#dean winchester x oc

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 2

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 2159

Warning: Angst, longing. Not much that I can think of.

A/N: Professor Rober Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 2

Two weeks after your fifteenth birthday.

The last six months had flown by, your birthday still a blur of half-remembered moments. At least you hadn’t been paraded around to meet any alphas, and your pack had let you celebrate quietly. Still, the house was suffocating today, packed with family as they celebrated your cousin’s presentation. Too many scents. Too many voices. Too much of everything.

Jess had noticed the tension in your shoulders, the way your scent spiked with unease, and before you could say anything, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you outside. Now, lying on the forest floor, the rich scent of the damp earth filling your lungs, you finally felt like you could breathe again.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Jess murmured, rolling onto her side to face you. Even out here, she could probably still pick up the edges of your stress.

You exhaled a slow breath, watching the canopy above sway in the soft breeze. Sunlight flickered between the leaves, dappling Jess’s face in shifting patches of gold and green. “I know. I just… I can’t help it sometimes. Why couldn’t I just be normal?”

Jess huffed and flopped onto her back beside you. “I like that you’re not normal. Plus, normal is boring,” she said with a grin. 

That pulled a small chuckle from you.  “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me something weird from school.” Jess instantly perked up, her grin turning mischievous. “Remember that boy I told you about? The quiet one with the hazel eyes?”

Her excitement was infectious, the sparkle in her eyes lifting your mood.

“Yeah. Did you talk to him?” you asked, smirking.

Jess scoffed. “No. Boys are weird.” But the way she buried her face in her hands told another story. “I did overhear something, though. The teacher told him that he’s crazy smart, said he could advance in his classes if he actually tried. He wrote this really cool story about the summer his brother presented.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, raising a brow, “You like him.”

Jess let out a scandalized squeak, her cheeks turning pink. “I do not! He’s just—he’s nice, okay?”

You snorted. “Do you even know his name?”

She groaned and covered her face, “No.”

The admission sent you into another fit of laughter. Jess, who had no fear of standing up to anyone, who could recite entire pages of textbooks from memory, was completely undone by a single boy.

“Well, you should ask him,” you said, still amused but sincere. “From what you’ve told me, he sounds nice”

She sighed and turned her gaze back to the sky. “Maybe one day. I don’t want to like someone and have them not by my soulmate, you know?” 

At that, you laid back down, the warmth of the sun barely reaching through the thick canopy. “Yeah, I know,” you murmured, fingers absentmindedly brushing over the cool grass.

The full moon flashed through your mind—the way the night air had carried your song, the way your soul had stretched toward something unseen. Someone unseen. He had answered you, but you still hadn’t seen him.

That was something that sucked—liking someone before presentation. It was common knowledge among your lineage that everyone found their soulmate or true mate, as some called them. On rare occasions, they would meet before presentation, but that was nearly as rare as the genetic mutation you had. So, you completely understood her predicament.

“Maybe you’re like me,” you suggested quietly after a good while of silence.

Jess turned and looked at you quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what if this boy is your soulmate? Sometimes soulmates find each other even before presentation, even if it is rare, like what I have,” you explained, still staring at the canopy as the leaves swayed in the gentle breeze.

For a few moments, she stayed quiet, pondering your suggestion before looking back at the canopy. “I don’t want to risk it. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us if we aren’t.” 

That was Jess, always considering others before herself. She had one of the kindest souls you knew. “Just, think about it.” 

—----------------------------------

You woke early on your sixteenth birthday, the habit becoming second nature over the past few months. The house was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of dawn as you slipped out of bed. Something felt different—like the air itself carried a quiet anticipation.

Padding into the kitchen, you froze, puzzled to find both your parents already awake, sipping coffee as if they’d been up for hours. They didn’t have work today.

Your father grinned when he spotted you. “Morning, kiddo.”

“Morning,” you muttered, still groggy as you reached for your own cup. “Why are you two up so early?”

They shared a look—one of those silent exchanges you could never quite decipher—before your dad slid an envelope across the table.

“Happy birthday,” your mom said softly.

Confused, you set your coffee down and picked up the envelope. It had some weight to it, more than just a card inside. But before you could open it, the front door slammed open.

“Oh my god!!” Jess came skidding into the kitchen, breathless and wide-eyed. “We get to go move onto the land.”

Heart pounding, you tore the envelope open. A set of keys clinked onto the table, along with a folded car. Your fingers trembled as you flipped it open. Happy Sweet Sixteen, Y/N.

We’re moving, and so is Jess’s family. You need the land. We know that whatever is there, it brings you more joy than being stuck in the city. It’s already been discussed with the elders, and they have agreed to let both our families become caretakers. Professor Zimmerman has been given special access to continue tutoring you until you graduate. Jess will make the commute to her normal school during the week.

Love, Mom & Dad

The words blurred as tears filled your eyes. You pressed a hand over your mouth, overwhelmed, but Jess was already throwing her arms around you, practically vibrating with excitement.

“We get to live on the land!!” she squealed, trying—and failing—not to shout directly into your ear.

You let out a waterly laugh, hugging her back as warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks, Mom, Dad. This means a lot to me.” Your voice was quiet, thick with emotion. Had you told them about the alpha who answered your song? Nope. And you weren’t planning to, not yet. This gave you the chance to explore, to follow the pull that had been lingering at the edges of your senses since that full moon.

The move happened fast. Within a week, the pack had rallied together, helping both your family and Jess’s transition to the land. Boxes were carried, furniture was set up, and before you knew it, you were standing in the doorway of your new home, inhaling the rich scent of pine, sap, and freshly hewn wood. Your family’s cabin was beautiful—newly built, crafted from the very trees that surrounded you. Just twenty feet away, Jess’s family had an identical one, nestled beneath the thick canopy of the forest.

Inside, the space was simple but perfect. The scent of the earth clung to the wooden walls, grounding you in a way that city air never could. Your room was upstairs, tucked away on the far side of the house, with a window seat positioned against the outer wall. When you sat there, you had a perfect view of the forest stretching beyond, the place where you had first heard him.

Movement in your peripheral caught your eye. Across the way, through the window of the other cabin, Jess was perched on her own window seat, grinning like an idiot as she waved emphatically at you.

You laughed, shaking your head, but waved back before dropping your backpack on the bed. Taking a slow breath, you let your fingers trace over the solid pine desk, the dresser, the smooth carvings of the nightstand—all made from the forest that would now be your home. This was where you were meant to be. You could feel it in your bones.

Within a week, the last of the boxes had been unpacked, and life settled into an easy rhythm. Each morning, you saw Jess off as she caught the bus into town for school, and every afternoon, you met her when she returned. The two of you fell into step on the walk back to the cabins, trading stories about your day—hers filled with school gossip and pop quizzes, yours with lessons and discoveries that made your mind buzz.

Professor Zimmerman’s first visit to the land was almost comical in its weight. He was one of only a handful of outsiders granted access, and you could tell he understood the privilege. The reverence in his gaze, the way he took in every detail of the land, humbled by the trust placed in him—it made you respect him even more.

Your lessons took place in a designated cabin, a space that felt more like a sanctuary than a classroom. The walls were lined with maps—of the world, of shifting territories, of forgotten histories. Timelines stretched across one side, chronicling events that shaped civilization. A pair of towering bookshelves housed tomes that looked older than your parents, filled with knowledge you were just beginning to scratch the surface of. And then there were the books Professor Zimmerman brought just for you—college-level texts, subjects he thought would challenge and inspire you.

