#dean winchester x oc

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

I'm not kidding this might be my favorite gif ever lol. BUT I am so excited to read the last chapter of this series!! I mean, I'm sad that it's coming to a close, but I'm hoping that in the future there might be a fic with a little Elijah (or a little Jude) running around. 😏

I love the little details about him and Benny pranking each other, but it really just made me sad because Dean left them 😭 But at the same time they are opening up with one another and sharing their life stories and I couldn't be happier.

“I will protect you,” she says. Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

Again I stan a strong woman and Mila is just so stinking badass that I love her so much. Also yes girl, PROTECT 👏🏻 YOUR👏🏻 MAN👏🏻

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be. He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

Love that you're referencing the honorable choice title here, and showing that Dean is a man of honor and that he did make a choice that maybe messed up his life, but he cared more about doing the right thing. And I think you did a great job of titling the series and the chapters in general. Each one corresponds beautifully to the themes in the chapters so you should be proud!

It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.

I know that something dramatic is about to happen and that I shouldn't be thinking about this right now, but I just love height difference so much😭. When a guy is bigger than his girl oh wow it sends me to the moon. I think it's so cute and goodness the cuddles must be so fun.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

Again, devastating moment, but... SHE SAID HIS NAME FOR THE FIRST TIME! And the running her fingers through his hair?!?!?!?!

Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble. 

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly. Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown. “Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says. Her brows raise. “No?” “Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man."

I'm cackling. I love Mila so much. The sass, the teasing. Oh goodness they're so cute and I am so scared that there's going to be a last minute perilous situation and somebody is gonna die.

“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.

Excuse me sir? SIR?! You know... he's right Mila. You should listen to your future husband.

Also him respecting her when she said that she doesn't have sex before marriage is just so HONORABLE AND WORTHY and why can't there be men that respectful all the time? Dean Winchester is really just ruining other men for me everywhere. 😭

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize… Her heart has already chosen.

Girl it's chosen correctly. No remorse. No regret. Please oh my word let them both live at the end of this fic. 🙏🏻

He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.

So... the face squishing is a family trait I see. But man, Dean standing there while a random lady just squishing his face while his eyes are wide in horror is so funny to me.

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

AWW YEAH IT WAS GOING THAT WAY! lol

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?” Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others. It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life.  “No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

This bit is so good. It's so true and honest and a little heart breaking, but it's such a wonderful thing for them to talk about, because Mila knows that he's thrown away his life to save hers. And it's so wonderful that he's able to give her that confirmation and reassurance that he doesn't regret the choice he made. Because it was the right choice, the -AHEM- Honorable Choice lol 😂

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection. “All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.” 

Oh this chapter was so good my sweet friend! I'm a little sad to see that it's ending, but it was so wonderfully written and neither of them died. I was really scared about that 😅. AND it ended with a wedding (sort of?). Now little Elijah can run around the camp helping his mother and learn how to break in horses with his father. ❤️

The Honorable Choice - Part 3

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: The last chapter! Hold on, it's about to get bumpy...

Disclaimer: 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’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.

**Pronunciation guide at the end!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, smut (mutual masturbation, fingering, and more), angst, and fluff.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 3: Worthy

They travel together for two more days. Dean isn’t really a talkative man, but inevitably, he finds himself speaking to fill the comfortable stretches of quiet plodding across the grasslands.

He tells her about growing up on his family’s farm, where his father was firm but fair, and a larger-than-life presence when Sam and Dean were kids. His mother though, she was the only one who could ever go toe to toe with John Winchester and win.

“She tamed him,” Mila remarks with a smile. Dean’s lips quirk in response.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chuckles, “but he knew he couldn’t pull a whole lot of shit with Mom. She’s a real pistol when she’s gotta be.”

Talking about them makes his heart heavy and sobers his mood, so he deflects with other stories, other chapters of his life. 

He talks about going through basic training alongside Benny Lafitte. As privates, Dean pranked his friend by filling his lumpy old pillow with raw eggs and chicken feathers. In retaliation, Benny swapped Dean’s morning coffee with actual dirt and hot water. Their boyish games escalated until they were nearly kicked out of the military.

Dean managed to smooth things over though. He’s always had a way of charming people, even the gruff Sergeant Major, Bobby Singer.

Mila admits that she and her cousin Šóta used to sneak out of the village when they were younger. He taught her how to climb trees, how to fight and protect herself, and how to ride a horse astride, like a man. He was the only one who ever encouraged her to have the “free mind” her mother dreamed about.

The more she confides in him, her eyes sparking with life and her hands gesticulating along with her words, the more Dean listens.  

On the third day, it’s nearing mid-afternoon when Dean slows Baby to a stop. After miles and miles of forest and grassland covered, they’ve finally approached a large, wide river. Mila stops beside him.

“My tribe lives beyond the river,” she says, “but the current is strong now.”

Dean looks over at her. A question he hasn’t wanted to ask crops back up. He feels that now is the time to voice it.

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

He’s still not convinced, but at this point, he really doesn’t have many options. It’s either take his chances with her tribe, or become a vagabond. He’s not sure how long he could survive in wilds of the West alone, especially while trying to dodge military patrols.

In the past three days, it’s taken Dean all that time to come to terms with a simple fact. He’ll likely never see his brother again, or his mother. It’s a pain that cuts into him deeply, down to his bones. It stings behind his eyes.

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be.

He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

With that decision made, Dean expels a long, somewhat faltering breath. He locks away the rest of his uncertainty, his apprehension, and even his grief. He hides deep inside, where she won’t see it. 

“All right, the current doesn’t look too bad over here,” he says, pointing to farther north along the river. “The horses can make it.”

Mila nods in agreement. She still looks uneasy, though she tries to hide it too. She ventures ahead into the river. Dean follows close behind.

The water is shallow at first, but it all too quickly gets deeper. The horses plod over the river stones and vegetation under the surface, and the humans are led deeper, until they’re submerged into the water up to their waists.

It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.

That’s why he’s able to act fast when Mato slips, dunking Mila under the water. She gasps and tries to cling onto him, but the current is fierce. It pushes Mato down the river no matter how much he scrambles and kicks at the water, braying wildly in distress.

Shit! Dean tugs sharply at Baby’s reigns and strives to catch up to them. He grabs Mato’s reigns and pulls and pulls, until he and Baby are able to drag him to the other side of the river where he can get a foothold with his hooves.

Mila is starting to fall off his back. She struggles to cling on while the river pushes at her, with her wet hair falling in her eyes. Dean leans back as far as he can to try and pull her up.

“It’s okay, I’ve gotcha,” he calls out, even though his heart hammers with alarm.

She reaches out for his hand in turn. Just as his fingers begin to close over hers, a wave from the current crashes into her. A short scream tears from her throat after she loses her grip on Mato’s neck. Without her weight, he’s able to pull himself back up onto the bank along with Baby.

Damn it! Gut-wrenching alarm spears Dean into action. He leaps down from Baby and removes his gloves, his hat, and his uniform jacket, so he can dive into the water. Thank God he’s a strong swimmer.

Mila seems to be too. She carves through the water against the current the best she can and tries to keep her head above the waves, but Dean can see it’s a losing battle. He manages to grab hold of her arm, and then wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close. Both of them work together to try and cling to any passing rock or low-hanging vine as the current sweeps them out toward an ultimate end.

A waterfall.

Of course. Goddamn it. Dean doesn’t know how steep it is on the other side, and he doesn’t want to know. All he’s trying to do is keep himself and Mila above the water.

She hooks her hand around a sharp rock. It bites into her hand, making her cry out, but she clings to it for all she’s worth. She holds onto Dean just as tightly, even though the current wants to take him. She tries to pull him closer, close enough for him to get a hold on the rock as well.

This time, it’s Dean who loses his footing. The rocks slip beneath the soles of his feet when he attempts to gain some leverage.

A shout of surprise escapes from him when he fails, and it gets swallowed up by water rushing down his throat.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

The river takes him over the edge of the abyss, and he falls.

He never expected that he would get to open his eyes again, let alone to the sight that greets him. Mila’s familiar face, framed by the dark, drying waves of her hair, is bright with firelight. It dances in orange-gold across her features. Her eyes are warm like rich molasses when she looks down and finds him awake.

She smiles in relief.

