Fictional Boys Have My Heart 💚

Ember | 24 | UK Check out my Masterlist!

[witchy-writing]

A collection of Drabbles, One-shots and Adventures (series). Whether you're looking for fluff, angst, or everything in between, you'll find it here.

I try and post a new fic every Friday ✨

Last updated: 20/05/2025

Key:  ✓ completed, ♥ ongoing,  ☾ angst,  ★ fluff, ♡ smut

SUPERNATURAL

Dean X Reader

Sam X Reader (Coming soon)

No Particular character

Looking for some of my older stories? Check out my OLD masterlist.

[witchy-writing]

Even though I saw it coming… it doesn’t make the heartbreak any easier 💔

[witchy-writing]

Turns out it’s hard to recover and heal from an emotionally abusive past… but slow and steady I’m unlearning ❤️

Hope to be back to writing soon

[thoughtkick]

“Everybody isn’t going to love you. Most people don’t even love themselves.”

— Unknown

[witchy-writing]

Being in a relationship, where the other person has said they like you, but don’t know where it’s going is hard…

I like certainty, but they’re happy to float on a sea and bob around.

I like knowing, but I don’t want to rush them. They make my heart full, yet empty at the same time.

Being in limbo is exhausting 😓

[witchy-writing]

You were never mine,

But I was always yours, even if I never really was.

[witchy-writing]

Bit of a different post, but I need to air it somewhere. And this just felt right;

“A heaviness settles in my heart,

For one day, we may part.

I wish that day would never come,

But it could be due to;

love lost, heartbreak or death. Whatever, happens will be glum.

For now, I know my heart beats on,

For you, for me, for now. And that is never wrong.”

Dating is hard, especially with a pace mismatch. Told that he likes me, but he’s worried I’m feeling more than him at this point and that it’s more than he’s going to…

[thoughtkick]

“We often want it so badly that we ruin it before it begins. Overthinking. Fantasizing. Imagining. Expecting. Worrying. Doubting. Just let it naturally evolve”

— Unknown

[chevroletdean]

FFWotSPNF KINKTOBER 2025

୨୧──Day 2: Crossed Lines──💕

PAIRING: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader PROMPT: Breeding Kink WORD COUNT: 2,145 GENRE: 18+ Smut (MDNI!) A/N: Another entry for the FanFiction Writers of the Supernatural Fandom's Kinktober. Check out our Discord server right here! I won't lie, I went out of my comfort zone with this one. TAGS AND WARNINGS: Breeding Kink, Creampie, Unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it), Friends with Benefits, Sex in the Impala, Dirty Talk, Oral (Fem Receiving) SUMMARY: How careless of Dean to waltz around unprepared. But who said a little risk couldn't be fun? LINKS AND CREDIT: Kinktober Masterpost [𖤐] Supernatural Masterpost [𖤐] Fictober 2025 Masterpost [𖤐] Join the Hunt Taglist [𖤐] Request [𖤐] Ao3 [𖤐] Dividers by @cafekitsune

“We can’t, baby.”

Dean’s voice falters, his words less convincing than a demon playing nice. Even his hands are shaky, betraying his feigned composure as he keeps you at bay. As much as possible, anyway, within the cramped space of the Impala.

Both of you use the interruption to catch your breaths, chests heaving after tangling tongues, clashing teeth and bruising each other’s lips.

When you pout at him, he swears he’s willing to throw all self-restraint out the window.

You mumble the sweetest “We can’t or we don’t want to?” and the sultry tone makes him melt.

You’ve always known how to play your cards right with Dean. You have him wrapped around your little finger effortlessly, and the most dangerous thing about that is that you know how to take advantage of it.

His brain almost short-circuits — and who can blame him?

How could he say no to this? To you, straddling his lap in the backseat of his car, with your lips kissbitten, your face flushed, and your hair a beautiful mess. For a moment — the one in which he lets his gaze wander further south, across the soft swell of your bare tits, the smooth slope of your waist, the plush of your stomach, the length of your legs — he forgets about what’s at stake.