One afternoon, after lunch, he leaned back in his chair, studying you thoughtfully. “Have you given any thought to what you’d like to major in?” 

The question caught you off guard. You were graduating early, but you hadn’t let yourself think too far ahead. “I think I want to take a couple of years off first,” you admitted, setting your pend down. “Just… breathe for a while.”

His lips twitched in a small, knowing smile. “That’s a wise choice. Burnout is real, and it’s good to step back when you need to.” His voice carried that quiet understanding you’d come to appreciate. “When you’re ready, I’ll be here to help.”

“Thanks,” you replied, grateful, before going back to your current lesson.

—---------------------------

The first full moon on the land was different.

The pull was stronger, more insistent, as if something in the air had shifted. You felt it in your soul, in the way your skin tingled with anticipation. It took everything in you to wait—to let the pack splinter off into their groups, to let their howls fade into the distance—before slipping away into the night. Barefoot, you ran.

The earth was cool beneath your feet, the whisper of wind through the trees urging you forward. Your wolf stirred inside you, pressing against the barrier that kept her at bay. She couldn’t break through, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

Moonlight spilled through the canopy in scattered beams, illuminating the forest floor in silvery light. Unlike others, you saw the world in shades of gray at night—an advantage gifted by your genetic mutation. Every branch, every shift in the terrain was crisp, as if the moon itself was guiding you.

By the time you slowed to a walk, the air around you felt different. Lighter. Quieter. You’d gone further than before, farther than you ever had, but you weren’t afraid.

The trees thinned here, allowing the full moon to cast its glow uninterrupted. Ferns swayed in the gentle breeze, brushing against your bare calves as you stepped forward. You closed your eyes, tilting your face toward the sky, and let your song rise into the night.

It carried everything—longing, uncertainty, the ache of questions to big for words.

And, just like every night before, he answered.

A howl, deep and resonant, echoed through the trees.

But this time, it was closer.

Your heart pounded as you scanned the darkness, searching for movement, for a shadow between the trees. He was near. Maybe you had moved toward him, or maybe he had been closing the distance all along. Either way, you weren’t ready—not yet.

The words from the files echoed in your mind.

Do I want to meet my soulmate now? I’m only sixteen. How will my life change? Will I still get to be a teenager, or will all that be over the moment I see him?

Doubt coiled in your stomach, tightening around the edges of something raw and unspoken. You exhaled, long and slow, before turning back the way you came. The walk home was easy, your feet finding the path even as your mind remained tangled in thoughts.

By the time you reached your cabin, your decision was made. You would take the next two years for yourself. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe he was waiting, just as unsure as you were. But this time was yours, and you weren’t ready to give it up. Not yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 3 - coming soon

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[wendichester]

hi! I was thinking if you could write something kinda angst??? where reader have been acting kinda strange and having those little moments where she looks sick, and then she tells dean she's pregnant ! how you think he is going to take it?

Or maybe secret baby ! dean and reader see eachother again after a little bit more than a yer and she's with a pretty baby that looks like him !

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ not ready yet,

summary. you've been keeping your pregnancy from dean and he doesn't take it well.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 681

notes. i do feel like his initial response would be flight--too scared that he'd turn out like john, that we'd mess you and the baby up. though he would eventually get his head straight and come running back, wanting to do this with you. thanks for the request, love! 🩷

Dean Winchester knows when something’s wrong.

You’ve been acting off for weeks now—ducking out of conversations, getting quiet when Sam asks how you’re doing, disappearing to the bathroom for longer than usual. And the worst part? You won’t tell him what’s going on. It’s eating him alive.

So, when you sit him down in the motel room with that look—wide-eyed and scared, your fingers twisted together like you’re holding yourself together—it feels like a punch in the gut before you’ve even said a word.

“Alright,” Dean says, leaning back against the dresser, arms crossed over his chest. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, his jaw tight. “What’s going on? You’ve been weird for weeks.”

You flinch at his tone, but you don’t blame him. He’s been patient, and you’ve been distant. Still, his frustration only makes the knot in your stomach tighten.

“I need to tell you something,” you start, your voice shaky.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Dean snaps, and immediately regrets it when he sees the way your shoulders tense. He softens, exhaling through his nose. “Sorry. Just... talk to me, alright?”

You take a deep breath, trying to find the words, but they feel stuck. Heavy. Impossible.

“I’m pregnant.”

It comes out barely above a whisper, but it feels deafening in the silence that follows.

Dean blinks at you, his expression blank for a moment. And then he laughs—short, sharp, bitter. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke,” you say, your voice trembling. “I’m serious, Dean.”

He stares at you like you’ve just told him the world’s ending. “You’re serious,” he repeats, more to himself than to you. He rubs a hand down his face, pacing a few steps before stopping and turning back to you. “How the hell did this happen?”

You bristle at his tone. “You want me to explain the birds and the bees, Dean? Because I thought you had that part figured out.”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, his voice rising. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this a joke.”

“I’m not joking!” you snap back, standing up now, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I planned this? Because I didn’t. I didn’t ask for this, Dean.”

“And you think I did?” Dean fires back, his voice breaking. “We’re hunters, for God’s sake! We don’t get white picket fences and diaper changes. This isn’t our life!”

“I know that!” you shout, tears stinging your eyes. “But it’s happening, Dean. Whether you want it or not, it’s happening.”

The room falls into a tense, suffocating silence. Dean looks away, his hands on his hips, his head tilted back like he’s trying to find some kind of answer on the ceiling.

“I can’t do this,” he finally says, his voice barely audible.

The words hit you like a slap, and your breath catches in your throat. “What?”

“I can’t...” Dean shakes his head, his voice rough. “I’m not... I’m not built for this. I’ll screw it up. I’ll screw you up. I can’t—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, your voice breaking. “Just stop. If you don’t want to do this, fine. But don’t stand there and act like you’re protecting me by walking away. You’re just running, Dean. Like you always do.”

His head snaps back to you, hurt flashing in his eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is this,” you say, tears spilling over now. “But I don’t get to run. I don’t get to walk away from this. So, if you can’t handle it, just say that and go.”

Dean stares at you, his jaw working like he’s trying to say something, but nothing comes out. Finally, he shakes his head and storms out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

The silence he leaves behind feels heavier than any words he could’ve said.

You sink back onto the bed, your hands trembling as you press them to your stomach. You’re not sure if you’re more angry or heartbroken, but it doesn’t matter. All you know is that you’re doing this alone.

⋆˚࿔ read part 2

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[samuelsdean]

Flicker

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: "can i hold your hand?" you blurted out, surprised by your own boldness. a flicker of surprise crossed dean's face, quickly replaced by a ghost of a smile that sent a jolt through you. "yeah," he said, his voice softer than you were used to hearing. "yeah, you can."

genre: fluff

word count: 1.3k

author's notes: hi! here's another dean fic because i'm having a winchester brainrot after choosing to rewatch the show for the nth time. it's fluff again because i'm a sucker for soft!dean and i like it when idiots who are mutually pining for each other finally hold hands after 9989 years.

THE WIND HOWLED LIKE A WOLF ON A FULL MOON ON A PERPETUALLY OVERCAST NIGHT. It scoured the dust from the abandoned house's roof, a skeletal silhouette against the bruise-colored sky. The once-white picket fence weathered to a sickly gray, stood like crooked teeth in a decaying grin. The trees behind it, looming and stark, clawed at the sky, their branches whispering secrets the wind refused to carry.