He realizes that he’s lying on soft grass with his head pillowed in her lap. She’s taken off his boots and half of his white undershirt; she tore one of his sleeves to wrap around a mercifully shallow gash in his shoulder.

The horses are drinking from the river nearby, with a pile of apples split between them. There’s a fish roasted over the fire, but all Dean cares about is the way her fingers are running through his hair. She sings a soft song under her breath while she passes her other hand over his injured arm without touching it.

He doesn’t understand the words, but he thinks she might be trying to heal him. He’s heard plenty of stories about the Sioux people, most he’s taken with a grain of salt. He does remember Cas saying that their healers are different from doctors.  

Dean’s never given their hoodoo much thought, but right about now, he hopes it works.

“Mornin’,” he croaks.

Mila’s relieved face becomes touched with amusement.

“It’s night,” she says. “You slept for a long time.”

Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble. 

“Thank you,” she says. Emotion is thick in her voice.

Dean meets her eyes again, and he smiles. He raises the back of his hand to touch her smooth cheek, gently. He lets his fingers glide across her tan skin, down the column of her neck. Her breath hitches.

She takes his calloused hand in her slender one. Her long hair falls like a curtain over her shoulder, almost like it’s shielding them from whatever is left to come for them beyond the forest. Dean wraps an ebony strand around his finger, just to feel it fall loosely again.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.

Mila graces him with another smile from her lips. He wants to know what they taste like.

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly.

Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown.

“Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says.

Her brows raise. “No?”

“Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man.”

“Toothsome. I don’t know this word,” she admits. “Am I supposed to eat you?”

Dean resists the urge to say the first incorrigible thing that pops into his head. Instead, his body shakes with laughter.

It’s difficult at first, all his muscles pulling at him in protest, but he raises himself into a sitting position. He cups Mila’s cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her lashes are dark and long. They move when she looks up at him. He knows the look in her eyes, wanting, desiring, but also unsure of what she should allow him.

Dean leans in slowly, giving her time to decide.

She tilts her face up to his. He noses at her cheek, his eyes falling closed along with hers.

He finds her lips with his own on instinct and feeling alone. Soft and tender movements, testing, asking.

She answers him. Her fingers tangle in the front of his tattered shirt as her lips begin to move against his. Dean wraps an arm around her waist and gathers her against his chest. His other hand glides down her arm, down her side and along every soft curve. Her clothes are still damp, and so are his.

“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.

“I can’t,” she gasps. She says something in her native tongue, too fast for Dean to even register. He slows down so he can meet her eyes.

“What was that?” he asks. Her face falls, and she starts to trip over her words.

“I am not…how you say, married. I have to be…”

Dean smiles ruefully, sliding a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Chaste?” he offers. She nods, her brows furrowed. Her grip on his shirt tightens.

“Yes,” she says. “In the eyes of my people, it is…”

“I get it,” Dean says. When she still seems conflicted, he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Really, I understand,” he says.

His problem is that he stares into her eyes too long, and at her kiss-swollen lips. He dives back in for another taste.

This time, he’s a little less gentlemanly than he promised. His tongue sweeps along her lower lip, begging entrance. She makes a sound of surprise, but she opens up to him. Her gentle hands slide up his chest to hold his face, and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. He holds one of her wrists to keep her there as his tongue dances with hers. She tastes like the river, and like salty tears.

Had she cried for him? How long did she sit with his body, waiting to see if he would wake up?

Despite those worrying thoughts, Dean knows this feels right. More right than he’s ever felt.

It’s harder than he might’ve imagined, but he still pulls away, before he won’t be able to stop himself. Mila pants for breath. She seems to feel she should let him go, but also doesn’t show any sign of wanting to. Smiling, Dean caresses her cheek one more time before he turns to the fish she roasted.

“This looks good,” he says, clearing his throat. “What kinda fish is this?”

With a sigh, she attempts to steady herself and moves to join him by the fire.

That night, Mila dreams.

She dreams of wings, white and beautiful. She hears the cry of an eagle before she sees his great wingspan take off in flight. He soon finds his mate, and they dance together in the sky. 

When she wakes, the fire has gone out and it’s still dark in the night. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s safe. Finally safe.

And she’s lying securely in Dean’s arms.

She’s no longer conflicted when she stares up at his face.

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize…

Her heart has already chosen.

“Kimmímila, what have you done?” her uncle asks in the language of their people.

He is Tahatan, Chief of their tribe.

Mila’s father, Chatan, and her cousin Šóta have tied Dean Winchester to a post in the center of the Chief’s large tipi. Dean kneels with his head bowed in respect, even though he keeps sneaking looks at Mila to try and gauge what’s happening. He doesn’t understand a word of any of it.

“You’ve brought this outsider into our village, this White Man!” Tahatan shouts, his voice deep and resounding.

Mila steps forward, despite her mother’s embarrassment and her father trying to grab her shoulder. For the second time in her life, she defies her father for what she believes is right. The first was to rescue a member of their tribe—because even a horse’s spirit should not be broken by greed.

“Uncle, I’ve told you the story, though you don’t want to believe it,” she says. “Dean Winchester saved me when he could have killed me, or worse. He defied his own people. He is dead to his own people, for me, and because of me. You may think they lack all honor, but this man is different.”

She looks over at Dean, and he meets her gaze. He wears an anxious frown as he looks between her and the chief, but she has a feeling that his fear is for her, not for himself.

She kneels beside him, then looks up at her uncle with all the stubbornness she’s ever possessed in her life. She feels it’s led her to exactly this moment.

“And we are one,” she says. Nerves trill up her spine as she says it. She predicts the way shock falls over the room. The way her father curses out loud, angry. The way her mother covers her mouth in dismay. The way the Chief takes a step back, tilting his head at his niece.

“You would take it that far?” he asks.

Her face doesn’t change. “It’s already done.”

Tahatan is beside himself, both angry and perplexed. He goes back to his chair of wicker and wood that lies centered in the room. He drops heavily into it. After a long while, in which he thinks in silence…he releases a heavy sigh. He gestures for his brother and his son to untie Dean. The men do so, but they don’t let him go free. They force him to stand and bring him forward to kneel again before the Chief.

“Dean Winchester,” Tahatan says.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.

“You prove yourself to be a man with honor,” he says in English. “Kimmímila has chosen you. She claims you have chosen her in return. Do you deny this?”

Dean glances over at her. She bites the inside of her lip, a bit worried about how he’ll react. She’s not sure he completely understands what Tahatan is telling him, but he nods, regardless.

“No, sir. I don’t deny it,” Dean says.

“Then, you will be allowed to stay, and live among us,” Tahatan declares. "We will see for ourselves what you are. We will see if you are worthy."

Dean gives a nod, crossed with a bow of some kind. He obviously isn’t sure of what he’s supposed to do, but he does say thank you. Mila wraps her hands around his uninjured arm and helps him to his feet. She smiles at him to let him know that the worst is over. He blows out a breath in relief.

“Is that it?” he whispers. He expected more of a thrashing, if he’s honest.

“Almost,” she replies. The two of them stop short before her father, Chatan.

Dean straightens up and holds out his hand. “Sir.”

Chatan glances down at the white hand extended toward him. His gaze raises back up to Dean. 

He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.

She seems satisfied by what she finds, and she lets him go. Afterward, she takes Mila’s hand and heaves a deep sigh.

She kisses her daughter’s hand and says nothing else, leaving them to find her husband and calm him down.

Dean turns to Mila with a look that says, please tell me that’s it.

She smiles more genuinely.

“Come,” she says.

She leads him by the hand out of the Chief’s tipi and through the village. Dean takes in the rows of other tall, cone-like structures covered in buffalo skin, as well as all the faces that turn to stare at him in a mix of curiosity, wariness, and even fear. Some of them whisper to each other, taking their children by the hand and keeping them close.

Dean’s still on guard himself, even when Mila takes him to a smaller tipi. It’s been closed up for a while now, by the look of it. Weeds have grown right outside the entrance. 

“This one’s yours?” Dean asks.

She pauses, giving him another small smile. “Ours.”

Dean raises a brow. Ours. Really?

