The baby monitor crackles softly. Then, a tiny, restless whimper fills the quiet room.
Your eyes crack open, a sigh escaping your lips.
Dean stirs, sighing as he rubs a hand over his face. “Your kid’s up,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep.
You hum, already half-awake. “Our kid,” you correct, but there’s no fight in it. Just fondness.
Dean groans but pushes himself up, swinging his legs over the bed. “Yeah, yeah.” He scratches his stomach as he stumbles toward the door, his movements slow but sure, muscle memory at this point.
You watch as he disappears down the hall, the sound of the nursery door creaking open. A moment later, through the baby monitor, you hear his low, gravelly voice.
"Alright, little man, what’s the deal? Bad dream? Hungry? Dirty diaper?"
A soft coo. A hiccupy sniffle. Dean sighs.
"Yeah, I get it, bud. Whole damn world's a lot to take in." The floor creaks as he moves, likely rocking the baby in his arms. Then, quieter, gentler—"S’okay, Daddy’s gotcha."
Your heart squeezes. Dean has always been a daddy material, in your opinion, like he's been made to be one. It's a delight to watch him do his dad stuff.
Dean sniffs the baby's butt to check if the little one has a surprise for him. Dean raises his brows and flips his lip as he only smells clean baby scent.
“Are you hungry or just cranky, hmh?” Dean holds your son in his hands, facing him.
Your baby babbles at Dean, tugging at his face. “Da-da!”
Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, brushing his thumb across the baby's cheek. “Yeah, that’s me,” he murmurs. “Da-da.” His voice is soft, almost reverent.
Your baby babbles again, hands reaching up to pat Dean’s scruffy jaw. Dean chuckles, adjusting the baby in his arms. “You're trouble, you know that?" He presses a kiss to the baby’s forehead. "Just like your mom.”
The baby coos in response, curling his tiny hand around Dean’s finger. Dean’s breath hitches, his smile faltering for half a second before he leans back in the rocking chair and starts swaying.
“You don’t know how lucky you are, kid,” he whispers. “Having her.” His gaze turns distant for a second, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. “You’re gonna grow up good. Better than me. Promise you that.”
Then, Dean, standing in the dimly lit nursery and cradling the baby against his chest, he rocks side to side. The baby’s tiny fingers curl into Dean’s shirt, his wide green eyes—Dean’s eyes—blinking sleepily up at him. Dean hums softly, low and rough. It’s not really a lullaby—more like the gravelly hum of a Metallica song toned down to something soft enough for a baby’s ears.
A sleepy sigh from the baby is the only answer Dean gets, but it’s enough. After a few more minutes of quiet rocking, the baby’s eyes flutter shut. Dean watches him for a moment longer before the baby shifts, letting out a soft, unhappy whimper.
“You fightin’ sleep, huh?” Dean mutters, rubbing the baby’s back. “Can’t blame ya. The world’s a pretty scary place, kid. But you don’t gotta worry about that yet.” His hand cups the back of the baby’s head. “Not while I’m around.”
The baby whines, a soft noise of discomfort, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for something.
Dean frowns. “What’s wrong, bud?” He presses his palm to the baby’s back, rubbing small, soothing circles. The baby squirms, fussing harder.
“Ah, hell,” Dean sighs. “Alright, I know what you need.”
He stands, cradling the baby carefully against his chest, and pads down the hall toward your room. The floor creaks beneath his bare feet as he pushes the door open with his shoulder.
You’re already awake, propped up on your elbows. Your hair’s a little messy, your eyes hazy with sleep, but you smile the second you see them. “Hey.”
Dean crosses the room, lowering onto the edge of the bed. “Think he’s hungry.” He gives you a tired smile. “Mind givin’ him a top-up?”
You smile, reaching out to take the baby from him. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Dean hands him over, watching as the baby instantly calms down in your arms. You adjust your shirt, helping him latch on with practiced ease. The baby makes a soft, content noise, his tiny fingers curling against your skin.
Dean’s eyes soften. His hand brushes your hair back from your face as you nurse. “You’re a sight, you know that?”
You huff a quiet laugh. Yeah, messy hair, and leaking tits are a sight. “Stop.”
“Not kiddin’.” His hand rests on your thigh, thumb brushing over your skin. His gaze drops to the baby, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Looks like he’s got my appetite.”
You roll your eyes. “Dean.”
“What?” His hand slides higher, warm and steady. “Just sayin’.”
Once the baby finishes, you gently settle him against your shoulder, rubbing his back until he lets out a tiny burp. His eyes are already drifting shut.
Dean stands, taking the baby from you with a gentleness that always makes your heart clench. He kisses the baby’s head before going back to the baby's room and cautiously settling him in his bassinet.
“You’re good at this,” you whisper when he's back to your room.
Dean’s gaze lingers on the sleeping baby for a moment on the monitor screen, his jaw tightening slightly before he crawls back into bed beside you.