You shivered, the cold a mere whisper compared to the unsettling feeling that prickled your skin. This place, nestled in a forgotten fold of a desolate highway at the edge of a forest, vibrated with a wrongness that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

"This place feels… dicey," Dean muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. He scanned the deserted midway, his eyes narrowed in a way that spoke volumes of past encounters with the unsettling.

"Think the rumors were true?" you asked, swallowing hard against the lump of unease in your throat.

The "rumors" were the reason you were standing in this creepy house at dusk. A string of disappearances, whispers of screams echoing in the dead of night, all traced back to this desolate stretch of road. Apparently, there was an urban legend of sorts in the area where a couple would get a flat tire out of nowhere, and with the area being nothing but just a highway and trees, the couple would choose to trek to a nearby house, only for them end up missing right after.

"Why? Are you scared?" A wry smile tugged at the corner of Dean's lips as he teased you. Before you could shoulder-check him for bugging you, he added, "Maybe, maybe not. But sticking together's the best bet we got, wouldn't you say?"

His gaze met yours, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a flicker of something akin to concern beneath the gruff exterior. It was a rare glimpse into the man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dean Winchester grew up suppressing whatever emotion he had besides his usual cocky demeanor and smirks because he had to raise Sam, his younger brother while hunting whatever it is that crawled out of the depths of hell. And Dean did a damn great job at that, Sam was now off to Stanford.

At that moment, the fear dissipated, replaced by a fierce determination.

"Yeah," you said, your voice firmer than you felt. "Let's get out of here."

He extended his hand, his calloused fingers surprisingly warm against your own. You hesitated for a beat, the implication of the gesture hanging heavy in the air. It was more than just a practical suggestion; it was a silent promise of support, a brief moment of connection you craved with this gruff hunter.

"Can I hold your hand?" you blurted out, surprised by your own boldness.

A flicker of surprise crossed Dean's face, quickly replaced by a ghost of a smile that sent a jolt through you. "Yeah," he said, his voice softer than you were used to hearing. "Yeah, you can."

You laced your fingers through his, the gesture a silent affirmation that went beyond the immediate danger. But for you, it was also a chance for something more, a stolen moment of skinship you yearned for.

As you walked, the wind seemed to whisper secrets around you, the creaking of the dilapidated house a morbid soundtrack. Each creak sent shivers down your spine, but Dean's grip remained steady, a reassuring anchor. You couldn't help but steal glances at him, his profile etched sharply against the dying light. The way his worn jacket barely contained the heat radiating from his body made your cheeks flush.

His hand, usually so quick to let go, lingered in yours. You weren't sure if he noticed the way your thumb brushed against his calloused skin, a silent plea for a little more contact. Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through your veins, or the way the danger heightened your senses, but Dean felt like a furnace beside you.

Suddenly, a flash of movement in the corner of your eye. A hulking shadow, all wrong angles, and unnatural speed darted behind a boarded-up ticket booth. A guttural growl, unlike anything you'd ever heard, ripped through the air. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"Did you see that?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Dean squeezed your hand, a silent acknowledgment, his hold tightening almost imperceptibly. This time, you were certain it wasn't just the danger.

"Stay close," he said, his voice low and gravelly.

He unsheathed his knife, its silver glinting in the fading light. You drew your own weapon, a wave of nausea washing over you. You hated this part, the constant feeling of being on the edge of a knife.

Stepping cautiously forward, you and Dean crept toward the source of the movement. The closer you got, the more the air crackled with an unnatural energy, the scent of decay thick and cloying. As you rounded a corner, the full horror of the creature revealed itself.

Towering over you was a monstrous figure, its once-human form twisted and warped. Its skin, a patchy mix of worminess and sickly shade, hung greasy. Claws, like sharpened daggers, protruded from its elongated fingers. But the most terrifying aspect was its face. A grotesque mockery of a human, its eyes burned with a bloodshot sclera devoid of any humanity.

The Rougarou, a creature born of insatiable hunger and despair, let out a bone-chilling roar, the sound echoing through the abandoned carnival. It lunged a blur of teeth and wormy skin.

The fight was a desperate ballet of survival. Dean, drawing on years of experience, moved with practiced efficiency, dodging the Rougarou's attacks while searching for an opening. You fought with a mix of fear and determination, adrenaline fueling your movements.

The Rougarou swiped at you with a clawed hand, leaving a searing mark across your arm. Pain flared, but you gritted your teeth, refusing to let it slow you down.

Dean created an opening, shouting, "Fire!" You lunged for your pocket, the familiar weight of the lighter a comfort in your hand. Snapping it open, you flicked the wheel, a flame erupting in the dying light. Hurling it with all your might, you aimed for the Rougarou's chest.

It shrieked, a sound that seemed to tear at the fabric of reality itself. The flame erupted on its body, a blossom of searing orange against the decaying flesh. The Rougarou thrashed, its inhuman roar turning into a desperate, pained yowl. It stumbled back, clawing at the burning fur, an unholy stench filling the air.

Fear, raw and primal, flickered in its eyes. But fear was a fleeting emotion for the creature. It roared again, charging at you with a desperate, burning lunge. This time, you were ready. You rolled to the side, the creature's claws missing you by a hair's breadth. Taking advantage of its momentum, Dean drove his silver knife into the Rougarou's back.

The creature howled in pain, clawing wildly. With a final, earth-shaking tremor, it collapsed, dissolving into a cloud of black smoke that dissipated with a sickly sweet stench.

You and Dean stood there, chests heaving, sweat clinging to your skin. The silence that followed was deafening.

"That was..." you started, your voice raspy.

"A Rougarou," Dean finished, his voice grim. "Nasty sons of bitches."

He reached out, checking the wound on your arm. His touch was surprisingly gentle. "You okay?"

You nodded, a weak smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks to you."

Dean met your gaze, a flicker of something warm passing between you in the fading light. He didn't say anything, but the way his hand lingered on your arm spoke volumes.

Together, you walked out of the abandoned place, the wind whispering through the trees, no longer sounding ominous but strangely peaceful. The horrors you'd faced had brought you closer, forging a bond forged in danger and shared survival. You knew this wouldn't be your last hunt, but for now, you had each other. And in that knowledge, you found a flicker of hope, a warmth that chased away the lingering chills of the night.

[bklynsboys]

Operation: Hide Our Relationship (?)

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: “you know,” dean murmured, his voice barely audible over the engine. "you always look so cute trying to deny we're not together." you jumped, startled, your hand instinctively reaching for the door handle. “what?”

genre: fluff

word count: 0.5k

author's notes: wrote a silly little drabble about how i see dean hard launching his relationship! the man is the biggest blabbermouth & he'd definitely be the first to announce that he's dating the love of his life to the most important person in his life (aside from you, of course), his brother. so, sit tight! i hope you'll smile from the the tooth-rotting fluff <3

THE IMPALA HUMMED WITH THE AFTEREFFECTS OF THE HUNT, THE AIR THICK WITH THE METALLIC TANG OF BLOOD AND THE FAINT, ACRID SCENT OF BURNT BONES. Dean slumped in the driver's seat, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and rhythmic, a stark contrast to the chaos you had just escaped. You sat beside him, your hands trembling despite the adrenaline fade. A thin film of sweat clung to your skin, and your heart pounded like a trapped animal. In the backseat, Sam tried to ignore the charged atmosphere, his eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the darkening road.

