there was a plan.
His hands fist with your shrug.
“You went in alone.”
“I knew you'd follow.”
“Seriously?” his voice cracks like a gunshot.
Giving up on the bandage, you finally raise your head to take him in. Tired eyes, flannel shredded to the point he'll have to throw it out. Drying blood, your blood, stains his neck and collar from when he half-dragged, half-carried you out. Beneath the anger, there's fear. Visible only in the slight twitch of his lip.
“Hunting things, saving people, the family business,” he bitterly mutters. “What if I couldn't save you?”
Your jaw tightens. “That’s your family creed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Pain flashes white-hot through your ribs as you quickly stand, but you ignore it. “It means I’m not leaving people behind!”
“Nobody said that.”
“You did when you pulled me away.”
“Because the damn building was collapsing.”
“There were still people down there!”
“And there would’ve been one more if I hadn’t dragged you out!”
He looks sick at the thought. Silence breathes, furious and contemplative.
Swallowing your own anger, you take a moment to compose your thoughts. “My m …before every hunt, my mom would say, 'Save everyone you can, avenge the ones you can’t'.” Briefly closing your eyes, you heavily sigh. “She believed if somebody died while you stood by doing nothing, their blood stained your hands forever.”
“And what?” Dean shot back. “Yours gets clean if you die trying?”
Ready to fire back, your mind fails to provide the words, and he rages on.
“You run into every hunt like you’ve got something to prove.”
He's right. You've been ignoring the fact that somewhere along the line, you stopped caring if you made it out. “I’m trying to save people," you weakly reply.
He steps closer, voice deceptively calm, but still tight. “You’re trying to punish yourself.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know what it looks like when somebody’s got one foot off the cliff already.”
Feeling too seen under his scrutiny, you drop your gaze.
“You think I don’t get it? You think I don't have the same thoughts?” Voice cracking slightly, features hard, watery eyes seemingly stare into your soul, as he breathes, "If I just bleed enough, hurt enough, maybe it balances the scales.”
“It never balances. It’s never enough," you softly reply.
“No, it’s not, but we fight like hell to save the ones we can."
“It’s not fair.”
“I know.” Rough fingers tentatively caress your uninjured arm. “My entire life has been one long horror movie, watching people die. I can’t... I can’t lose you, too.”
It feels like a gut punch. The words hit too deep. Your chest tightens, squeezing your heart.
The anger is gone. Pain and uncertainty remain, filling the space between you. Dean's hand falls as he turns, but you quickly grab it, moving forward to hold it against your heart.
Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff. W/C: 500. Pairing: Dean x fem!Reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).
Word of the day (May 11, 2026) - Newly.
Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch
Graphics: title card + dividers @deanwinchesterswitch
Master Lists: Word Of The Day // Main
“I’m ready, Sam,” you state, walking into the library.
“Where you going?” Dean interjects before Sam can reply.
“We’re running into town,” Sam explains, “the next book in the series I’m reading has been released.”
“And I have some packages to collect.”
Dean’s brow raises high. “Another package? Your Amazon habit is getting out of hand.”
“Hey,” you pout, “everything I buy is practical.”
“Except the Highland Cow plushie dressed as a hot dog.”
“Don’t act like you don’t love him too, Winchester.” Narrowing your eyes, you tease, “I’ve seen you smiling at him!”
“I’m not smiling at him. I’m smiling at you, smiling at him.”
Sam loudly claps, putting a stop to the game of back and forth before it escalates. “Okay, let’s go.”
Dean grumbles at your newly purchased car accessory. “You are not putting that thing in Baby!”
Pouting, you stare at the box containing a sleek black car caddy. You specifically chose black over the bright purple one you really wanted, hoping he might be more willing to install it. It makes perfect sense for you to have one. There are holders for pens, a book, your travel mug, and your phone. Plus a tray that folds down to hold your laptop. Sure, it will stick out a little bit, even when folded closed, and maybe it's a bit ugly, but it's practical, and you need it.
“Come on,” you plead. “I’m almost always relegated to the back, and I get neck cramps trying to read with a book on the seat and juggling my computer in my lap. I don’t have anywhere to put my things, so they don't roll all over the place. It's a matter of health and safety.”
“No.”
“So you don't care about my health or the possibility of one of us being knocked out by a flying thermos of coffee?” Yes, it's an exaggeration. No, you don't care that it's never happened.
“No." Noting your shocked expression, he tries to correct. "I mean, yes, I care about your health, but nothing defiles Baby. I’m not letting some cheap plastic crap mar her beauty.”
“Fine,” you shrug, “then I’ll send your present back, too.”
Though he tries to hide it, his eyes light up with intrigue as you start repacking the items. “Sam would hate it anyway.”
Dean slides up beside you. “What would he hate?”
Slowly reaching into the larger box the delivery had come in, you quickly scan the area to ensure the younger Winchester isn’t around, then pull out a small box and hand it to Dean.
Surprise slinks over his features as he reads the description. “Bring your favorite songs to life with this mini cymbal for cars." Eyes now wide, he finishes with a head bob, "Fixes to the air vent."
Choking back a laugh, you reach for the gift. “But, nothing defiles Baby.”
Dean twists, holding the item out of your reach. “Maybe we can give them both a go?”
“Mhmmm. I thought so.”
Master Lists: Word Of The Day // Main
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