She opens the flap in the front and beckons him inside. There’s still enough daylight to shine through the outer lining. Inside, his gaze flits over the old pile of stones in the center for heating, clothes folded in the corner, some cooking pots and utensils, paintings on wood and clay, and a couple of beaded decorations. Buffalo skin bedding is laid out on the other side with a couple of soft looking furs. 

Son of a gun. Dean doesn’t even blink as he processes it all. He’s in a damn tipi. This is really about to become his life.

Shaking his head a little, he forces himself to focus on Mila. She’s his anchor, and she seems to sense that he’s reeling. She guides him to sit beside her on the bedding, holding his hands in hers. After a moment, he reaches up to tuck a curling strand of hair behind her ear.

“You didn’t get in too much trouble because of me, did you?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. My father and uncle are very similar. Strong to anger, but it is quick to run out. At least with me.”

Dean thinks he understands. Short fuse, quick fizzle.

“There is just…one thing,” Mila says. Her eyes fall away from his, like she’s embarrassed. He squeezes her hands.

“What?” he asks, his brows furrowing. It gets her to look at him again, but she seems worried to tell him.

“To convince my uncle to let you stay, I told them that we…” she trails, trying to find the right words in English. “That we are married.”

Dean’s brows raise high. His heart trips up faster. Okay, “ours” makes a lot more sense now.

“I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want you hurt—”

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

In fact, this is a best-case scenario, as far as he’s concerned. He leans in to kiss her, and it doesn’t take long at all for her to sigh in relief, melting against him.

“We’re married, huh?” he asks. “No ceremony? No white dress?”

“We are bonded,” she replies, nodding as she meets every one of his kisses. “Or, we will be.”

She tugs him closer and revels in the feeling of his hands beginning to roam her body, sliding down her waist, her hips and thighs.

“Guess that means we have to seal the deal,” he grins. His lips drift away from hers to burn a familiar path across her cheek. He takes to nibbling her ear, making her flinch and laugh as it tickles.

“Seal-the-deal. What does that mean?” she asks.

Dean chuckles lowly in her ear. “Oh, I think you know.”

He guides her onto her back, over the comfortable mess of furs. He wants to take his time exploring every inch of soft, tan skin, but he first sweeps her hair away from her eyes, the back of his hand brushing against her cheek. She smiles up at him softly.

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?”

Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others.

It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life. 

“No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

He bows his head toward hers, and he proves it to her. His lips capture hers, fueled by passion and wanting. Mila’s hands slide over his shoulders and down his back. Maybe without her realizing it, she implores him to let go of the weight heaped on his shoulders.

When he begins to bunch up the hem of her dress, she sits up to help guide his hands. Her quickening breaths mesh with his as the first layer of clothing drops beside the bedding. His tattered shirt joins her dress, along with pants and shoes and boots, until all that’s left is skin against warm, bare skin. He lays on his side right beside her and explores wherever she lets him begin.  

“Beautiful,” Dean murmurs, as his lips follow the column of her neck, down between her breasts. Her breaths rise to meet him, especially when he begins to toy with a dark, pebbled nipple. Her fingers slip through his hair, and his name falls from her lips. He palms one breast while kissing and gently teasing the other, exploring sensitive flesh and grazing her sensitive fleshwith his teeth.

“No man’s ever touched you?” he asks, despite knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, her fingers gripping his hair tighter as his lips and tongue move against her skin.

“No,” Mila gasps a reply. Her hand slides down the back of his neck, and the more he teases her, her nails soon create faint red lines down his back, her thighs squeezing together. She feels a throbbing ache at the very center of her. Despite her inexperience with men, she knows what it means, and she knows what she wants.

Dean’s mouth drags away from her breast. He pulls back so he can meet her eyes. A smile curves his lips, and he takes one of her hands from his shoulders. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks. He guides her hand down her body, brushing over a wet, sensitive nipple, down her stomach, and between her legs. This time, Mila nods in answer. She stares up at Dean with eyes like molten honey. He leans in to kiss her neck.

“Show me,” he says.

She shudders at the depths in his voice. It increases the flood of wetness she already feels, even before she slips two fingers between the folds of her sex. She gathers some of that slick and circles it over the source of her pleasure, the small nub above her entrance.

Dean takes his hardened length in his hand. While she writhes by her own hand, he drinks her in with his eyes. A soft groan falls from his lips as he pumps himself a few times, sliding a thumb across the weeping head of his cock.

He can’t be a spectator for long though. He nips tantalizingly at her neck, creating a zing of added sensation across her skin. She whimpers, though she tries to stifle it, her knee bending further.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dean says. “Let me hear you.”

He releases himself and replaces her hand with his own. He slips two long fingers inside her drenched entrance, earning a gasping moan from her. She latches onto his shoulders and buries her face into his neck. She whispers fervent things he doesn’t understand, but it only spurs him on.

His thumb circles insistently over her clit as his fingers pulse inside her. Her hips buck a needy rhythm against his hand, until her thighs begin to shake, and her inner walls squeeze even tighter around his fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he pants gruffly against her cheek. “Let go for me.”

Warmth snaps and floods from her throbbing core, and she cries out near his ear, her nails biting into his skin. Her release coats his fingers.

Mila drops her head back against the furs underneath her. Her chest rises and falls quickly while she tries to catch her breath, her eyes tightly shut. Dean surprises her with a soft kiss.

“Mila,” he prods. He wants to see her eyes again, so pretty and wanton when she comes. He veers away from her lips to kiss her cheek, and then the other side of her neck. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a small laugh. Opening her eyes, she gestures to her bare body. “This is not enough?”

Dean’s lips tug at a smile. He shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, no.”

He shifts over her, finding his place between the cradle of her thighs. His elbows come to rest on either side of her head. She feels trapped by his body, even as she welcomes his weight and the feeling of his arousal, long and heavy and hard, trapped between their bodies. This man fills every corner of her world in this moment.

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection.

“All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.” 

Dean chuckles. “You sure about that?”

She smiles in satisfaction, and her lips claim him this time. One kiss turns into many, each one mounting in passion and desire. Dean groans into her when she begins to touch him. Her hands are soft, but direct in their seeking; they caress his shoulders, run down his chest and stomach, and then, more tentatively explore the now painfully hard length of him pressing against her.

He makes a grateful sound of pleasure when her hand wraps around his cock, squeezing gently. His fingers bury themselves in her hair.

“I want all of you,” she says, this time a plea and a demand all at once as she strokes him.

Dean nods in agreement. He’s come this far. He can do that for her too.

He spreads her thighs a bit wider and encourages her to adjust the angle of her hips for him. His hand glides down her plush thigh and gets a healthy grip. Then he slides his hand under hers and guides his cock through her folds, first just holding himself at her warm, wet entrance.

He manages to wait for a second, in order to meet her gaze. She’s already holding onto his arms tightly, like he’s become her anchor. Her thighs wrap around his hips and beckon him closer.

Slowly, he pushes inside. He takes care in how he works her open. She winces at the sting of his girth stretching her, but his fingers once again massage her clit, stroking her arousal back into a keening flame. He swallows her gasps and moans as he bottoms out inside her, fully sheathed. Tears prick at her eyes, but not from pain.

Mila’s dream flashes like a waking vision behind her eyes. Wings take flight, along with the gleam of a golden beak and a sharp eye.

She blinks, and the image disappears. She’s left with the man who has become hers, making love to her with every stroke of him deep inside her. She presses grateful kisses across his neck and shoulder, wherever she can reach while she clings to his strong arms.

The thick head of him brushes a sensitive place over and over, one that tightens the coil in her lower belly and makes her core tremble again with warmth, until her body convulses against him, pulsing in pleasure, gripping him tight from the inside. Mila’s fingers clench in his hair just as tightly as her release hits her in a powerful wave; even her voice becomes lost to it.

Gritting his teeth, Dean grips the soft flesh of her hip and chases his own end. The way her inner walls choke his cock, he has no choice but to come hot inside her, his spend mixing with her own release. A strangled shout tears from his throat.

He has to brace himself before he crushes her. With his forearms resting on either side of her head, he lowers his forehead against hers. Her legs slip from where they’ve been tightly molded to his hips, her feet meeting the floor. Eventually he slips out of her. He watches his seed drip out and create a mess on the dark furs. The sight of it satisfies something primal deep inside him.