He’d suspected for a while. The knowing glances, the easy touches, the way their eyes lit up when they spoke – it was like an open secret, obvious to everyone but them. He'd tried to voice his suspicions, but they’d always laughed it off, their denials as practiced as their hunting rituals.

“You know,” Dean murmured, his voice barely audible over the engine. "You always look so cute trying to deny we're not together."

You jumped, startled, your hand instinctively reaching for the door handle. “What?”

“You heard me, sweetheart.” A lazy grin spread across Dean’s face. His green eyes, usually sharp and focused, held a softer glow. "You look adorable when you're all red-faced and in denial that we're together in front of Sammy."

A blush warmed your cheeks, and you could feel the heat rising in your neck. “Shut up, Dean!” You tried to sound indifferent, but your voice cracked, betraying the giddiness within.

There's nothing more than you want aside from screaming at the top of your lungs that finally, you and Dean were together.

"And you," cheeks still pink from your boyfriend's teasing, you turned your head towards his younger brother in the backseat. "Sam Winchester, stop smirking. I know you're finding this really funny."

Sam merely raised his hands in surrender, shaking his head at your accusation. "I didn't say anything."

Dean chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “See? So cute trying to prove my point.”

Sam couldn’t resist a snort. “Really, Dean? Now’s the time?”

Dean feigned offense, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “A guy can appreciate his own relationship, can’t he?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “You two are impossible.”

Sam grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Just admit it, you’re totally into each other.”

They exchanged a look, a silent agreement to ignore him. But the truth was written in their eyes, in the way they moved in sync, the unspoken understanding that hummed between them like buzz.

“Can we please just go?” you mumbled, your voice muffled by your hands. "I wanna shower. I stink of graveyard dirt and sweat."

Dean nodded, his expression softening. He reached for your hand, his touch grounding. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Sam sighed dramatically. “I’ll pretend I didn’t see anything.”

As the Impala ate up the road, the tension eased. With Dean's hand in yours, a promise of safety and companionship, you drifted off to sleep, the rhythmic hum of the vehicle and the gentle sway lulling you into a state of quiet.

[myladyship]

Imagine baby Winchester crying their crib and calling out for Dada. When that doesn't work, they whimper, "Cas!"

In a second, the angel appears. Baby Winchester sniffles and raises their hands, the universal sign for "Uppie!".

Just as he was about too, the baby monitor cracks up. "Don't... you... dare, Castiel..."

Cas blinks. Baby Winchester still demands cuddles.

"We're sleep training!"

Cas blinks again. "What's that?"

"Just!" Heavy sigh. "Let them sleep by themselves. "

Cas looks at Baby Winchester, who's still crying. He doesn't understand. When babies are upset, you comfort them. Why shouldn't he comfort the baby he was trusted to protect?

He picks the baby, ignoring the curses coming out of the baby monitor as Baby Winchester giggles.

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

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🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn. 

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly. 

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now. 

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.  

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[hisonlyangel67]

𝑡𝚑𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑏𝑒 𝑖’𝑑 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑙

in love with the idea of this the moment i saw it!! definitely had way too much fun doing this but here it is!!

inspired by @legalmente-loca

[castiwls]

one day - d.w

Paring; dean x reader

Requested; anon

Synopsis;Dean winchester and you had always been close. Destined to fall in love almost, yet nothing good can last forever.(kinda based on the book/series 'one day')

Warnings; mentions of death

Notes;complete truth ive never seen or read the book so I reseaeched it as well as I could. This genuinely made me tear up writing but I hope you enjoy :)

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[2005]

“Here.” Dean nudged your shoulder with him before passing you a beer. You smiled mumbling a small thanks before looking back to the horizon in front of you. The sun had just started to set casting the field in an almost golden glow as you both sat quietly.

His leg pressed against yours as he sat down, your backs against the side of his car. A long breath left his lips as he leaned his head against the car for a moment his eyes moved from the sky to watch you as you slowly sipped on the drink, a small smile playing on your lips.

‘When did you say you were leaving again?” You turned your head tensing slightly when you realised how close he was now. A small blush grew on your cheeks as your breath seemed to catch for a moment before you managed to compose yourself. 

If Dean was affected by the sudden proximity he didn’t show it. He hummed quietly pursing his lips in thought for a moment. “Monday. Dad said to meet him in Jericho.” You nodded a small pit of disappointment growing in your stomach. Monday was only three days away.

“Monday.” You repeated taking another sip of your drink. Dean’s arm curled around your shoulder shifting you slightly closer. “I wish you’d come round more.” You sighed reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his. “I miss you.” 

Dean’s eyes trailed down to where you’d intertwined your hands and he gently squeezed your hand. “You could come with me.” His eyes lit up slightly at the idea. 

You sighed. “Dean we both know that's not possible.” He seemed to deflate slightly before blowing out a breath. “I know, I know.” He shook his head, a small chuckle leaving his lips. “Plus, I think Bobby would actually kill me.” 

A laugh of your own espaced your lips. “That’s very likely.” 

Dean couldn’t help the smile which spread across his face again as he watched you laugh beside him. The sound alone left his heart fluttering, he’d always prided himself on his ability to make you smile no matter the situation.

He’d quickly learnt that one of his favourite things was seeing you happy and he’d do anything to make sure that happened. After a moment you fell quiet, your head resting on his shoulder as he squeezed you closer. 

He leaned down pressing his lips to your head for a long moment before settling back against the car. 

Truthfully a large part of him was dreading your impending goodbye. Hunting was taking up more and more of his time and in turn, he found himself with less and less free time and in turn less time to see you. 

The selfish part of him wanted to take you with him. Keep you by his side at all times but he knew you didn’t want that. You’d spent endless hours as kids and teenagers talking about your future plans and hunting was simply something you weren’t interested in.

Sure, you had the training and you knew more than enough to take on the job but it had never called to you in the way it seemed to Dean. 

The sun continued to set casting the world into greyscale as you both continued to sit there, mindlessly talking about anything and everything. 

A small yawn escaped your lips as you placed the bottle down beside you. Dean’s hand squeezed your shoulder. “Ready to head back?” He stretched his free arm over his head before moving to stand.

He held out a hand to you, which you quickly grasped. You stumbled slightly as you stood placing a hand on his chest to steady yourself. Dean grinned. “One drink and you're already falling over.”

You shook your head swatting at his arm. “Shut up.”

He laughed wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Someone can’t handle her drink.” He teased. “Dean!” You scolded. “I can handle my drink just fine thank you very much.” You pulled back from his side after a moment moving to stand in front of him. 

You studied his face for a moment, memorising every inch. “When will you be back?” He sighed pushing his hands into his pockets. “Soon. I promise.” 

He took a small step forward. “I’ll phone, every night alright.” He pulled a hand from his pocket reaching up to gently brush your jaw. “Be careful. Please.” You hated him hunting. You’d find yourself spending most of your days in an anxious haze waiting with bated breath to hear his voice. To know that he was alive.

He brushed his thumb over your cheek. “I always am.” He leaned down pressing his lips to your head. “You're not getting rid of me that easily.”

—

“You sure you can’t stay just one more day?”

Dean laughed quietly shaking his head. “Afraid not.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, sighing gently. “Duty calls.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, one of your hands running through the hair at the nape of his neck. His thumb rubbed small circles on your hip as he watched you, his heart picking up slightly as your fingers skimmed the back of his neck.

“I’ll call you later okay.” He pulled you closer resting his chin on your head. You closed your eyes relaxing into his hold. “Okay.” 

