#mutual request

Of course, the universe had a sense of humour, because your last job wasn’t just any hunt. It was pulled straight from John Winchester’s journal—a cold case, buried since 1986.

Akron, Ohio. A family torn apart. The father drained of blood, the mother’s tongue removed, and the kids—vanished. Classic vamp MO, the kind John had chased for years but never managed to put down. Now it had circled back, like some twisted full-circle moment. And it was up to you three to finally put it to an end.

You sighed, taking pity on him and crossed the room, stepping between his legs. You let your arms slide over his shoulders, fingers curling at the nape of his neck, and his hands instinctively found your hips, thumbs stroking the skin just beneath your shirt.

“Look,” you murmured, tilting his chin up. His pout was as ridiculous as it was endearing. “I’m all for trying, I am. And if this is really it, our last hunt, then we’re gonna have all the time in the world to, you know…” You smirked, voice dipping suggestively.

Dean’s eyes lit up instantly, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Oh, hell yes.”

He leaned in, pressing a firm but chaste kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to study you. His fingers tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, then skimmed down to your cheek.

“It is the last one,” he said, voice rough with conviction. His hands squeezed your hips like he needed you to feel it. “I want to stop. I want to do life with you.”

One of his hands then slid lower, resting over your belly where, for months now, he’d been dreaming of something more. A future. A family.

“I wanna make a baby with you.”

Your heart swelled, and your hand came to rest over his. “I want that too.” It left you in a whisper, but the second the words were out, Dean lit up—equal parts awe and that boyish joy that melted you every time.

“So…” he grinned, already pulling you in closer, “why not start now? We’ve got, what—” He flicked his wrist dramatically to check his watch. “Fifteen minutes before we hit the road. And technically, this is our last hunt…”

His eyebrows waggled as his hands slipped down to squeeze your ass, all charm and mischief.

You closed your eyes with a quiet sigh. “You’re impossible.” You huffed humourlessly as you pulled away. “I am not potentially conceiving our child during a quickie, Dean.”

He’d been pestering you for days to ditch the last layer of caution, but you’d held the line. You wanted to be sure—really sure—that this was the end of the road. No more hunting. No more living out of duffels. Just you and Dean, grounded in something real.

“Hey, some of our hottest moments have been on a time crunch, and you know it.” He pointed at you as if daring you to argue.

And honestly? You couldn’t. He had a damn point. Your wedding night, for instance—sinful, passionate, right there in the chapel, until an angry Elvis had chased you both out onto the Las Vegas strip.

But that was beside the point.

“C’mon, I’ll make it worth your while,” he coaxed as he stepped up behind you, strong arms wrapping around your waist. His lips ghosted over your neck, trailing to that sensitive spot just below your ear, the one that had you shivering in his arms.

Goddamn it.

Twenty-five minutes later, you slid into the backseat of the Impala, cheeks still warm and hair slightly out of place. Dean climbed behind the wheel, looking like the cat who got the cream—smug, satisfied, and grinning like the devil himself.

Sam was already in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw tight. The moment Dean turned the key in the ignition, Sam glanced between the two of you, narrowing his eyes.

First at the faint, fresh bruise on Dean’s neck.  Then at you, subtly tugging your rumpled shirt into place.

And it clicked.

“Guys. Seriously?” Sam exhaled through his nose and shook his head like a disappointed parent.

You bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. Dean didn’t even try.

“What?” he said, full of faux innocence. “I can’t show my girl a little love, but you can have phone sex with Eileen?”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “I—what? I wasn’t—”

“‘Course you weren’t, Sammy.” Dean smirked in triumph, looking far too pleased with himself. He may have accidentally overheard his little brother’s, not-so-innocent, conversation with Eileen over the phone as he passed by his room on the way to you. 

To further prove his point, Dean continued, in a terrible imitation of Sam’s voice, “I can’t wait ‘til I can see your—”

“Dean!”

“Dude!”

You and Sam shouted in unison, cutting off whatever he was about to say. Dean just burst into laughter, the sound echoing as the car pulled out of the garage.

You shook your head, fond and exasperated all at once.

In all the years you’d hunted together—fought monsters, cheated death, faced down the end of the world more times than you could count—some things never changed.

This. Your family. And now, another chapter awaited. One you were looking forward to the most.

All it needed was for the three of you to make it out in one piece. Then, finally, that dream could become reality.

Three months later…

You couldn’t stop picking at the skin on your thumb, nerves fraying with each tiny tear you made. Your leg bounced restlessly, the stiff white paper beneath you crinkling with every tremor, filling the quiet exam room with a sound far too loud in the silence.