You smile as he pulls you close, his arm wrapping snugly around your waist. His lips trail a line of kisses on your neck. You can feel the urge, the need in them. Same goes to his hands as they roam your body gently.
“Dean,” you murmur with a giggle.
“Mm?”
“Are you knocking me up again?”
Dean’s mouth curves into a wicked smirk against your neck. “Maybe.”
“Dean—”
“What?” His lips ghost along your collarbone. “He sleeps through the night now. We’ve got time.”
You laugh softly, but the sound is lost as his mouth finds yours again, slow and deep and hungry. His hand slides beneath the blanket, and you shiver.
“Dean—”
“Shh.” His mouth brushes your ear, his voice low and dangerous in the dark. “Daddy’s gotcha.”
Dean’s lips trail lazily down your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. His hand slides beneath the blanket, skimming over your hip, his touch firm but careful. You feel the low hum of his breath against your skin as he presses a lingering kiss beneath your ear.
You huff a laugh, your hand coming up to tangle in his hair. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
You don’t deny it. You can’t, not when his mouth moves back to yours, deep and slow, and his hand slips beneath the thin fabric of your underwear. His touch is rough from years of hunting, but he’s careful with you—always so careful.
A sleepy whimper from the monitor cuts through the haze.
Dean groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
You laugh softly, brushing your hand through his hair. “Guess he’s not ready to share.”
Dean sighs and pushes himself up, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, yeah. I’m comin’, kid.” He presses a quick kiss to your lips before getting up.
You watch him disappear down the hall again, the monitor crackling to life. Dean’s voice is low and soothing.
“Alright, little man. What’s wrong this time?”
A soft sniffle.
“Just need your old man, huh?”
You smile, leaning back against the pillows as Dean hums softly through the monitor. It’s not long before the sound fades, and Dean returns, settling back into bed beside you with a tired sigh.
“False alarm,” he mutters, tugging you against his side. His arm curls around your waist, warm and steady. “Now, where were we?”
You laugh, tucking your head against his chest. “You were telling me how much you love knocking me up.”
Dean grins, pressing his lips to your hair. “Still true.”
His hand slides beneath the blanket again, fingers trailing low over your belly. “We’ve got time,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and something deeper. “Plenty of time.”
A/N: I'm making my Sam Winchester taglist, hit the comments if you wanna be added!
“What the fuck, (Y/N)?!” Dean's angry voice booms through the old bunker, “You could've gotten yourself and us killed!”
Splattered by Vampire's blood, your head whips towards the eldest Winchester. Eyes glaring through sweat-dewed lashes.
You're a woman who doesn't take shit from anyone; Dean Winchester is no exception.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you snap, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Would you have preferred I let that bloodsucker rip your throat out?”
Dean scoffs, stepping closer, chest heaving with adrenaline and fury. “You had no business jumping in like that! Sam and I had it handled!”
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, sure, Dean. You and Sam, the all-knowing hunters. Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t see that second vamp coming. I did. And I handled it.”
Dean’s nostrils flare. “You ‘handled it’ by nearly getting your damn arm ripped off! You’re reckless!”
Before you can throw another barb his way, a hand lands gently on your arm. “Hey,” Sam’s voice cuts through the tension, calm but firm. “Let’s just take a breath.”
You glance at Sam, the rational one as always, his hazel eyes scanning you for injury. His touch is grounding, a stark contrast to Dean’s firestorm of anger.
Dean runs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “You keep pulling stunts like that, and one day, you won’t be so lucky.”
You cross your arms, jaw tightening. “I don’t need you to babysit me, Dean.”
He opens his mouth, ready to fire back, but Sam steps between you both. “Enough. We’re all exhausted. Let’s clean up and grab some grub.”
Dean glares at you for a second longer before shaking his head and storming off. The door of his room slams shut behind him, rattling the walls.
A heavy silence settles between you and Sam. He studies you, his expression softer than his brother’s, but still filled with concern. “You okay?”
You exhale, shoulders slumping slightly now that the fight is over. “I’m fine, baby. Really.”
His eyes flicker down to your arm, where a deep scratch bleeds sluggishly. Without a word, he pulls you into the kitchen and tends to your wound on the island. You hiss as he dabs a cotton cloth soaked in alcohol on your injury. When it is sterilised enough, he reaches out for the band-aid, and starts wrapping it around the wound.
“You scared him,” Sam murmurs, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin. “That’s why he’s pissed.”
You know that. You look up to Dean as a big brother. You understand his concerns, but sometimes you need to remind him that you can take of business too. He and Sam are your family. You couldn't let that vampire kill Dean just because he thought it was reckless of you, and chastise you like you were his little sister for saving his ass.
“Don’t defend him,” You huff, looking away. “He has a shitty way of showing it.”
Sam chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… that’s Dean.”
You groan, “Fuck him.”
Yeah, you're pissed at him too.
You both sit there in silence for a moment before Sam speaks again, voice quieter this time. “You had me scared too.”