You stayed like that for a while before eventually pulling back. Mumbling a soft ‘bye’ he dropped his hands from your waist.

You watched from your spot as the Impala disappeared around the corner. You stood for a moment longer before turning and walking back into the house, mentally praying to whatever was up there that he’d come back safe.

[2010]

The click of the motel door pulled your attention from the article you’d been reading. Dean smiled holding up a take-out bag before walking over and placing it down on the table. He moved behind you placing a hand on the table. “Find anything?”

“Nope.” You sighed turning to face him. He let out a sigh of his own before reaching over to shut the laptop. “Hey.” You protested reaching over to reopen it, though Dean was faster. He pushed the laptop across the table. “You’ve been at it all day, it's late.” 

You pursed your lips before nodding. “Okay. I’m done.” His grin brightened pressing his lips to yours for a moment. The action still left you breathless even after months. You’d both danced around each other for so long that you weren’t entirely sure when you crossed the line from best friends to something more.

For the longest time you’d tried to push your feelings down. Tried to ignore the way your heart seemed to pick up whenever he was in the room as you were afraid of getting hurt. Your anxiety over him leaving was bad enough when he was simply your friend you couldn’t imagine the mess you would have been should you have been something more.

But over the last year, since his death and later resurrection, you’d found yourself joining him and Sam more and more. At first, you’d simply claimed you were catching up for lost time but over time you’d found yourself enjoying it. 

You’d never seen the appeal of the fast-paced life until now.

It also finally allowed your relationship with Dean to develop and move away from the cycle you’d both been stuck in. 

You hummed quietly as he pulled back. “C’mon, it’s gonna get cold.”

—

The smell of coffee drifted throughout the house as you slowly made your way downstairs. Music played softly from the kitchen as you passed through the small lounge, a tired smile growing on your lips as you leaned against the archway.

As if sensing your presence Dean turned, a grin on his face. “Mornin’ sweetheart.” You mumbled your own greeting before he turned back to the stove. Crossing the room you wrapped your arms around his waist sighing softly.

“You're up early.” Your check rested against his chest as your eyes glanced to the clock in the kitchen. 09:04 am. Dean hummed. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

You frowned slightly pulling back. “I noticed.” You moved to stand beside him. “You know you can talk to me right.” You placed a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to handle this alone.”

Dean stayed quiet, his grip on the pan tightening slightly. “I know.” He murmured.

The apocalypse hadn’t been easy on any of you. Dean especially. Losing Sam shook you all hard, harder than you’d imagined. It had gotten easier but he still had his moments. You both did.

You watched him for a moment longer mentally sighing. You hated when he’d close up like this. 

Leaning up on your toes you pressed a kiss to his cheek before pulling back. “I’ll get the plates.”

Dean nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips as you brushed a hand over his arm. He watched you from the corner of his eye, the feeling of grief which had consumed him since the night before seeming to melt away just slightly as he watched you.

The world had always seemed that much brighter whenever you were around, he supposed that was why he’d spent years begging you to come with him. Even now when his whole world crumbled around him the one constant he had left was you and you’d stayed.

He’d never imagined being able to live a normal life, it simply wasn't something that he’d seen as possible. Yet now he had that, he couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else.

Leaning down he flicked the heat off turning to watch as you moved around the small kitchen. You turned, smiling as you caught his eye. “Done?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, opening his arms as you approached him. You settled against his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck as he went to your waist. You stayed like that for a moment before you pulled back slightly looking up at him.

His eyes seemed to sparkle almost in the morning light as he stared fondly down at you. “You know I love you right.” He pressed his lips against yours for a moment. “I know.” You whispered leaning your forehead against his.

This was his heaven.

[2015]

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a hospital, but wandering the halls now he remembered why he disliked them. The white walls seemed too bright on his tired eyes as he made what must have been his fifth trip down to the coffee machine that day alone.

He’d long since stopped caring about how long it had been since he’d first stepped foot inside the building. Sam had mumbled something about him needing to go and get some sleep - something about how he was only going to make himself ill but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

The hunt had gone bad. Really bad. 

None of you had noticed the fifth vamp. None of you had noticed the way it had managed to get behind you until it was too late. Dean kept replaying the moment over and over in his head, every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the moment you hit the floor. The way your body had gone limp in his arms.

The memory left bile rising in his throat as he pushed a random button on the machine. 

He really needed a drink.

The doctors had told them you were stable. You’d been in surgery for hours and even that had been touch and go. 

There had been blood - so much blood.

Shaking slightly he grabbed the cup before setting off back to the lifeless room which had become his home over the last few days. 

The monitors beeping had ingrained themselves in his brain and it seemed no matter where he was all he could hear was the sounds of the machines currently keeping you alive.

Shouldering the door open he paused for a moment. If he really thought about it he could just trick himself into thinking you were asleep and that you weren’t clinging to life by a thread.

Sitting down in the chair beside your bed he let out a shaky breath, bringing the cup to his lips he took a long sip. The liquid burned as he swallowed.

Placing the cup down he reached over to grasp your hand in his. The skin was cooler than normal as he rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. “You gotta wake up Sweetheart.” 

His eyes slowly moved from your hand to your face as he leaned closer. 

For the first time in a while, he felt truly lost. Normally you’d be the one to comfort him in these situations. When his dad died you’d been there and the countless times he’d lost Sam it was always you who’d be standing not far away, waiting to pick up the pieces and mend what was broken.

Yet now you weren’t there. 

Drawing in a breath he felt a tear fall from his eyes. He quickly wiped it away before brushing a hand over your head. “I can’t do this alone.”

His voice was quiet as he spoke. This wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to get old, and maybe have a few kids (hopefully with him). Hell, you were supposed to get married - something you’d always talked to him about.

But now all that seemed like a distant fantasy. Something which a few days ago had been so in reach was now nothing more than a distant fantasy. Something which the realistic part of him knew would never happen.

He fell quiet after a moment, his eyes glued to your face as he pulled every ounce of strength he had not to break down then and there. 

His free hand slipped down into his pocket. His fingers grasped the small box before pulling it out. Dean stared at it for a moment, fresh tears gathering in his eyes as he flicked the box open.

The ring glistened under the white light. He started at it for a moment longer before snapping the box shut. 

Standing from the chair he ran a hand through his hair as he slowly paced the room. The beeping continued quietly in the background until suddenly the room fell quiet.

It must have been less than a second yet he still paused, a frown growing on his lips before the beeping returned - this time louder and more instant.

Within a minute the room was swarmed. Doctors and nurses all talking over each other as he stood there, frozen. He barely registered someone taking his arm and pulling him from the room in his daze.

No. No. No.

His body refused to move from where the nurse had left him quickly telling him to stay there. The world almost seemed to slow down as he watched on from his spot. 

“Dean.” Sam’s voice broke him from the daze. He sounded breathless as he planted a hand on his brother's shoulder, a pained look on his face. “Sit.” He pushed his brother into a chair before falling into the one beside him. 

He placed his head in his hands.

After what seemed like an eternity a doctor - one Dean recognised - emerged. His face is natural as he came to stand before them both. Sam practically shot out of his seat as the doctor sent Dean a glance.

He whispered something before pulling Sam a few feet away. Ignoring them both he stood slowly walking towards the doorway. The room was mostly empty now except for a nurse who paused upon hearing his footsteps.