It smelled like antiseptic and latex gloves. That sterile scent that clung to medical offices, mingled with the chill of the air conditioning and the hum of fluorescent lighting above. Your palms were clammy and your mouth tasted like metal.

The door was closed, but every creak in the hallway made your breath catch in your throat.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, willing your heart to slow down, to stop pounding against your ribcage like it was trying to escape. It didn’t work. It never did. Especially without him.

The gentle knock came a moment later, and you startled slightly before forcing a smile as the nurse reentered the room. Her scrubs were a soft lavender, her badge clipped to her chest. Julia, RN.

“Sorry about the wait,” she offered, voice light as she moved toward the counter to update something in the chart. “Dr. Harlow’s busy with another patient. So I’ll be doing your ultrasound today.”

You nodded, swallowing thickly. Her practiced small talk filled the air like a balm—something to distract you from the gnawing anxiety. You let her ask the usual questions: last menstrual cycle, any spotting, morning sickness. You answered automatically, a little detached, but you caught her eyes flickering to the empty chair beside you.

You saw it—the subtle flicker of sympathy before she masked it again with professionalism, and you cleared your throat trying to stay composed.

“Will I... will I see anything yet?”

“Depending on how far along you are, yes,” she said gently. “We will be able to detect the heartbeat, too.”

You hesitated. “Can you tell if it’s a boy or girl?”

She gave you a soft smile, probably used to all these questions. “Not until around 18 to 20 weeks. But if you’re about twelve weeks, we should get a good look at the gestational sac, yolk sac, and your baby.”

Twelve weeks. You’d done the math a dozen times already. Calculating to the day you’d left for your last hunt three months ago. Where Dean had seduced you right before. Ironically, you’re certain that ‘quickie’ is what knocked you up in the first place. 

Dean.

Your eyes drifted to the door and you blinked quickly, instead focusing Julia’s instruction to unbutton your jeans and tug your top up beneath your bra line. You did as she asked, shivering slightly as the cold of the exam room kissed your skin. 

“This’ll be a little cold,” Julia warned, twisting the cap off the bottle of coupling gel.

Just as she lifted the tube, the exam room door clicked open.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” came a breathless voice—his voice. “Damn roadworks blocked off half the street. I had to park three blocks away and run the rest.”

Dean was flushed, chest rising and falling with each breath, a faint sheen on his forehead. He moved straight to your side, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple before easing into the chair beside the exam bed.

Your hand reached for him instantly and he caught it without hesitation, wrapping both of his hands around yours, lifting your knuckles to his lips for a quick kiss.

Julia paused, arching a brow as she looked between the two of you. “I take it this is the father?”

Dean gave a crooked grin. “Well, I sure hope so.” You smacked his arm lightly, and he let out a playful hiss.

Julia chuckled under her breath and resumed her position beside the ultrasound machine, gliding the gel tube across your belly and dispensing a generous amount on your skin. You hissed slightly at the sudden chill, muscles tensing.

“Alright, let’s take a look,” she murmured, lifting the transducer probe and pressing it gently against the gel.

The machine beeped softly as she began her sweep, shifting the probe at various angles, the monitor flickering with black-and-white static before resolving into grainy anatomical structures. She adjusted the gain and depth on the control panel with quick, practiced movements, her eyes scanning the screen.

Dean leaned in instinctively, his brow knit with quiet intensity, both of his hands still wrapped tightly around yours. His thumb stroked over your knuckles—slow, nervous, steadying. You could feel the tension vibrating through him. Neither of you were breathing properly.

The room stilled.

Just the soft hum of the machine and the rhythmic taps of Julia’s fingers on the keyboard filled the silence.

Then—

“Right there,” she said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She angled the screen toward you both, her hand still steady on the probe. “That’s the gestational sac. And see that little oval inside? That’s the yolk sac.”

You both leaned forward, eyes locked on the image, as she adjusted the probe slightly, changing the angle.

“And here,” she continued, pressing a few more keys, “is your baby. Measuring around 12 weeks. Everything looks perfect.”

Dean’s grip on your hand tightened as if grounding himself. You could feel him trembling ever so slightly.

Then with a few more taps, the sound came—soft and crackling at first, then unmistakable.

Womp womp womp.

“There’s the heartbeat,” Julia said with a warm smile. “153 beats per minute. Nice and strong.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

There on the screen was the tiniest flicker of life. A rhythm. A pulse. A flutter of motion in a shape no bigger than a lime, with arms and legs now starting to form—so tiny, but so perfectly human. A miracle, unmistakable, undeniable. It was real. Yours. A heartbeat separate from your own, yet part of you. A miracle forming inside you.

Your chest ached, breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.