To hell with the risks. For a moment all he can look at is the flimsy lace of your panties, and all he can think about is how easily he could rip them off you and have his way with you.

Despite knowing your body inside and out, Dean’s ever the adventurous. He never gets bored of mapping out every dip and curve of you, exploring every inch anew every time. No matter how familiar he is with the choir of your moans, he never tires of the way his name sounds from your lips. You’d be screaming it from the top of your lungs, and all he’d have to do was play along.

Only an idiot would say no to this.

“Sweetheart, you know exactly how much I want to,” Dean huffs, only managing to pair half a chuckle with his response.

“Sooo…?,” you trail off while cupping his face with both of your precious hands — how they are so impossibly soft despite all your battles is beyond him. “What’s stopping you, tiger?”

His eyes lock with the dangerous glimmer in yours. Rendered speechless, he watches you lean in again and allows the collision of your mouths. More so, he welcomes it. Relishes in it.

You kiss him more gently this time. Slow and deep, like your tongue can teach him the secrets of the universe. You’re all soft sighs and irresistible warmth in his arms, drawing him closer, pulling him under.

Your lips wander down his jaw, across his neck, which he arches willingly.

Instinctively, his hands reattach themselves back to the small of your back and the fat of your hip to hold you close and never let you go. He doesn’t want you anywhere else. And isn’t he the luckiest bastard alive? Because you’re everywhere, your victorious smile against his skin. Your warmth and voice and breath and scent surrounding him, filling the car, swallowing him.

The air is sweet and sticky, fogging up the windows. Not that the outside world is worth looking at when he has you to admire.

Your hands follow the path of your kisses, trailing downwards. While you nip expertly at the spot right under his ear, your fingers dance towards his belt.

That’s when he snaps out of it, forced to remember his dilemma all over again. Gingerly, he grabs your wrist.

“Baby, I mean it—”

A sharp roll of your hips against his effectively silence his weak protests. He interrupts himself with a delicious groan the second he feels your damp heat through both your underwear and his jeans. Christ, you’re not making this any easier.

“Give me one good reason to stop,” you whisper, your voice a siren’s song in his ear, heavy and hot. As much as you love seeing him squirm, you are giving him a chance out, should he want it.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t want any of this to stop. His last braincell is just doing God’s work right now.

“We ran out of condoms,” he sighs in defeat at last.

That does make you stop, and that in turn makes him cringe.

Rookie mistake, really, to waltz around unprepared. Though, to cut him some slack, he didn’t expect you to throw yourself at him out of the blue. You two had a friends-with-benefits situationship going at most, which was more an off than an on thing.

“So what?”

Who knew two words could make his heart jump like that?

Dean blinks at you, beyond dumbfounded, and you stare back as if you didn’t just hint at throwing all bets off the table. The mere idea of feeling you like this, all of you, drives him feral. It’s a line you haven’t crossed before, one he never thought you’d ever cross.

“Don’t start things you can’t finish,” he snorts teasingly, because surely this is just a joke and he expects you to laugh any second now.

Instead, you shrug. The smirk on your lips is nowhere near indicative of you joking around. Your arms snake around his neck, fingers toying with strands of his sandy hair at the nape. “Trust me, I hate unfinished businesses, if you catch my drift.”

Your hands trail down again, without him stopping you this time. Not even as you unfasten his belt and slip your fingers past the waistband of his boxers. He stops functioning for a second, biting back a gasp as he twitches in your grip.

You’re trouble. You’re fucking dangerous. And he has zero complaints.

“You’re killing me,” is all he’s able to choke out.

Your smirk widens and the pink on your cheeks deepens while your hand strokes his already half-hard cock to life.

His grip on you tightens, his head slumping against your shoulder. His mouth nips at your collarbone, grazes over your breasts, and latches onto a nipple. And, oh, if his brain isn’t jumping ahead of himself, coming up with the wildest fantasies. Do you even know what you’re doing to him, already planting pictures in his mind of your tits heavy and your womb full?