She sent him a sympathetic look before gently brushing past him. Just as he went to step into the room a hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Dean.” Sam’s voice shook slightly as he turned to face his brother. 

The doctor stood beside him, a solemn look now on his face. “She’s okay” Dean looked between the two. His fist clenched at the silence. “She’s okay.” He was more instant this time.

The doctor sighed, swallowing thickly. “I’m afraid not. She lost too much blood. We did what-”

“She’s fine.” Dean cut him off stepping closer. His eyes hardened as a burst of anger seemed to bubble over. Sam quickly stepped between the two as Dean’s voice began to rise in volume. 

“She’s fine. You said she would be fine.”

His hands shook slightly as he felt his brother push him back until he hit a wall. The words continued to fall from his lips, each more frantic than the one before. “I’m so sorry.” The man said before turning and walking away.

Dean watched before turning back to his brother. Sam swallowed, his eyes glassy as he stepped back. His eyes darted over to the room door before looking back to Dean. 

“You need to say goodbye.”

At that moment the dam inside him snapped. The anger faded to pure despair as he ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t. I can’t. She’s not…” He shook his head. The world left the bile climbing back up his throat.

“Dean.” Sam sighed watching as his brother moved back to the room doorway. “I’ll give you a minute.”

Dean barely glanced back before stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him.

You looked peaceful.

Steeling himself he moved back over to his seat. Taking your hand in his he sat for a moment. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered. He slipped out of the chair, the floor hard beneath his knees as he shuffled closer.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the box again carefully opening it before pulling the ring out. 

He didn’t bother to stop the tears which threatened to fall as he gently took your hand in his, slipping the ring onto your finger before placing your hand back down on the bed. 

Leaning up he placed his lips to your cheek. 

“I love you.” His lips brushed your cheek gently. “I’ll never stop loving you.” 

Leaning his head on the bed he finally broke down.

Intertwining your fingers, he felt the cool press of the ring against his skin as his whole world finally crumbled down.

[asmutwriter]

Birthday Spice (Dean x f!reader)

DESCRIPTION: Its Dean's birthday so you decide to help him celebrate properly

A/N - Happy birthday Dean! Story has not been proof read yet

WORD COUNT: 1949

One Shots / 'You Saved Me'

WARNINGS: established relationship, porn with very little plot, sub Dean, dom reader, creampie, unprotected p in v, hair pulling, oral (m recieving), I will add more if I need too after I proof read it

DISCLAIMERS

This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

This story is based after the events of my series 'You Saved Me' (a Supernatural fan fiction) which I'd recommend reading before or after reading this

Your eyes keep glancing towards the clock on the wall. You were in your pub downstairs. You had already put the sign up to say that you were closed however you had a few customers still in. Enjoying the last of their meals and drinks. You couldnt throw them out. Well... It was your pub so you techinacly could but it seems a little harsh.

Although Dean had stopped hunting full time he still enjoyed going and getting his hands dirty every now and then. Today was one of those days. He was on a hunt with Sam. He said he'd be back about 8 tonight. The clock currently showed 7:42 and you really wanted to make sure everything was ready for when he got back. About ten minutes pass. You assume the last customer got the hint as you not so subtly were staring at them. Giving you eight minutes to get ready. Not that you expected Dean to be early.

You wear your clean silm dressing gown. Eyes glued to the door. Waiting. Watching. Hearing the door downstairs click open. The distant voice of Dean probably saying goodbye to Sam. A few moments pass. The door to your mian home click open you see Dean enter. You stand up. Going to the end of the hallway. Arms keeping the silk material wrapped around you. Dean smiles as he meets your eyes.

"Hey Kat" he shuts the door behind him. Kicking his shoes off and taking off his denim jacket. HAnging it up. He turns to look back at you. He wasnt a fussy man but you staying silent was unusual. Normally youd be showering him with affection. Especially during days you hadnt seen him. Once his eyes go back to yours you take a small breath. Moving your hands you let the silk of your dressing down fall to the floor.

Revealing your red wrap around bra tied in the front with a bow. A matching red thong. Little red garter belts wrapped around your thighs. Keeping up your white net stockings. His eyes grow wide. Going straight to your chest. He coughs slightly. Bringing a hand to the front of his jeans as he tries adjusting himself.

"You- you umm... you look good. Is this- I dont recognise this?" You walk down the hallway space. Talking as you do.

"I heard that it was your birthday today. So I wanted to surprise you with a little gift". You get to him. Placing your hands on his chest before pushing them up. Over his shoulders. WRapping your arms around his neck. He only nods in repsonse. His hands instincitvly going to your hips. You go on your tiptoes. Brushing your lips over his as you keep contact with his eyes.

"Do you like your present?"

"Very much"

"Do you want to unwrap it?" you smile. Moving a hand from his neck. Gently taking one of his from your hip. Placing it to the bow resting kindly between your boobs.

"Fuck" he mutters. "Please". You smile. Feeling him pull the fabric. Letting your chest be free. Hes seen your boobs so many times. He can never get over how perfet they look. His eyes go down. Staring at them. "What- What about the girls?" He asks. Obviously not wanting to start something he'll have to finish early due to your daughters.

"Dont worry about them. They arent here tongiht". You bring a hand round to gently cup his cheek. "Im all yours". With that he crashes his lips to yours. Hands going to your hips as he lifts you up. WRapping your legs around his wast as he spares no time making his way t the bedroom. He oh so carefully places you to lie on the bed. He lips go from yours to your neck. Hands coming up and kneeding your bare breasts. His mouth trailing down. Taking one of your nipples between his soft lips.

You give a soft sigh. Hands going to his hair. Rutting your hips aganst him. You give into the feel of his mouth and rough hands for a few minutes. Feeling him suck and pull at your breasts. Tugging his hair you hear his mouth leave your nipple with a soft plop. Bringing his lips back to yours. Mouths exploring one another as he move over you. You wrap your legs around his waist. pulling him close to you. Pushing against him so he sits up. Your legs still around his body as he sits on the bed. You move your lips from his. An inch between you.

"Lie down". You quietly order him. He doesnt hesitate. Quickly lying don on the bed. You kneeling beside him. You run your hand up his chest. His eyes watching you with anticipation. You bring both your hands to the bottom of his shirt. Pulling it up and over his head. Tossing it onto the flor. Your hands cold against his warm skin. He flinches slightly. A soft grunt coming from his lips as you place your icy hands onto his stomach. Smiling down at him as he looks up at you. Arching your fingers to drag the blunts of your nails down his torso.

Getting to his jeans you are slow as you undo his belt. Even slower when you unbutton and pull down the zip of his jeans. Taking the tops of them and pulling them down the lenght of his legs. It takes a lot of strenght to not moan as you see his hard cock through his boxers. Biting your bottom lip. Hand going and wrapping around his length. Squeezing it.

"fuck" he mutters. His head titlign back before going back to watch you. "Please Kat". You smile. Leaning down as you gently kiss him. Hand rubbing him through the fabric. Smile growing as yo feel soft grunts escape into your mouth.

"Do you want my mouth?" you kiss his lips. Eyes still on his as you ask the questions. "Or my cunt?" His breath hitches. Eyes darting to your lips.

"Both? Please" a light smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. "It is my birthday after all". You give a small chuckle. Even when he was putty in your hands he still would wear that cocky grin. You kiss him again. Then his neck. Chest. Down his torso. Kissing the waistband of his boxers. Delicate hands going to the tops of them. Pulling them down his legs. Forgetting them on the floor with the rest of his clothes. His hard cock on full display.