Later he’ll ask her about washing up (and about supper), but for now, he just turns onto his back beside her. She inches toward him, and he raises an arm so she can splay out against his side. They both lay there for a moment in the quiet, just catching their breath together. It marks the end of a long journey, and yet, the start of one too.

Mila turns to raise onto her elbow. She reaches over to wipe the sweat from his brow in a tender touch. Dean smiles up at her. He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm.

“I could get used to this,” he says.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she laughs softly. “Yes.”

Her hand moves down to his chest, over his heart. She sobers as she considers her people, and how much trust has yet to be bridged—not only her own father and uncle, but the entire tribe. When she led him through the village, they called him wašíču.

Fat-taker. Greedy White. Not one of us.

“It will be hard for you here,” Mila says. She worries it will be too hard for Dean.  

He just squeezes her hand, earning her attention through tumultuous thoughts.

“I’m not afraid of a little hard work,” Dean replies. His usual confident charm is infused in his smile, but she has a feeling he’s just trying to reassure her.

Sensing she’s not convinced, Dean reaches up to hold her cheek, guiding her to look at him and not the floor.

“Listen. I made my choice, and I’m sticking it out, come hell or high water,” he says.

Mila’s brows knit together. “Hell-or-high… What does that mean?”

Dean sits up on his elbow along with her. He takes her chin between his fingers and meets her gaze.

“It means if you want me, you’ve got me. The rest, we’ll figure out as we go along,” he says.

A smile slowly lightens Mila’s face. She tilts her chin up to meet him with a kiss.

“I will be with you,” she says. It’s a promise.

Dean smiles back.

“Good,” he says. “Because that’s just about all I need.”

AN: There we have it, friends. 💜 I really, truly hope you enjoyed this mini series! To be honest, I have more ideas for this little world (like how Dean might try to assimilate into this culture), but I'll leave it to you guys to let me know if that's something you'd be interested in reading.

Until then, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter! 

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew")

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[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 30

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 4319

Warnings: Dean being Dean, navigating being an empath, suggestive thoughts, longing, Fluff, Premonition, Bonding (This is something specifically for this AU. I do not see this as a "requirement" to fully connect to someone, but for this story, it is needed).

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 30

The following day, he woke before you, lying there just watching you sleep. He knew today would be filled with a lot, and right now, you needed your rest, and he needed this moment. There was nothing to worry about in the now. Right now, nothing troubled him, and you hadn’t had another nightmare. Dean allowed himself to lie there with you for nearly ten minutes before finally dragging himself away and to the kitchen. As soon as he had the coffee brewing, he began making phone calls, informing everyone of what Pamela had said. However, when he called Bobby, he gave him a piece of his mind for how things had gone.

“I’m sorry, Dean. It wasn’t like I knew that stuff would come up,” Bobby apologized for the third time, partially regretting having made the suggestion.

Dean sighed, running a hand down his face as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “I know. You didn’t see her, though. She was distant on the entire drive back here and I couldn’t feel any of her emotions through the connection.” Bobby leaned back in his seat, staring at the closed door of his office. “Is there anything I can do on my end for the two of you?”

Dean thought for a moment, “Yeah. Can you tell the boys they can throw me that surprise party the weekend after we can get out of here?” 

That made Bobby chuckle. “How’d you find out about that?” 

“Jack let it slip. That kid is still pretty innocent in some ways,” Dean replied, remembering back to that second month he was back when Jack had let just enough slip out about the surprise party.

“Yeah, I’ll let ‘em know,” Bobby replied, trying to push aside the growing concern that had come with Dean’s call. “Call if you need anything. We’re all here, for both of you.”

“Thanks. That means a lot to me,” Dean replied, utterly grateful for the support system in the outside world.

Dean poured himself another cup of coffee after he hung up. He’d already called Sam; that had been his first phone call, Bobby his last, and all the adults in between. “It’s gonna be a long day,” he mumbled through a sigh.

Stretching with your arms over your head, you let out a long yawn, the morning finally pulling you from a dreamless slumber. When your arm plopped in the spot Dean should have been, you looked over, a little confused. I didn’t sleep that late, did I?

Glancing at the clock, you chuckled to yourself. Almost nine, of course he’s already up. With a smile on your face, you climbed out of bed and headed into the kitchen. He was there, leaning against the counter, lost in thought. You smiled to yourself, knowing he hadn’t even noticed you yet. “Morning, handsome,” you cooed, stopping next to him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Dean practically jumped out of his skin at your presence, his hand over his racing heart as he attempted to catch his breath. “Jesus, Sweetheart. You damn near gave me a heart attack,” he breathed out, wondering how you’d managed to sneak up on him.

GIggling, you poured yourself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the table so you could see him. Dean smirked. Oh, someone’s in a playful mood this morning. His whispered words in your mind made you giddy. You were in a playful mood, even though you knew that today was when you were going to share with him what Pamela had told you.

“Maybe,” you replied, drawing the word out, looking down at your coffee as a smile played with your lips. For a moment, you debated dashing to the living room, eyeing the couch briefly.

He set his cup down, enjoying the moment, and wondered just how playful you were feeling. Dean smirked mischievously as he pushed off the counter, slowly strolling toward you. Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, you giggled quietly, unable to take a sip of your coffee. The anticipation of what he might do twisted nicely in your stomach.

“What’s the matter, nervous?” he teased, his tone going a little lower, making you take a shaky breath.

When he was only a couple of feet away and began taking another step, you squealed as he reached for you, then darted into the living room, laughter ensuing as he chased you. You dashed behind the couch, giving Dean an idea. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he was going to get a hold of you. The way your laughter mixed with his and filled the room was like a beautiful symphony. 

You slowly moved in the opposite direction he went, matching his pace until you were the one now in front of the couch, the coffee table directly behind you. In one swift motion, Dean not only went over the couch but also grabbed the front of your shirt firmly before falling back into the cushions. The squeal you let out as he pulled you onto his lap had him laughing with more amusement than he could contain. 

Dean wrapped his arms around your back, holding you firmly in place, unable to escape. You were laughing so hard that all you could do was rest your hands on his shoulders. The moment froze for Dean, feeling that pang of love that overflowed, threatening to slip from his eyes, but he held it back. As your laughter slowly subsided, you rested your head on his shoulder, evening out your breathing again. “That was fun,” you told him through light chuckles, remembering the way he had eyed you, your breath warm against his neck.

“Yeah, it was,” he sighed contently, rubbing your back with one hand while holding you close with the other. “I love hearing your laughter.”

You debated between telling him everything Pamela had said or just giving him what you had initially planned on saving for his birthday. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be intimate with him, something about it just scared you.

Don’t go getting lost in your head again. The way his words whispered through your mind made you chuckle, sitting up so you could look at him. “And what if I like getting lost in my thoughts, huh?” you asked playfully, not quite ready to let go of the joy the playfulness brought.

He raised an eyebrow, but you saw that glint in his eyes, knowing he was already plotting something as his grip around you slowly tightened. Dean just didn’t want you to get away just yet. “What’s more interesting than you straddling my lap?” he asked as the smirk on his lips began forming.

You leaned a little closer, being just as playful, “Thoughts of you.” 

Woman, I swear… A low groan, almost inaudible, rumbled in his chest as one of his hands came up and tangled in your hair behind your neck, holding your head. It was a gentle gesture, but sent a shiver down your entire body. “Sweetheart, do you have any,” he gently gripped your hip, pulling you down against him as he lightly bucked his hips up, grinding against you, “idea what you do to me?” 

You hadn’t even realized just how turned on he was until you felt the bulge in his pants rub against your core through your clothes, making you bite your lip. “I didn’t mean to, really,” you told him honestly, and a little shyly. It wasn’t like you were completely ignorant. You just hadn’t done anything with anyone, so you weren’t entirely sure of the things that turned men on, let alone Dean.

Dean gave you a soft smile. He knew you hadn’t intended to turn him on. “I know. It’s why I didn’t just kiss you. I know you aren’t ready. I don’t know why, and you don’t have to explain it to me. I’ll be here, when you’re ready.” Then he leaned closer, leaving a tender kiss on your lips, staying there only a few moments before he pulled away, fighting every urge coursing through his body.

The pout that found your lips at least made him chuckle, but you still felt bad and figured now was as good a time as any to talk to him. Carefully, you climbed off his lap, sitting on the couch next to him, cross-legged and facing him.