Once you’ve shimmied his clothes down enough, he kicks the rest of the fabric away. Just knowing that the thin lace is the only thing separating you two has him throb.

“You really mean it, sweetheart?”

God, he needs you to say yes. He needs to hear how much you want this.

“I really mean it,” you mumble and pull your panties to the side. “Please, need you, De.”

You really are trouble.

Dean lifts you with ease, picking you up to push you down onto your back. It’s his favorite sight for sure; You sprawled out beneath him on Baby’s backseat, your skin flushed and your folds glistening. His hands sink into your thighs, keeping your legs spread. His kisses start on your lips before they briefly return to your chest. His head dips lower and lower, paying extra attention to your lower stomach, right above where you need him the most.

“Quit teasing,” you whine and buck your hips, but really, he’s just savoring the moment.

“Let me take my time with you,” he utters under his breath, completely captivated with your pretty pussy right in front of him, dripping and aching.

An apologetic kiss to your clit eases the tension in your muscles.

A slow, full strip licked across your center has them clench all over again.

You’re a goner the moment his hand joins in, deft fingers moving in tandem with his tongue to work you open. Your trembling thighs nearly clamp around his head as you throw your own back with a sob.

“Can’t wait to fill you up,” Dean grunts against your cunt, the vibrations of his voice sending you into orbit.

It’s right before the coil in your stomach snaps that he pulls away, leaving you whining and aching for more.

He shushes you gently and leans down, placing a tender peck to your temple while he settles between your thighs. Lining up, he gives himself a couple more strokes. Neither of you are thinking straight, are you? Drunk on the thick, hot air and the sheer desperation, he swallows.

“You sure about this?”

You nod eagerly. “Fuck yes.”

It’s all the confirmation he needs to sink into you. You feel like heaven, your warm, velvety walls welcoming him with little resistance. Your shaky hands reach for him, clawing at his shoulder, his back, holding on tight as he pushes deeper to the hilt.

“M-move,” you beg, whimper, arch your back.

“Someone’s bossy,” he teases, but whatever retort you had ready, it dies on your tongue thanks to the rocking of his hips.

“Dean, please… want more, I—”

A sharp thrust of his hips interrupt your blabbering plea. All words wiped from your brain, you can only moan as he slams into you over and over again. You asked for rough, it’s what you get.

“You want more, huh? Want me to ruin this sweet little hole, is that it? Want me to fill you to the brim and make sure it sticks.”

You clench around him, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. God, you’re beautiful fucked out like this. Fucked stupid, brain turned into mush. He slams into you harder, deeper, the impact of his body against yours shaking the damn car.

“You like this,” Dean grunts. Not a question, but a simple observation. “You like being all full with my seed? Fuck, you’d be so hot all round.”

His hand sweeps across your tummy for emphasis, fingers splaying out there in reverence. Neither of you have ever played around with the idea of a family, least of all with each other. The dangers of a hunter’s life aside, Dean and you do this for fun. Right? What you share is a no-strings-attached kind of thing, though the longing in Dean’s eyes makes your heart swell with something.

You see the emotions swirling in the green — fear and hope and visions of dreams he’s never allowed himself to have —, recognizing them to match whatever it is blooming within you.

One of your hands grasp his, keeping it in place. The other pulls him in for another kiss, your mouths melting together perfectly. You wrap your legs around his hips and lock your ankles together at his lower back.

“Don’t you dare pull out, Winchester,” you whisper.

He falters for a second, stunned, then bemused. “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

He moves like he means it, each thrust bruising and with purpose, angled in just the right way to make you sing for him. He hits that spongy spot deep inside without failure.

“Can you imagine?,” he hums, hot breath mixing with yours. “Me putting a baby in you? Fuck, what if I just kept you full and dripping with cum 24/7, just to make sure?”

You sob and moan, unable to form a proper response. But you’d be lying if you said his words didn’t stir something in you.