You take it in your hand. Starting to fist his dick. He shudders out a breath. You move down the bed. Able to bend so you can easily tale him into your mouth. You sraddling one of his legs as you gently kiss his tip. Eyes glancing to his pretty face. His eyes fluttered shut as you slowly start to tease him. Kissing along the side of it. Soft. Gentle. Licking a stripe up it before gently planting a kiss to the tip. You wrap your lips around him. Lowering yourself down onto his length. going until you feel it hit the back of your throat. Your nose hitting his pelvis.

"Fucking helll" he moans. His hand going straight to your hair. Gripping it harshly. You humm around him. Starting to bob your head up and down onto him. With his help of his hand he sets a pace for you. His hips meeting your mouth in a steady thrust. Matching your speed. Ears filled with the sound of him making contact with your throat and his delicious moans. You can hep but start to grind your core against his leg. Only slightly. Enough to try and ease some of the friction that had appeared between your thighs.

You could feel him twitch under you. His lenght starting to twitch in your mouth. He lets out a moan. The hand firmly in your hair pulls you from him. A trail of spit connecting the two of you. His breathing is heavy. Eyes shut. You wipe at your lip with your thumb. Your slight movement making his drop your hair. You move to the end of the bed. Shimmying your underwear off. Climbing back onto him. Sitting a top his thighs.

His eyes flick open. Hands going to your hips as he meets your gaze. "You want to cum inside me?" He nods. Eagerly looking up at you. You smile. Leaning over him as you plant a gentle kiss to his lips. Moving back up. You go up onto your knees. Steadying yourself onto his stomach. His hands help keep you balanced as you line yourself up to his hard lenght. One of your hands wraps around it. Easily finding your hole with his tip. Slowly lowering yourself down onto his girth.

His eyes focused on where the two of you meet. His breathing hitches as you rest on him. SMiling at the feeling of him fully inside you. Like your body is meant for him. You start to move. Leaning forward onto his stomach as you start to slowly glide your body up and down onto his. A drawn out moan leaving your lips at the feeling. "Shit" he shakily says. Hands gripping at your thighs. Helping you bounce on his cock.

"Feels so good" you mumble. Tilting your head to the side. Shutting your eyes. Focusing on getting him off. This was his day after all. That didnt stop him from wanting to please. One of his hands moves. Going from your hip to your core. Thumb finding your clit. Rubbing quick circles onto it. "Fuck!" You make a couple more movements. Feeling your rythm start to falter. Pushing yourself through despite your legs wanting to give out under you. Your determination making you have harsher strokes. Making him get closer with each movement.

"Kat..." he moans. A silent question.

"I want to feel your cum insdie me". With those words he brings you harshly down onto him. Both hands refocusing on your hips to hold you in place. Feeling the familiar feeling of his load shooting inside of your walls. You let out a stuttered moan. A gleeful smile creeping over your face.

You open your eyes. Looking down at the beautiful man beneath you. The one you get to call 'yours'. Hsi green eyes finding yours. His smile cocky. Of course. You lean forward. Kissing his lips. Wiping that cute smile from his face. His arms wrap around your frame. Holding you close to him. Kissing your forehead before you rest you head down onto his chest. Hand coming and resting beside your face as you shut your eyes. His voice is soft in the quiet room after a few minutes

"We should move and get cleaned up". You shake your head.

"Comfy"

"If I stay inside of you I'll get hard again and we'll have to do that again". You tilt your head to look up at him. His mimicing yours downwards.

"Would that be a bad thing?" a smirk taunts your face.

"No but I need stamina. And I know theres a pie in the fridge with my name on it" You laugh. Moving so you can plant your lips to his.

"I love you Dean". He smiles. Kissing you again.

"I love you". Quickly kissing you one more time before he sits up. You wrap your limbs around him. His strong arm holding you close to him as he moves from the bed. Your naked bodies still connected as he makes his way to the kitchen. Opening the frideg and finding the second love of his life - pie.

TAGS: @sojuxxi

[aylacavebear]

To think, this was the first story I published on here, a year ago. I have nostalgia moments, lol. I think I might go back and reread this one, just to see how my writing has changed in that time.

Thank you to all my readers, as well as other authors on here. You've all been amazing with your comments, hearts, and reblogs.

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She Thought She was Normal Master List

Story Summary: Maria really thought she was normal, for most of her life. It was normal for people to have natural talent, she would tell herself the older she got. Many things came easy for her, and that was probably how their rivalry began when she was five and he was seven and she met the Winchesters. Little did either of them know that it wouldn't stay like that forever, both having a far larger destiny than they could imagine

Each chapter will have warnings. Pairing is Dean Winchester x OC Lots of familiar faces will make an appearance: Jody Mills, Bobby Singer, Dean, Sam, and John Winchester, Castiel, and more. I don't want to give away too many spoilers.

Chapter 1 - In The Beginning Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 - When Dreams Are Too Real Chapter 7 - Thanksgiving Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 - So Much for Being Normal Chapter 12 Chapter 13 - Ground Rules Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 - When Things Change Chapter 18 Chapter 19 - Pt 1 Chapter 19 - Pt 2 - You Had Me At Apple Pie Chapter 20 - Pt. 1 - Confessions Chapter 20 - Pt. 2 - Azazel Chapter 21 - Time to make a choice Chapter 22 - Let the Whiskey Flow Chapter 23 Pt. 1 Chapter 23 - Pt. 2 - (18+ Warning) Chapter 24 - Apple Pie Chapter 25 Chapter 26 - A Reunion They Didn't See Coming Chapter 27 Chapter 28 - Kripke's Hallow Chapter 29 Chapter 30 - Thanksgiving & New Beginnings Chapter 31 - Revelations Chapter 32 - A Taste of Normal Chapter 33 - Hell Chapter 34 - An Unexpected Intrusion Chapter 35 - Heaven Chapter 36 Epilogue

I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'd love to hear what you liked, loved, or even hated about it. Leave me a comment.

[wendichester]

i see your requests are open. could i please request something where the reader is taking care of dean 👉👈 your fics are so sweet 😄 💞

.˖`₊⊹ʚ ۶ৎ stitches,

summary. dean is reckless, but luckily, you're always there

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 537

notes. thank you so much for requesting this, love. soft dean is everything 😮‍💨

Dean Winchester is a stubborn man. You’ve known this since the day you met him, and yet, every time he gets himself hurt, he somehow manages to surprise you with just how hardheaded he can be.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, wincing as you press a damp cloth to the gash on his temple. His green eyes avoid yours, but the telltale twitch in his jaw gives away his discomfort.

“Sure, you are,” you reply, your voice flat. “That’s why you were swaying like a drunk on a tightrope when you walked in here.”

He huffs but doesn’t argue. Instead, he sits on the edge of the motel bed, his shoulders slumped and lets you clean the wound. It’s rare for Dean to let someone take care of him—rarer still for him to sit still while it happens.

“Could you hold still?” you ask, raising an eyebrow when he flinches under your touch.

“Your hands are cold,” he mutters, sounding more like a petulant child than the seasoned hunter he is.

You bite back a smile, dabbing at the cut gently. “You’re lucky I have steady hands. Or should I let Sam stitch you up next time?”

That earns you a low chuckle, his lips twitching into a half-smile. “I’ll take my chances with you, thanks.”

The silence between you is heavy but not uncomfortable as you work. The warm glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows on his face, highlighting the lines etched by years of hunting, of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“You really scared me today, you know,” you say quietly, focusing on wrapping the bandage around his head.