After adjusting himself, he turned a bit so that he was facing you, although he wasn’t entirely sure what topic you wanted to talk about. He was trying not to think about kissing you, touching you, and loving you, which was nearly impossible after he’d pulled you down onto his lap. That one he took full responsibility for.

You took one more deep breath, letting it out slowly. It was bad enough that your thoughts were on Dean rather than the topic you wanted to broach, but having his desire mix with your own was making it that much more difficult.

“Okay, so yesterday. Pamela told me a lot, and there are still some things I’m not sure about, but I promised I’d tell you.” It seemed like a decent place to start. “She said that the reason you got sick was because my fear went through the connection we have.” Dean looked at you, a little puzzled, “But, you’ve been afraid before, and it never hit me like that.” he tried to explain, as he was still confused about why it had hit him so hard.

Looking down at your hands, you attempted to remember how Pamela had explained it to you. You pursed your lips as you met his gaze, hoping you didn’t botch it too badly. “She said that hope is your strongest emotion. Well, mine apparently has been fear. It’s what’s been basically running my life. When she mentioned me being afraid to lose you,” your voice got quiet as your gaze fell to the space between the two of you. 

“It just sort of hit me, but for me, it was a knot in my stomach. I’ve just been so afraid for so long… I’m not sure how to just take a leap of faith, like she suggested,” by this point, you were almost whispering, and Dean only wanted to pull you into his arms again. He vaguely remembered that part of what Pamela had said, sort of, since he had to bolt to the bathroom before he was sick in the living room.

“I’m afraid I’ll lose you… if we’re closer,” you finally admitted in a barely audible whisper, and now Dean wasn’t going to hold back. He moved closer and pulled you into his arms, shifting you so that you were sitting sideways on his legs. As your emotions crashed into his, he just focused on you, soothing the storm that had taken hold. It was the missing piece for him, so he could understand what kept holding you back. “Looks like we were both trying to figure out a puzzle,” he murmured softly, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Those monsters took everything from me. I can’t lose you too,” you sobbed out quietly, feeling like the damn inside had finally broken. You didn’t understand that you needed this in order to finish healing, letting him in deeper than you had let anyone.

For nearly an hour, he held you, uttering soft, soothing words and doing his best to comfort you. He probably wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but the pain that came through the connection felt like a vice on his chest. Dean did his best to take slow, deep breaths so your pain didn’t consume him, but a few tears slipped down his cheeks, landing in your hair. He knew that losing your soulmate was one of the most painful things possible, but he hadn’t realized just how much the mere thought of it affected you. Not until now. You were terrified to let someone in that much just to have it ripped away.

“I’ve got you, I always will,” he whispered when your sobs finally subsided. “And I’m not going anywhere, not if I have a say in the matter.” The only hope he had that things would be okay, was because of the words Pamela had said to him. The two of you only had to stay in the bunker for the next week and a half, no matter what.

You wanted to apologize but knew it would frustrate him, so you did your best not to even think the words. “I didn’t mean to break down like that,” you mumbled before sitting up a little.

He met your gaze, seeing how puffy your eyes were from crying. With a soft smile, he gently wiped the lingering tears away. “Crying isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes it helps. Like, how they say you have to hit rock bottom before things get better,” he offered, trying to help.

“I just want it all to stop, to go away,” you pouted, focusing on your hands in your lap as you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

Dean debated for a moment, focusing on what you were feeling. There were a few different things he could say, but now was not the time to let the playful remarks slip out. He gently nudged your chin with his finger and thumb, so you met his gaze, trying not to let another tear slip out. 

“Things will be okay. Why don’t we just take this week and a half and just relax? I know that you’ll have to call Crowley, and we’ll be down here past my birthday. But hey, think of this time as a little vacation from the world. It’s different now,” he tried to soothe you, giving you that soft smile that brought a small one to your lips.

He knew the kind of grip your fear had on you; hell, it wanted to consume him. Gently pulling you against his chest, he let out a sigh, trying to find the right words, but he was pretty sure nothing he could say would help you right now. So, he just held you close, gently rubbing small circles on your upper arm with his thumb.

“I don’t know how not to be afraid,” you eventually mumbled. The nightmare you’d had the night before felt like parts of it were playing on repeat in your head, along with what Pamela had said. You just weren’t sure what the consistent was, so you weren’t sure what part of it would happen.

“Why don’t we just take it one day at a time?” he suggested softly.

You moved a little so you could look into his eyes. The sincerity and hope there made you smile a little. I just want to see you smile. The whispered words made your smile grow, your fears and worries slowly slipping away as you let his hope, love, and compassion wash through the connection. It was like the gentle waves as they lapped over the sands of a beach.

“Now, I’m gonna go make us breakfast. You wanna change or just lounge in pajamas all day?” he asked, feeling that soft contentment as you relaxed.

Deciding to focus on not being stressed over things you had no control over, you chose playfulness, tapping your chin with your finger, pretending to think. “Hmm…” you hummed, pausing playfully. “Pajamas, because I’m pretty sure you’ll tease me,” your words came out a little sassy, pulling a playful smirk to his lips.

Again, he was fighting with his thoughts. God, it’s gonna be a long week. The thought made you almost laugh, knowing you weren’t going to make him wait that long. He let his fingers find your ribs, gripping them in just the right way, tickling you. With a squeal, you attempted to get off his lap, but he held you in place.

He hadn’t moved his hand, but the anticipation that kept building was what was driving you absolutely crazy. However, when he leaned in close with that look in his eyes, a shiver went down your spine. “You know, anticipation works on other things, too,” his voice was low, rough, tinged with that teasing that made the butterflies dance in your stomach.

Taking a shaky breath, attempting to focus on anything other than what he was hinting at or the fact that his hand was still holding your ribs. All he had to do was grip, and he could tickle you again. “Thought you were gonna make breakfast,” you told him quickly, unable to hide the joy that was coursing through you at how he had lightened the mood.

The laughter started deep in his chest before filling the room, “Yeah, breakfast.” Not when I’ve got you right where I want you. He couldn’t help himself, though, gripping your ribs enough to make you squeal and try to get away from him. The sound brought that joy to his soul, soothing any stress left in him.

“Stop!” you yelled playfully, squirming in his lap as he held you there. His other hand found the crook in your hip, squeezing down and making you scream at how ticklish you were there.

Luckily, he didn’t tease you long. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt your wrists, and you were trying to stop him, even knowing it was impossible. The man was far stronger than you. Plus, the way you squirmed on his lap was causing another issue to arise. He snaked his arms around your waist, the two of you attempting to catch your breath for different reasons.

“Alright, Sweetheart. I’ll go get breakfast going,” he told you, trying to calm his racing heart. He gave you a quick kiss on your cheek before scooping you up and gently setting you on the couch after he stood. I love you, your whispered words in his mind bringing a wider smile to his lips, trying to push away thoughts he couldn’t act on, not yet anyway.

And that was about how the next several days went. There were board games, watching movies, tickle fests, which you even got him a few good times, and a couple games of pool. The playful banter that went back and forth had you both wound as the sexual tension grew between you. He never pushed anything too much, but he did give it an encouraging nudge. Dean would hold you when you did the dishes, so you would return that when he would cook.

The two of you settled into a comfortable routine. So far, the nightmare hadn’t come back, and the monitors also hadn’t gone off unless it was an animal going about its business. Your fears were slowly slipping away. Being close to him was getting easier the more he bantered with you. So much so that three days before his birthday, when he kissed you after your evening movie, you didn’t pull away after a few moments. You had wanted so badly just to let go of all your fears at that moment, but you couldn’t, even with your body humming from how he touched you. The moment you went to apologize, he gently pressed his finger over your lips and shook his head. 

“I told you, I can wait till you’re ready,” he told you in a soft, sincere whisper. His breathing was heavy, but he meant it; he’d truly wait till you were ready. For now, he’d have his fantasies and enjoy the feeling of your desire as it danced with his own. “How about you go crawl in bed? I’ll be there in a bit,” he added, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to sleep unless he took care of himself.