Dean was completely still beside you, his thumb frozen on your skin. When you looked over at him, your throat tightened.

His eyes were wide and wet, his jaw clenched as though he was holding back everything he was feeling—but it was there. Every ounce of emotion was written all over his face. He looked like he was seeing the world for the first time.

Julia printed the sonogram photos and gave you some paper towels to wipe the gel from your stomach, all the while murmuring about your follow-ups and OB appointments before she stepped out for a moment.

Silence settled over the room again, and you both looked down at the black-and-white strip in your hands. Dean reached for it first, holding it so delicately between his fingers like it might crumble if he breathed too hard.

“That’s… ours,” he whispered, voice cracking around the edges. “We made that.”

A tear slipped down your cheek with a quiet sniffle and before you could wipe it away, Dean turned to you, cupping your face gently in both hands. His thumbs brushed across your cheeks, catching the tears before they could fall any further. His eyes shimmered with unshed emotion, the vulnerability in them something you rarely saw—raw and unguarded.

The moment was made more intense for the fact you’d almost lost him on that hunt. A few more inches to the left and he would've had a rebar shaped hole in his heart. Could you imagine how ridiculous that would’ve been? 

“I love you,” he breathed and your heart swelled to the point of pain, your lips parting on a breath. 

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice thick and trembling.

Dean leaned in and kissed you softly—slow, reverent, like he was trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into that one touch. Your hand tangled in his flannel as you kissed him back, your foreheads resting together as the kiss broke.

Then you both looked back down at the sonogram again. Two pairs of eyes locked on the tiny life that was half him, half you. A piece of each of you growing into something whole.

Excitement blended with your nerves for what came next. For the journey you were about to take—together.

By the time you made it back to the bunker, the emotional buzz hadn’t worn off. If anything, it had only deepened, sinking into your chest like warmth after a long cold spell.

Sam and Eileen were already up, rounding the corner at the sound of you and Dean descending the steps. Miracle was right behind them, tail wagging like he sensed the joy radiating off you both.

Eileen’s face lit up as soon as she saw you, her hands already moving. “So?” she signed eagerly, her smile wide with anticipation.

You couldn’t help the grin that pulled at your lips as you reached into your bag and handed both her and Sam their own copies of the sonogram. Your fingers trembled slightly, the moment sinking in all over again.

Eileen gasped softly, lifting a hand to her mouth as her eyes scanned the blurry black and white photo. Tears welled in her eyes almost instantly. She looked up at you, her gaze shining. “It’s real,” she signed with a shaky laugh. “You’re really having a baby.”

You nodded, lips wobbling as you fought back a fresh wave of tears—only to lose the battle completely when Sam looked up at you, his eyes already glassy.

“This is… wow, I don’t even know what to say,” Sam breathed, laughing a little as he shook his head. He then pulled you into a careful hug, one arm around your shoulders, the other hand cradling the back of your head. 

He kissed your hair before stepping back, visibly choked up. “I’m so happy for you both.” He said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

Then he turned to Dean, and the brothers embraced briefly, but it was more than the usual back-pat—it lingered, unspoken gratitude. Dean’s eyes looked a little misty when he pulled away, but he just cleared his throat and rubbed at the back of his neck.

Eileen was already pulling you into her arms, sniffling softly against your shoulder. “You’re going to be amazing,” she signed when she stepped back, voice trembling as she spoke it aloud.

The celebration that followed was cozy, full of soft laughter and teasing. Dean poured a round of whiskey—apple juice for you—and you couldn’t help but grumble about your temporary drinking ban. But truthfully, you didn’t feel like you were missing out. Not tonight.

By the time the excitement had settled, it was late and you were exhausted. You and Dean said your goodnights, and headed down the hall to your room hand in hand. But the moment your bedroom door shut behind you, Dean turned and pressed you gently against it.

His mouth was on yours before you could catch your breath, his hands threading into your hair, tilting your head just right as he kissed you deep, slow, like he needed you to feel what words couldn’t say.

Your surprised squeak turned into a soft sigh, your hands finding the back of his head, fingers curling in the short hair there. His mouth moved against yours with aching tenderness, stealing your breath as easily as he always did.

“You’re really pregnant,” he murmured against your lips, voice thick with awe. Like seeing it on the ‘big screen’ solidified it. “We’re really doing this.”

You nodded, heart thudding as you cupped his scruffy jaw. “We are.”

He kissed you again—softer this time—and then, without warning, bent to lift you into his arms. You gasped and instinctively clung to his shoulders as he grinned, carrying you across the room like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He laid you down like you were something delicate, something precious. His lips brushed your forehead, your cheek, and then he kissed you again—slower, but with simmering heat.