Dean’s eyes flick to yours, guilt flashing across them before he looks away. “Didn’t mean to,” he says softly. “Things just got... messy.”

“That’s one way to put it,” you murmur, tying off the bandage. You lean back to survey your work, satisfied that the wound is cleaned and secure. “You’re all patched up now, but you’re not off the hook. You need to rest.”

Dean snorts, leaning back on his elbows. “Rest? Come on, sweetheart. There’s no rest for the—”

“If you say ‘the wicked,’ I swear I’ll make you sleep on the floor,” you interrupt, hands on your hips.

His grin is wide and boyish, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat despite your exasperation. “Yes, ma’am.”

Shaking your head, you grab a bottle of water from the nightstand and hand it to him. “Drink this. And no beer until you’ve had some actual sleep.”

Dean takes the bottle, his fingers brushing against yours. He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face. “Thanks,” he says, his voice low and sincere.

“For what?”

“For putting up with me,” he says, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

You roll your eyes, though your heart swells at his rare moment of vulnerability. “Somebody has to. Now lie down before I knock you out myself.”

Dean chuckles, but he does as he’s told, stretching out on the bed with a groan. As you pull the blanket over him, his hand catches yours, his grip warm and firm.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he murmurs, his eyes already fluttering shut.

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[samuelsdean]

Stitch Me Up

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: for dean, every scrape, every gash, was a twisted plea for your touch.

genre: angst

word count: 0.5k

author's notes: i wrote this at 3 am on my notes app while simultaneously rewatching spn because i'm insane and i'm a huge advocate of touch-starved!dean.

THE METALLIC TANG OF BLOOD WAS DEAN'S CONSTANT UNPLEASANT FOREWARNING THAT DEAN HAD RETURNED—HE WAS HOME. Sprawled on the floor, another injury marring his flesh, and he sees you right there in front of him. He could see the anger in your eyes, could feel the fury that bubbles in your gut is ceaseless, a familiar dance with the ever-present terror.

For Dean, every scrape, every gash, was a twisted plea for your touch.

Dean loves it when you touch him, when you lay your hands gently on his skin, careful not to cause him more pain than what he is dealing with at the moment. He loves it when you clean his wounds while going off on another tangent as to how he should be more cautious—threatening him that next time, you would not be there to treat him; yet, every time, not one did you miss his homecoming, when he comes home bloodied, the first thing you do is come running and restoring him to full health. He craved your tirades, the harsh scoffs, and thinly veiled threats that were your flimsy shield against worry. Each rant was a desperate battle cry, a plea for him to be careful.

Yet, Dean could not help himself. He reveled in your ministrations, the gentle contrast to the fire of your anger.

Dean loves it when you tend to him because it is proof that you care.

And he craves it—craves you—your presence, your touch—everything. He thinks it is sickening how much he has grown to crave you. Because he thinks he does not deserve you, and he knows that the universe always tries to play a sick joke on him.

It was a warped version of his affection born from a life spent in the shadows. Love, for him, was a dangerous dance, a promise of heartbreak waiting to happen. People he cared about had a knack for disappearing, leaving him with the cold comfort of solitude. Hunting was a drifter's existence. A life with no room for roots or dreams. Letting someone in, and building a family, was a recipe for disaster.

It is a lonely life being a hunter. One could never have the chance to put down roots because there is always a monster to hunt, a demon to exorcise, and a case to solve. Loving someone and having a family is just a foolproof way of getting yourself hurt. Yet, here he was, craving the very thing he swore to avoid. It was a sickness, a yearning that gnawed at his soul.

Because the truth, the terrifying truth, was that Dean could not bear the thought of being truly alone.

The sting of disinfectant was a cruel reminder of his twisted reality. As you patched him up, his eyes, usually alight with mischief, held a touch of vulnerability. At that moment, Dean gave you a glimpse of his plea for something more than just mending—a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a place in a world that felt increasingly fragile, right beside you.

But the question remained, a silent echo in the tense air: could you give him what he craved without sacrificing your own heart in the process?

[artyandink]

JENSEN-A-THON

WELCOME!

Rules:

You have to have trigger warnings on your drabbles/oneshots

No inc3st, p3dophilia, age gaps are allowed as long as one isn’t a minor, if anything is majorly outta pocket then nope sorry

Any of Jensen’s characters

You may use a section from an existing fic IF it works as a drabble

No OC inserts. (Y/N) or no mentioned names are allowed

You’re allowed same sex couples

Smut is allowed

Jensen’s Characters (That aren’t so hard to find info on):

Dean Winchester

Soldier Boy

Beau Arlen

Alec McDowell

CJ Braxton

Jason Teague

Tom Hanniger

Russell Shaw

Boaz Priestly

When is it happening?

2nd June - 31st July

List of writers participating (comment/reblog to show you’re participating):

@artyandink @k-slla @jackles010378 @angelbabyyy99 @lailawinchesterr @kayleighwinchester @anundyingfidelity @nescaveckwriter

This will be then compiled into a fic rec list, so everyone can read it. If a writer posts a drabble/oneshots, do reblog with feedback or a review to keep the flow going! The writer who posts the most drabbles/oneshots in those ten days will get a personalised oneshot written by me.

Have fun!

IMPORTANT NOTE: I will need you to tell me in the comments or by reblog, or by DMs if you’re participating!

IMPORTANT 2: Make sure to tag me in your drabbles/oneshots so I can tally!

IMPORTANT 3: You can anyways participate, I just want to have a list so I can compile the fic rec list!

[daylighted]

ㅤ ㅤㅤ 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐒 ❛ nicky ❜ 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ────────────────────────────

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘, ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐞 !

─────────────────────────

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤfeaturing reader !

[ REDACTED ]

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤfeaturing dean !

[ REDACTED ]

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤfeaturing dean & reader !

[ REDACTED ]

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤmeet nick !

[ REDACTED ]

────────────────────────────────────────────

nicky saint is an original character made by me, built and curated for the supernatural fandom. logically speaking, he was made to explore the dynamic of dean bringing his best friend on the search for his father, instead of pulling sam from college. emotionally speaking, he was created so i could write a form of tom x jensen x you smut. LOL. more info coming soon! i am just on a time crunch right now!

call it an additional christmas gift since his name apparently is literally saint nicholas. LMOAOFIDKDSJ

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for @jacklesversebingo.

**Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Series Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Racism, angst, violence, protective Dean, eventual smut, perilous situations, fluff and spice, along with other chapter-specific tags.

🎵 Listen While You Read: The Spirit Soundtrack

Chapters:

Part 1 - Pride & Prejudice

Part 2 - Death & Sacrifice

Part 3 - Worthy

Series Complete!

Sequel Stories:

Outlander - Series Complete!

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? 

🎙️ Podcast Fics:

A “podfic” is where you can listen to the story narrated - in this case by my amazing friend Sandra - @talltalesandbedtimestories.

Listen to Part 1 -

Listen to Part 2 -

Listen to Part 3 -

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Jacklesverse Bingo24 Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

Comment below if you'd like to be tagged in this series! 💜

Or follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new story or chapter.

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @iamsapphine

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@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @k-slla @jackles010378 @deanbrainrotwritings

@alwaystiredandconfused @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70

@kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28

@spnwoman @stoneyggirl2 @spnfamily-j2 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles

@mrlonelycat @sanscas @spnexploration @tmb510 @fromcaintodean

[rubyvhs]

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