A blush crept into your cheeks as you bit your bottom lip. I wish I could just let go. It was the one thought that kept going through your head like a repeat record player. Dean gave you that half smile before leaving a tender kiss on your forehead. Don’t make me carry you. His teasingly playful threat made you chuckle. “Alright, I’m going.” You left a soft kiss on his cheek before going to your room, mostly closing it so he had more privacy. 

The tip Pamela had given you, about picturing a bubble around you, was something you had been practicing. So, as you climbed into bed, you pictured that bubble again, needing to have some time so your body could cool down from the fire he always ignited. Lying on your back, staring at the ceiling, you slowed your breathing, picturing a bubble around you. It was an odd sensation after feeling Dean’s emotions for nearly a week now. The connection was still there, and you could feel the thread, but the emotions that passed through it diminished. As you were focusing on how different it felt, Dean gently pushed the door open, a little apprehensive.

“You okay, Sweetheart?” he asked, pulling you from your concentration, effectively popping the bubble. “What was that?” 

You watched him as he crawled into the bed next to you, rolling onto your side. “I was practicing that bubble thing. I probably should warn you so you don’t get so concerned,” you replied sincerely, giving him the soft smile that helped the tension ease from his shoulders.

Dean pulled you closer, the physical contact bringing the relief he needed after feeling the connection diminishing. “Yeah, a heads up will help,” he sighed out, focusing on the way you felt in his arms and the way your emotions danced with his again.

“I can remember,” you told him softly, kissing his cheek tenderly before getting fully comfortable tucked against him. “Get some sleep,” you murmured sleepily.

It took him a few minutes to completely relax again. One minute, he had felt your emotions dancing with his, the desire mingling, and then there was almost nothing. For a moment, he thought something had happened, even being in the bunker. I’ll be thankful when we don’t have to worry anymore. He wasn’t sure how far into sleep you had drifted, but the peace that washed over him like a warm blanket began pulling him off to the dreamworld as well. A quiet hum slipped out as you drifted off to sleep.

You had no idea where you were. It was a town, and it was nighttime. There were a few street lights that cast an eerie yellow glow along the deserted street. What the hell? Looking around, the town seemed deserted. Cautiously, you headed toward the only place that looked open, a gas station several blocks away. There were no sounds like you would typically hear at night, like crickets or owls. Goosebumps prickled along your skin as you rubbed your arms, trying to get them to go away. The closer to the gas station you got, the more a knot began twisting in your gut. Something wasn’t right, but you couldn’t put your finger on what it was. The night air was warm against the chill that settled down your spine when you crossed the street. There wasn’t a single car in the parking lot or at any of the four pumps. Your heart pounded as your breathing became shallow and shaky. Swallowing hard, you made your way to the front of the gas station, only close enough to look inside. There was one person inside, a guy behind the counter that you’d never seen before. Other than that, the place looked empty. Oddly enough, that seemed to steady your nerves, letting out a sigh. You turned and looked back down the way you’d come, then further in the direction past the gas station. Where am I?  You stood outside, debating going in and talking to the cashier or just heading in the direction you were drawn to, past the gas station. Slipping your hands into the pockets of your jeans, you headed further down the deserted street. The further away you got from the gas station, the more surreal everything felt.  A few blocks later, you noticed a motel across the street, Dean’s Impala, parked in front of one of the rooms. Quizically, you tilted your head a bit. Now utterly confused, you made your way across the parking lot to the room, taking note of the number seven on the door.  First, you tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Then, you felt around your pockets, noticing something in one of the back ones you hadn’t felt earlier. Slowly, you pulled out the item, taking a shaky breath, seeing it was a key to the door. Your stomach began knotting up, like something was horribly wrong. Slowly, you unlocked the door but looked over your shoulder, feeling like you were being watched. Dean’s car was gone, replaced by something else. This one was a new model Jeep that you didn’t recognize. As your brows furrowed in confusion, the door was pulled open from the inside. Just as you were attempting to regain your balance and see who had opened the door, someone grabbed you, dragging you into the room. They weren’t gentle about it either. You even attempted to fight against their hold. Whoever it was, it wasn’t Dean, but it was a guy, and he was far stronger than you. “Now, you’re mine,” his voice was low, pleased, but with a cruel undertone. “First, you’ll be bait. I need to sever that connection.”

Your scream reverberated off the walls of the bedroom, echoing through the bunker as you bolted upright in bed. Unable to take a deep breath, you clung to the blankets as Dean’s arms wrapped around you. “Shhh.. Sweetheart,” he began softly, images flashing through his mind. “I’ve got you. It was a nightmare.” However, you both knew the truth. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was a premonition.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 31

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If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

[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.

[rubyvhs]

nightmare [dean winchester]

pairing; dean w x fem! reader summary; you go on a hunt with the brothers but when it goes to shit, dean can’t help being overprotective. tags; angst, stitching yourself, alcoholic dean, some you and sam in there cause he's the cutest baby, your dad died.

“fuck! sam, quick, get the girls.” dean runs into the impala forcing the engine to roar to life and flashes his lights at the highest setting for the vampires, burning their eyes as the other four get into it and he drives off.

it's quite for the first five minutes, except for the heavy breathing. the two girls that the trio rescued are sleeping peacefully, though you think it's anything but peaceful. their faces aren't relaxed, instead covered in blood and frowning, but their breaths have slowed, at least.

five minutes. that's all it takes before the tension is broken with a, “let me drive, dean.” the older winchester lets out an exaggerated airy laugh for all of two seconds before putting on a straight face and telling him no. “you're hurt, you can hardly keep your eyes open, let me drive, either of us.”

sam is right, dean is hurt way more than both of you combined, he fought off most of the vampires on his own while you took the girls and ran, but he was mostly hurt because he hadn't expected it.

your plan was to get the girls and dip then come back in the morning to wipe them out in their sleep, but you had woken one of them up with the loudest noise you've ever made when one of the girls stabbed you in the stomach with some glass she’d found on the floor. 

again, taken by surprise. obviously the girls thought you were one of the vampires. 

“shut up. it's only a ten minute drive to the nearest hospital.”

“we're going to a hospital?” you don't usually hunt with sam and dean, opting to stay in the motels and do some research, maybe figure out a better plan, but you've never seen them go to the hospital for their injuries, they'd always come home to you bleeding out on the floor.

“for you and the girls, yes.”

“what about you and sam?”

“it's fine.” that shut you up, his strict tone, and stare in the rear view mirror made you slide down in your seat.

ten minutes later you’ve reached 'northwest tawara horspital' and sam is helping the girls out of the impala. dean, while a wanted fugitive, does the same with you. 

but you refuse. “i won't go inside if you two aren't.”

“what?” he moves a little too quickly and holds his side as he winces. god, that can't be comfortable. 

“i won't go inside, we're just wasting time,” sam comes back and stands in the drivers side to talk to you, door open. “see? sam's back, let's get home quickly so we can fix you both up, and me.”

“no, you're going in.” sam was the one to insist this time but you just shake your head and stay planted into your seat. through the corner of your eye you can see both men discussing what to do then they get back in the car with a sigh.

on the drive home it’s mostly silent until you feel your eyes flutter closed. just a few seconds of sleep— but dean’s loud shout of your name wakes you up, “don't close your eyes, we need to fix you up first.” you nod and straighten up, “and what you did back there? fuckin’ reckless, don't pull that shit again. when we tell you to do something, you do it. or you don't come on hunts with us.”

“what the hell? i was the one who decided i didn't want to come with hunts on you guys, you can't take away my choice.”

“like hell i can't!” he isn't looking at you through the mirror, instead focusing on the road because you're on a busy one, but you can still feel his eyes burning into yours. it makes you shrink down in your seat. you hate how much his words affect you, and how visible it is too. 

sam has has never yelled at you really, but even if he had it wouldn't have done much damage, he's too soft for that. dean though... he scares you sometimes, not that he'd hurt you or kick you out, just that he'd be disappointed in you, maybe give you the silent treatment. you don't want that, but you also hate being barked orders at.