Then he trailed down. Along your neck. Across your collarbone. He pushed up your shirt, his rough hands gentle as they skimmed along your skin, and pressed soft kisses down your stomach.

There was the faintest bump, only a hint of life growing inside you, and he paused at your navel, hands cradling your hips, thumbs moving in slow circles.

“That’s our kid in there,” he whispered, voice rough and reverent. “Our baby.”

Your fingers threaded into his hair, heart pounding as you looked down at him. The look on his face nearly undid you—pure awe, disbelief… and something else. Something darker. Needier. Hungrier.

Dean froze, staring at you like the air had been knocked clean out of his lungs—eyes wide, pupils blown.

“What?” you whispered, breath catching in your throat.

He let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh and dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t know, I just—” He shook his head, voice dropping, eyes darkening. “The idea of you carrying my kid? It’s so damn hot.”

You blinked, caught off guard for a second—then grinned. “Yeah?”

“I’m serious,” he rasped, voice low and rough as he slid back up your body, his gaze locked on yours, all heat and hunger. “You’ve always been sexy, sweetheart, but now?” His hand came to rest on your belly, possessive and tender all at once. “Knowing you're mine… and that you’re carrying my baby? That’s—fuck, that’s next level.”

He groaned as he kissed your jaw, your cheek, your mouth—like he was trying to devour you piece by piece.

Your breath hitched at the sheer intensity in his voice, the look in his eyes like you were something holy. Then your mouth met his in a crash of heat and urgency, and he answered with equal fervor—like something inside him had just snapped loose.

You tugged him closer, breath hitching as his hands gripped your waist, his body pressing into yours like he couldn’t stand a second of space between you.

You were both surprised by it—that sudden, burning need. But the more it sank in, that you were carrying his child, something primal flared to life in him. It rewired everything. Made him want to claim you all over again.

It wasn’t just lust—it was need. Raw, instinctive, protective. It was a part of him he hadn’t even known existed, But now, now it was fully awake.

And it had only just begun.

One month later…

You and Dean were curled up on the couch in the ‘cave’, the flickering images of an old action movie dancing on the TV screen, but neither of you were paying much attention to it. 

Dean’s body was pressed flush against yours from behind, the heat between you simmering as he slowly moved inside you, his large hand splayed possessively across your belly—now rounder, more pronounced as your pregnancy progressed.

Your leggings and panties were long forgotten on the floor. Dean’s jeans and boxers were shoved haphazardly down to his knees, giving him just enough freedom to move inside you with that torturous, maddening pace—slow, deep, controlled. His cock dragged against your walls in that way that made your toes curl, made you arch back against him for more, always more.

“Fuck,” he rasped against your skin, voice low and reverent, “you feel so fuckin’ good like this. So full, baby.”

His lips grazed your neck, then your shoulder, kissing and nipping every inch he could reach while still moving inside you. His breath was hot and uneven, his mouth trailing along the shell of your ear as he rocked into you again, the thick heat of him stretching you open like he belonged there—because he did. God, he did.

And still, that hand never left your belly.

It was possessive. Proud. Worshipful. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were his—like he needed the physical reminder that you carried something he’d made.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your fingers digging into the couch cushions for purchase as your body trembled. You could feel him twitch inside you, thick and throbbing, pushing deeper with every roll of his hips. His other hand slid beneath you, rough and greedy, cupping your swollen breasts, teasing your sensitive nipple with a practiced touch that made your back arch and a strangled cry escape your throat.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he whispered, grinning against your skin. “You love when I fuck you like this, don’t you? Wrapped around me, nowhere to go…”

“Yes,” you breathed, whimpering as your body tightened around him again, helpless to the sensation. “God, Dean…”

You pushed back against him, chasing that edge, chasing him, needing it—needing him. The friction was heaven, his cock dragging slow and hard inside you, until you were right on the verge of—

The door creaked.

“Hey, I grabbed those chips you were—OH MY GOD.”

The sound of Sam’s voice cracked through the haze like a gunshot.

You both froze. For one hilarious, horrifying second, and then with a gasp, you scrambled for the blanket Dean had kicked to the floor after his wandering hands had convinced you to let him fuck you right here on the couch. 

“Are you serious?” Sam exclaimed, hands flying to his face in an attempt to block his view, but it was clear he’d already seen far too much.

Your face went up in flames. You scrambled to yank the blanket up over you both, heart hammering in your chest. Dean didn’t even flinch—he just let out a low, unbothered scoff like his little brother had interrupted a commercial break, not mid-fucking.