Your breath catches slightly. You meet his gaze, and for the first time tonight, the fight drains from your body. “I’ll be more careful,” you say, just for him.
He kisses your temple, “That’s my good girl.” The way he said it makes your core throb in need.
Sam nods, satisfied, leaning to your neck and pressing his soft lips against your skin. You moan at his touch, it's soothing and calming. “Thank you, (Y/N)…” Another kiss, “For saving my brother today.” You shiver as he trails a line of ghost kisses from your neck to your collarbone.
Holy shit, you know he's aware of the effect of his praise on you. You crave for it, you need it. In other time, you'd tell him to stop and take this to your shared room. But the little—no, the big bastard knows what he's doing. He's making you cede in his devilish seduction, as if he can magically absorb all of your fury and turn it into pleasure. That utter devil. No wonder he is Satan's vessel, you think, amused.
“Hmm, you want me to forgive him for what he said after I saved his ass?” You try to shake the haze he put you in off your head. But nope, its mojo is doing its work.
“Yes,” He answers, voice hoarse.
You quiver as he unclasps your sport bra after he takes your flannel off, cautious not to touch your wound. In a moment, your tender nipple is in his mouth, his hands are working on the zipper of your jeans.
“Don't you think that'll take more than just that?”
His mouth inveigles another moan, his foreigner’s fingertip presses to your swollen clit over your panties. At this moment, you wish you weren't wearing one. But it easily can be fixed. Sam slides them down, and his fingertip is on your hot pearl. Your mind thaws out at the delectable pressure.
“How about this, hmm?” He lowers himself until his mouth is on your nether lips.
“Oh, God, Sam, I need you!” You cry out, voice imploring as his tongue laps your wet folds.
Your hand travels down to his hair, tugging and pulling as he relentlessly grinds his tongue against your clit.
“Oh, fuck, Sam!” You groan.
Sam pulls away just so, gazing up at you with a grin. “How about now?”
Mighty Chuck, is he serious? He stopped mid-tongue-fucking you to ask you if you can forgive his big brother for his assholeness?
“Fuck, he's forgiven!” You hiss, “Now, can you please fuck me?”
“With pleasure, darlin’” He winks, and his tongue is inside of you again. After moments of deliberate work you become undone.
You don't even recover from your orgasm when you grab the collar of his flannel as he stands up, and hauls him in between your knees. His lips crush on yours and you moan at the instant voracity in the kiss. It's always like this with Sam Winchester, strong desire, raw need. And the scent of you on his face drives you mad.
Within the ravenousness of the kiss, your hands shoves his flannel off his broad shoulders. They grope his refined, wet chest after he takes his shirt off and you kiss again. His plump lips smooching and meshing against yours, his body dwarfing yours, dominating. His large hands cupping your ass, pulling you further into his hold. His engorged cock is straining in his jeans in need for you. He flips you on your stomach, your hot skin on the cool island.
“Holy fuck, (Y/N)!” He growls, sheathing his cock inside of your hot, soppy cunt, “You feel so fucking good, baby.”
Sam's thrusts are rough, cruel, brutal. His length and girth fill you up. Your knuckles turn white as you grip on the island's edges.
You lose yourselves in him and he loses himself in you, and you become undone. Sam pulls out just a moment before he comes on your back.
“Good job, baby.”
You smile at his praise, quivering.
You’re still trying to catch your breath, your skin flushed and tangled in a mixture of post-pleasure exhaustion and glow. Your body tenses up when you hear Dean's voice.
“Jesus, really?!”
His gaze darts between you both, his lips parting like he’s unsure whether to speak or just walk away. Then, as if the horror of the situation fully sinks in, his cheeks flush, and he quickly looks away. “And on my pie spot?!”
You and Sam freeze, both turning to look at Dean, who stands in the doorway looking about three seconds away from scrubbing his eyes out with holy water. His nose scrunches in pure disgust as he gestures vaguely toward the table.
"Come on! That’s where I put my pie!"
You, still catching your breath, pull the closest thing—Sam’s flannel—over yourself, face burning. Sam, on the other hand, just sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.
"Dean—"
"Nope! No, I don’t wanna hear it," Dean cuts in, waving a hand as he backs out of the room. "I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see this, but just know—I’m never eating at that table again."
With that, he turns on his heel and storms off, muttering about needing bleach, holy fire, and possibly therapy. But knowing Dean, you're sure he'd suffice with the first two.
A beat of silence passes before you glance at Sam, who lets out a deep chuckle.
You say biting back a laugh, "Guess we’ll be hearing about this for the rest of our lives," you mumble, half amused, half mortified.
Sam groans, dropping his head against your shoulder. "Yeah. And I’m pretty sure he’s gonna salt and burn that table.”
See Dean freezing during the confession was perfect to me. If he'd been cavalier like "I love you too" and given Cas a hug it would've been friendly, could be attributed as that kind of closeness. But the fact that he freezes.
He stares and listens and then starts to dread. I literally watched the confession and then decided to watch SPN.
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