“you can't, dean.” sam says to his brother, slapping his shoulder once to ground him back, and it seems to have worked. because you’re not a bad hunter— if anything, you have their back most of the time, you aren’t clumsy or unreliable and what happened had been a mistake that any other hunter would have made. this isn’t about hunting. this is about dean being too controlling.

you thought it was over now that you're at the motel but when he parks baby, he looks back at you, “i can, and i fucking will. you can't act like a child and expect us to let you come on the hunts. you listen to whatever the fuck we tell you to do.” your lips part in surprise, thinking of how to respond, but he doesn't even give you the chance and gets out, slamming the door behind him. 

you don't look at sam as you close baby's door and start walking to the motel. sam catches up and tells you to wait and because you don't have it in you to be yelled at anymore, you turn back and face him.

he says your name, low and soft, “that wasn't an order,” 

shut up before i cry “hey,” he hugs you, your head on his chest and you just let it all out. god, you feel so stupid. you can't believe you were so unprepared and you caused them all this damage. if you had just been in defense mode you would've never screamed, you've been through worst and kept quite. and though you know it’s a little irrational, you can’t help but blame yourself for not being quiet.

“hey, he's just worried about you, he means well, you know that.” you let go slightly and he kisses your forehead, telling you to go into their room and that he'll be in yours to get cleaned up. 

+

walking into the room of the man who just basically called you a two year old is nerve-wrecking. you don't want to be screamed at and god knows you don't want to be treated like a child again. every time you think you’re getting through to dean, or that you’re becoming closer, something happens and he reminds you you’re still young, naive, and only with them because your dad had told them to.

your father is— was a hunter, he used to hunt with john sometimes, and when he heard about the apocalypse that's soon to be here and all the angels that seem to stride onto earth, he wanted to tie up loose ends, so he asked the winchesters to keep you with them until further notice.

then he never came back. but all of this is something you’ve dealt with ages ago. years even. but this? dean pushing you away all the time? acting like you’re some burden? that, you can’t get over.

“hey,” you hear his voice and turn around, not even having seen him walking towards the bathroom. “how you holding up?”

it’s a stupid attempt to make amends, but it works. the second he says anything, it works. it always does.

“fine.” you mumble and notice he’s finishing supplies to stitch himself up. ouch. you know the boys prefer to do it themselves than help the other out but you’ve always found they need a gentler hand. 

you walk towards him and hold his hand in place to stop his movements, taking the needle from him. he doesn't complain, just drowns the bottle of whiskey. with one hand, the other holding his shirt up. 

when it’s done you hold my hand out for the bottle and he scoffs, as if wasting his alcohol hurts him more than the wound that just got stitched up. he hands it over reluctantly.

you pull down his shirt and decide it’s better if you take a swig too. “does it hurt?” the questions rolls off easily, no matter how angry you are at him. 

“i'll survive.” he shrugs like it's nothing. like the gash over most of his stomach is nothing.

“not what i asked.” dean half-heartedly glares at you but your expectant expression makes him think there isn’t a way out. and there isn’t.

“it's fine, my arm’s just sore.” you sit next to him on the bed, pushing his sleeve up and he hisses, muttering something under his breath and snatching the bottle from your hand to drown it. 

“dean...” it’s surreal. it knocks all the air out of your lungs. you’ve never seen the mark, the one an angel of the lord imprinted on dean’s shoulder, though sam talked about it a couple of times. you clear your throat before he notices the staring and point to the wound, “i think you need to stitch that one too, hand me another needle.”

he does and you get to work. it’s mostly noiseless but it feels like there's something heavy in the air, a confession. though it’s impossible to tell who’s supposed to make it.

“i'm sorry.” you try to hide the surprise on your face by looking down but he doesn't let you, hooking his fingers under your chin and he makes you look up at him. “i was so worried about you.” he lets go, taking a breath in, “the way i felt when you screamed? damn it, i've never felt so scared before and i've been to hell,” he lets out a dry laugh and you smile a little. god he's so perfect.

“i don't wanna hurt you, sweetheart, never, so when i ask you to listen to me it isn't because i'm treating you like a child, i just wanna keep you safe.” there are more words on the tip of his tongue but he shuts up and it doesn’t nothing to help the growing smile on your face. it's more than you thought you’d ever get out of him.

you pour a more of the alcohol on his stitches and pull the sleeve down. “okay, you officially need a shower now, you're all booze and cologne. i need to clean this place up.”

“it's fine, sammy and i will do it.”

“not happening. go get cleaned up, i'll finish here.” you knew that what you’re doing is painfully obvious, but you hope he lets it go, just this once. 

of course he doesn't, instead pulling your shirt up to reveal the various cuts that don’t need stitches, just some treatment, and the stab wound you fixed in the car when they were both too busy sulking in the tension. you’ve gotten a lot better at handling pain since you’ve started with the winchesters.

“when did you do that?”

“doesn't matter, it's done. get in the shower dean, let me clean up and go to sleep.”

“damn it, just answer me when i ask something. when did you do this?”

“car.” you’re scared, tired and you don't want to fight. but he just apologized, for god’s sake, can’t he give it a rest.

you wait for his harsh blow. words that will knock you off my feet, anything really, but he just sighs, letting the shirt go and stands up. you do the same and he embraces you in a hug that you’re quick to reciprocate. so quick you’d already had your arms around his neck before he got his around your waist.

the whiskey burns your nose but it's nothing compared to how your body burns with you so close. “dean?”

“you're so strong, you know?” he takes a beat, a breath, “but that doesn't mean shit to me, i still wanna keep you safe all the time because god knows i don't deserve you but i'm too selfish to let you go.”

you pull away just to see his face. you need to know he means what he's saying. that you’re talking about the both of you in the way you’re thinking. the desperation to convey how he feels to you, it gives you all the confidence in the world to stand a little taller and finally kiss him.

you kiss dean winchester because for the first time in ages, someone cares, someone wants you safe. someone learned from their mistake and did better, someone is fucking perfect and it's dean. 

one of his hands is rough on your waist, the other on you cheek. his tongue, his cologne, it all makes you melt into him. 

then ten seconds later, way too deep into the kiss he pulls away slowly, shakes his head and groans, “why'd you do that.”

you step away him in panic. you were ready for rejection, sure. a small ‘i don't see you like that’, not this.

“i'm sorry, i didn't mean to—”

“no, no, hey,” he steps closer “i just... i don't wanna do this if it's gonna hurt you. i don't know how good i will be if we go down that road and you deserve something good.”

“you are dean,” he licks his bottom lip and it catches you attention, forcing you to bite on yours, “you're good. you're perfect.”

one thing i will not allow in my household is the winchester brothers being insecure that they're not enough (pov it’s all they do). anyways sooo this is for the jensen-a-thon for @artyandink so excited to have my first entry and there’s another one i’ve been working on for a week (hopefully i’m almost done with it). hope you enjoyed this!

[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 :)

Masterlist

[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.

[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!

[ocearin]

part one :

“Dean?” He doesn’t look up from his clasped hands. He’s hunched over on the edge of the bed and it takes everything in you not to immediately take his hands in yours, but sometimes Dean needs his space, so you just sit next to him. “Sam didn’t mean—”

“Why are you here?” He growls, rubbing his hands down his stubble like he does when he’s irritated or sad. “I’m fine, just get back to Sam. You need to figure out how you’re gonna get out of the deal.” 

Sam’s reaction to Dean selling his souls wasn’t all he thought it would be. His little brother screamed at him, then they had a fighting fest, then— Sam cried. Dean ran over to his room after that but the truth is, you wouldn’t leave him like this if he forced you. He can’t deal with Sam loving him and showing it, he gets too overwhelmed too quickly. 

“I know you’re fine, but that doesn’t mean I’m not here for you. Sam’s your brother too, he’s scared.”

“I know that.” His voice is raising slowly.

“Yeah? Then why aren’t you out there with him. He needs you, you need him, get out there. Stop ignoring Sam whenever he tells you he wants to protect you!” And stop ignoring you when you try to do the same.

He mutters your name but it’s angry, “let it go. Get down to Sam.” You’re sure Bobby and Sam can hear the whole conversation, thin walls, but that doesn’t deter Dean because he slams his fist against the nightstand. Most of the time Dean’s aggressive nature and frustration never makes you nervous but you freakin’ flinch like a twelve-year-old and walk out. 

You can try all you want to help him talk to Sam— to try and give Sam hope that Dean will make an effort to stay alive, but if Dean won’t try with you then you’re just not sure I should be either. Both hunters can tell what’s wrong. “He’s a tough kid, you knew that.” Nodding along, Bobby smiles and leaves. 