“You’d be walking around with a piece of me all the time, all drenched. Just f’me.”

You chant his name like a prayer, moaning it from the top of your lungs.

Your fingers claw at him, aimlessly searching for leverage. When his hand slips between your bodies to circle your clit, your nails dig into his shoulder blades. He pushes you over the edge at last, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. He keeps fucking you through it, the clench of your gummy walls tipping him over as well. His hips stutter, cock sheathed deep inside of you as warm spurts of cum fill you.

He stays there, his heavy body slumping down on top of yours. A sheer layer of sweat coats both of you and his heart is beating as fast as yours, your chests pressed tightly together. Even as you’re catching your breaths, both of you feel each other pulsating still, the slightest move leaving both of you raw and sensitive.

At last, Dean slips out of you, earning himself a whimper from your trembling lips. Instinctively, you squeeze your thighs together, though he sits up and quickly parts them again. His eyes are glued to your core and the creamy white dripping out of it.

He doesn’t even think about it, just reaches out, collecting some of it on his fingers and pushing it back into you.

“Dean!,” you yelp and twitch, pouting at him and playfully swatting his hand away.

“Wouldn’t wanna waste anything,” he grins.

Dean Winchester Taglist (Pt. 1):

@alwaysdaydreamingoffiction @alexxavicry @ambiguous-avery @angelicjackles @bejeweledinterludes2

@berryblues46 @bigivori @blueschevy @bohoooitsme @calibootsgirl

@castielscaplan @charliesangel67 @chronic-fangirl-222 @deanswifeyy @emma1998sblog

@emmy21842 @foxyjwls007 @fuckingdamnitdean @hot-and-confused @idjit-central

@jackles010378 @jollyhunter @justwhisperingfantasies @kimxwinchester @ladykitana90

@ladysparkles78 @lessons-of-red @lunaleah @lyarr24 @mahi-wayy

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[witchy-writing]

First Light - Dean x reader

Summary: A cosy morning

Word Count: 155

A/N: A woman can dream right?

Her socked feet, padded gently across the cold kitchen tiles. There was a small bite in the air, yet it wasn’t cold enough for the heating to come on.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly, the bright kitchen lights blinding her temporarily. It was quiet, the hum of the fridge filling the silence between the few small clinks of the spoon against the coffee mug. The coffee he was making.

He had his back to her, and her fingers itched to trace the freckles across his shoulders. She plodded gently towards him, arms wrapping around his middle, head resting in the crook of his neck. His warmth radiated off him, and she couldn’t help but hold him tighter.

“Morning baby,” he hummed, turning to press a feather-light kiss to the end of her nose. A small smile overtook her face. “You know,” she whispered, voice quiet from sleep “I could get used to mornings like these.”

[witchy-writing]

What he left behind - Dean X reader

Summary: A trip through memory lane

word count: 485

Warnings: Angst, Minor fluff.

The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the crack in the door. The little bell ringing to call whoever was working behind the counter.

The lighting was dim, yet warm. Small tables pushed up against the wall. In the back corner was a soft yet worn sofa.

She remembered how it felt to sit there. Waiting for him to show, her heart racing with anticipation. He'd walked in all confident, and she remembers laughing until her sides hurt. Their first date.

She smiles softly (one that doesn't quite reach her eyes), as she orders a mocha to go. The bell chimes again as she leaves.

The coffee warms her cold hands. The air crisp and inviting, leaves falling around her like red and orange snow, crunching beneath her feet. She hesitates, sitting almost timidly on a worn wooden bench. The morning chill seeping through the fabric of her jeans.

She remembers sitting here with him, his large rough hand enveloping hers. Their second date. It was summer, the air was sweet yet heavy. He had laughed and tugged her closer when she squealed at a bee that got too close.

She sat there for what felt like an eternity, until her coffee had gone cold and was no longer drinkable.