“Don’t be jealous, Sammy,” Dean drawled with a smirk, voice thick with satisfaction. “One day you’ll knock up Eileen and then you’ll get it.”

“Dean!” you gasped, horrified, smacking his thigh as your eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh my God.”

Dean just chuckled, the sound deep and smug, like he was proud of getting caught. You practically shrivelled into the couch, trying to disappear into the cushions as Sam let out a dramatic groan, turned on his heel, and slammed the door behind him like he’d just witnessed a crime.

Dean snorted. “Damn kid needs to learn to knock.”

You covered your face with both hands, mortified, still curled up in Dean’s arms as the aftershock of the interruption pulsed through you. “Dean,” you groaned, voice muffled behind your palms. “This is the communal room.”

Dean just shook his head, utterly unbothered, and gently peeled your hands away from your face. “Hey,” he murmured, eyes soft with amusement as he looked down at you. “You weren’t complainin’ a minute ago.”

You tried to glare at him, but it faltered when he leaned in and kissed your burning cheek, then your jaw, then your lips—slow and deep, like he wasn’t done with you. Not even close.

“Whose side are you on, sweetheart?” he hummed against your mouth.

You opened your mouth to retort, but it turned into a shaky breath when his hand slid down again, settling right over your belly with that same heavy, grounding pressure. Possessive. Reverent.

And then you felt him.

Still hard. Still inside you. Still twitching.

The heat flooded back like a wave, washing out the embarrassment and replacing it with a low, simmering ache. You shifted, breath catching as you clenched around him involuntarily.

Dean felt it too.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah... I’m definitely not done.”

And just like that, your argument disappeared. Along with any thought of Sam—or the damn chips.

You couldn’t help it.

Sam had become an unfortunate, unintended witness to this very new phase of your relationship with Dean—one that involved a whole lot more skin, a whole lot less shame, and a very inconvenient inability to keep your hands off each other.

Since finding out you were pregnant, something had shifted in him. Desire had always been a part of your relationship, but now… now it was constant. Insatiable. Like some primal instinct had flipped inside him. He touched you with a reverence that bordered on obsession. It wasn’t just sex anymore—it was possessive, protective, feral.

This wasn’t some generic “pregnancy kink.” No, this was Dean losing his mind because you were carrying his child. The thought alone seemed to short-circuit something in him.

And honestly? You were just as wrecked. Yes, you’d been mortified more than once—especially by Sam’s increasingly bad luck—but at the same time, it turned you on beyond belief. The way Dean made you feel, like you were the most beautiful, most desired woman in the world. It made your body hum.

Unfortunately for Sam, that devotion came with side effects.

Take a couple of mornings ago, when you were making pancakes, for instance. You’d opted for a pair of loose shorts despite the bunker’s steady chill, thanks to another hot flash, but it was enough to drive Dean out of his goddamn mind. Your body was changing—hips a little wider, breasts heavier, ass just a little more plush—and Dean worshipped every new curve like it was the first time he was seeing you.

He’d come up behind you at the stove, his hands spreading over your stomach with that now-familiar, possessive touch. His hips pressed into your backside, already hard, already needy. His mouth found your neck, and his fingers slipped beneath your waistband, teasing your soaked folds like he had all the time in the world.

You’d barely gasped his name when Sam walked in—right as Dean slid a thick finger inside you.

Poor bastard hadn’t even gotten to the coffee pot.

And then there was the library. After dinner. Dean, completely unprovoked, hauled you up onto the nearest table and sank to his knees, muttering about wanting ‘his dessert’. You’d barely managed to stifle your cries when Eileen walked in, book in hand, and promptly turned on her heel like she'd never been there.

You tried to be discreet. Truly. But Dean didn’t care. Hell, he seemed proud when someone caught a glimpse of just how thoroughly he worshipped you.

And as mortifying as it all was, deep down… You loved it.

You loved him.

This time in your life could’ve been scary. Lonely. Uncertain. But Dean had made it something else entirely. He made it intimate. Raw. Beautiful. He made you feel like a goddess, like you were his whole damn universe—and he wanted the world to know it.

So maybe Sam had to suffer through a few mental scars. Maybe Eileen was avoiding eye contact for a while.

But as Dean curled around you again on that couch, hand warm and protective on your belly, still deep inside you, his lips brushing against your cheek like he’d never get enough—

Yeah.

You figured it was a price worth paying.

AN: Okay, so this was a new one for me, I've never been pregnant so most of this is research or from my friend. Plus shout out to all you moms out there, I know this isn't entirely accurate, but if I had me a Dean like this 😮‍💨. Let me know what you thought, and again thank you for the ask @sir-thisisadndserver, I hope this is what you were hoping for ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in this series or my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

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