The walk home was short, and she snuggled her face closer into his scarf, the one that smelt of warm musk, gunpowder and whiskey. The one that smelt like home.

The front door clicked open, leading to a dimly lit hallway. A small lamp she'd left on was settled atop a wooden side table. Her keys clinked as she dropped them into the bowl, the once shiny metal dull and tarnished.

She kicked her shoes off, ignoring where they landed as she made her way to their bedroom, his scarf still wrapped tightly around her neck. Photos littered the walls, some of her, some of him. Some of them together.

A photo of them on the park bench, a photo of their wedding day. Another small smile graces her lips, as she picks up the photo on her nightstand. It’s a photo of the two of them, she's laughing in shock, eyes closed in happiness. He's planting a kiss on her cheek, eyes closed, cheeks red yet there are still subtle hints of his freckles.

Drip. A tear drips onto the photo, swiftly followed by another and another. She sniffles, wiping her nose and eyes with her sleeve.

Her smile is small; it flickers and fades. Happiness and grief washing over her face like waves.

"I miss you," her voice cracks into the silence. There is no response.

“I love you,” she whispers, falling backwards onto their (her) bed, her sobs wrecking her body. The framed picture, clutched to her chest like a lifeline. It’s sharp corners digging into her soft flesh, yet its pain is nothing compared to the ache he left behind.

A/N: I wrote this with the intention that he had died, but I also left it open to interpretation. Maybe they've broken up and she's still trying to pick up the pieces.

[witchy-writing]

Prompt: Of all your lies, my favourite was 'I love you'

When the sky gets dark, and stars get bright,  When I lay in bed, alone at night. 

I think of you,  And all we used to do.  The coffee dates,  The staying up late. 

And now,  It’s just me.  You’re just a fragment of my memory. 

I loved your eyes,  I loved your lies.  My favourite you whispered through the night,  Setting my heart alight. 

For you see, your sweetest lie  Was also my demise. 

And now in the silence, your lies still echo through,  The softest of them all; I love you.

[witchy-writing]

No particular character - These stories where written with no one in mind, fill in the blank yourself with who ever you want :)

Prompt: Of all your lies, I love you was my favourite

[witchy-writing]

Comfort - Dean x Reader

Summary: Aftercare

Word count: 121

A/N: Although this was written with Dean in mind, it could be for anyone.

She snuggled her head further into his neck. He smelt like warm musk, a small hint of soap and whiskey. She breathed in deep, sighing contentedly against his warm skin. He smelt like home.

His hand traced lazily against her naked back, fingers dancing across her skin. Gentle. A stark contrast to the earlier night’s activities.

A small smile pulled at his lips as he felt her eyelashes tickle his neck, as if she was trying to blink sleep away. “I’ve got you darling” he gruffed out, hand moving to play with her hair. Their two bare forms squished together as one, basking in each other’s quiet company.

“I’ve got you” he whispered again, eyes closing as he too drifted off.

[thememedaddy]

[witchy-writing]

Ache - Dean x Reader

Summary: Longing, aching. Waiting. Not much more I can say

Word Count: 160

The rain slid down the window, droplets chasing each other; racing to the end, ready to merge to be one. (Y/n) sat by the window, a grey blanket hung over her shoulders. The room she was in smelt of spiced apples, and gave a subtle warmth to the old, muted autumn day.

Eyes longing to see Baby. Longing to watch the black, shiny metal roll up the drive. She wanted to hear the familiar grumble of the engine. She wanted to see her man climb out from the driver’s side, covered in mud and maybe blood. But alive.

She wanted to curl up on the sofa with him, hold his hand, pepper tiny kisses across his nose. She wanted to be held. To be loved.

But instead, she watched the rain race down the window, the drive still empty. Her messages left unread. She wanted to skip through time, her heart aching for a future that is not yet hers.

A/N: Wrote this one when I was feeling a little low, when my journal entry read: "My heart aches slightly for a future that is not yet mine. Maybe I just need to take a leap and start to fly".

[iamokayvallabakxv]