“Don’t stop tryin’, please. He won’t listen to anyone else.” 

You scoff. “He’ll listen to you. Whatever you ask of him.”

Sam seems hesitant, which is stupid, Dean sold his souls for him, of course he’ll do whatever he wants. “Not in the same way, he does it with me out of obligation, he does it with you out of love.”

You shake your head. “Sam, that’s not true. Dean doesn’t love me and he sure as hell isn’t forced to look out for you— no matter the extent of your shitty childhood John would’ve never asked Dean to sell his souls for you, that’s all him.” 

He shakes his head like you’re just saying all this to calm him down— which sure, think what you want, but he’s wrong. So wrong. Dean would go to hell (obviously) and back just to make sure Sam is happy and content, and a part of it is because of those words play in a loop in his head every so often (protect Sammy) but the bigger part is because the co-dependency goes beyond needing to be next to each other, and no one put that in Dean. It was all him.

“He does, you know?” You furrow your eyebrows at his words. “Love you. You aren’t just convenient or whatever you convinced yourself of. He loves you.”

“Whatever you say.” You and Dean sleeping with each other once a month doesn’t mean love, it means he thinks you’re easy. It means you’re expandable and nothing more to the Winchesters than a little sister and a good fuck.

[spnbabe67]

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Welcome to my Kinktober 2024 Masterlist.

Day One: Road Head (Dean Winchester)

Day Two: Rough Sex (Jake Seresin)

Day Three: Make Up Sex (Dean Winchester)(JVB)

Day Four: Friends to Lovers (Tyler Owens)

Day Five: Marking (Jake Seresin)

Day Six: Knife Play (Demon Dean)

Day Seven: Pool Sex (Tyler Owens)

Day Eight: Strip Tease (Billy Butcher)

Day Nine: (Semi) Public Sex (Jake Seresin)

Day Ten: Nude Photography (Dean Winchester)

Day Eleven: Caught Masturbating (Jake Seresin)

Day Twelve: Quickie (Dean Winchester)

Day Thirteen: Morning Sex (Tyler Owens)

Day Fourteen: Shower Sex (Billy Butcher)

Day Fifteen: Phone Sex (Dean Winchester)

Day Sixteen: Cunnilingus (Jake Seresin)

Day Seventeen: High/Drunk Sex (Tyler Owens)

Day Eighteen: Fluffy Sex (Dean Winchester)

Day Nineteen: Car Sex (Tyler Owens)

Day Twenty: Uniform Kink (Solider Boy)(AFGB)

Day Twenty-One: Body Worship (Dean Winchester); Multiple Orgasms (AFGB)

Day Twenty-Two: Possessive Sex (Jake Seresin)

Day Twenty-Three: Tattoo Kink (Dean Winchester)(AFGB)

Day Twenty-Four: Cowboy Hat Rule (Tyler Owens)

Day Twenty-Five: Power Exchange (Dean Winchester)(AFGB)

Day Twenty-Six: Dacryphilia (Soldier Boy)

Day Twenty-Seven: Face Sitting (Billy Butcher)

Day Twenty-Eight: Mile High Club (Soldier Boy)

Day Twenty-Nine: Cockwarming (Dean Winchester)

Day Thirty: Against The Wall (Billy Butcher)

(This ended up being 231 pages long, 12pt. font, double-spaced)

Day Thirty-One: Mask Kink (Dean Winchester)

[welldonebeca]

The Triplets (9)

WC: 4.3k words Warnings: Smut. Foursome. Dirty talking. Fluff. Voyeurism. Brotherly competition. A bit of exhibitionism. Praising kink. Threesome. Multiple orgasms. Sloppy seconds/thirds. Some ass slapping. Anal play. Degrading kink. Sex pictures. Video taping. Daddy kink. Uncle kink. Rough sex. Aftercare. Cuddling. Unsafe sex. 

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

The moment they stepped inside, Ben was already pulling Lizzie to him, big hands possessive as they grabbed her waist, and she gasped in surprise before Beau scooped her up in his arms and threw her over his shoulder.

"Hey!" his brother protested.

"Talking, Ben," he walked to the couch. "That's what we are doing."

She couldn't even protest as he carried her away, leaving him huffing.

"I got blue balls now, you know?" he asked. "It's very serious."

"Good thing both your hands function," Dean quipped. "And you can use them."

Beau carried Lizzie to the living room, and brought her down to the same stupid couch where everything happened, placing her on his lap.

"Shouldn't I get dressed?" she asked, fidgeting in the big hoodie and little shorts she'd managed to put on.

But he placed his hand around her waist and kissed her shoulder.

"It's fine," he assured her. "We just want to talk, okay?"

The other two sat down, and she could see Ben pouting as they fell into silence, and she couldn't quite pick who she was even looking at.

"Well..." Dean spoke slowly. "Hm."

Beau rubbed her thigh gently.

"You should know," he spoke gently. "That if you don't want anything with us. That if you ever feel like this isn't a relationship you want to get into, you don't have to do so."

"We don't expect sex as rent, that's what he means," Ben crossed his arms. "Those are different things."

She nodded. Lizzie knew that already! They were good people, good men!

They would never, ever, force her into anything. She was the problem!

"I know," she assured them. "I just... I need you to know you guys don't need to do anything! You don't need to pretend for me!"

Beau squeezed her.

"Pretend?" he asked.

She looked back at him.

"You're brothers," Lizzie reminded them. "And I don't want to stand between you, I don't want you to think you have to pretend you are alright with anything I do, because I'm a guest in your house and one of your brothers might like me!"

She turned to face Ben and Dean.

"The way I feel..." she took in a deep breath. "I wish I could say one of you makes me feel this way, but it is not true. All of you do, and I know it is so wrong and-"

"Bullshit," Ben interrupted her.

Lizzie deflated and Beau stiffened behind her, his grip turning protective.

"I know, it's hard to understand," she told him. "But my feelings..."

"Not your feelings," he stopped. "Your feelings make sense. Them being wrong? That's bullshit."

He leaned closer to her, green eyes hard and so certain it made her shiver.

"I want to be with you, Dean wants to be with you, Beau wants to be with you," he listed. "You want to be with us. Everyone is an adult, everyone is sober, everyone is mentally... not too bad."

Dean chuckled by his side.

"What is stopping us?" Ben asked.

Lizzie looked an answer, but gasped when he stood, grabbed her face and kissed her.

She got wet right there and then.

Well, it wasn't like she wasn't already from being fucking in the kitchen, but being kissed by him while on Beau's lap and with Dean watching?

Yes, it was something extra.

"I thought we were here to talk," Dean spoke very loudly.

"We are," Beau growled behind her. "Do you think of anything but sex?"

But someone tugged on her shirt, pulling it up, and she gasped when Ben moved up to her tits, caressing her nipples with rough thumbs.

"Can you, when she looks so pretty when she is turned on?" he pulled back, speaking against her hips.

Beau moved under her, as if to move her away, and she stood up, pressing her chest to Ben's hands.

"Lizzie," he called behind her.

Ben pinched her nipple, tugging on it, and she moaned.

"Please," she whined.

She hadn't even cum!

"You wanna be all high and mighty, then check for yourself," Ben commanded. "Pull those little shorts, check if she's enjoying it."

But she pulled away from him, and Ben and Beau followed her with their eyes and she stood before them, and Lizzie tried her best to look sexy as she moved her hands to her shirts and pushed them down, stripping for them.

Could she make a little show with two pieces? She could try.

The three watched her silently, and she took in a deep breath before pulling off the big sweatshirt, and Dean inhaled when she revealed her ass.

Oh, he was still behind her, wasn't he?

Lizzie pulled it up and up, until her tits were out too, and tried to look elegant as she threw it from over her head.

She looked back at Dean, finding him licking his lips, and Ben chuckled.

"This is better than any strip show," he joked. "If only I had some ones..."

"Shut up, she's not a stripper," Beau gruffed.

She looked back at them, and they were all seated, watching.

Waiting for who would take the first step, maybe?

She was about to pick for them when she felt Dean's hand behind her, squeezing her ass and pulling her.

"Let me have my own share," he whispered into her ear.

Lizzie giggled, touching his face and turning around, kissing his lips and touching his chest.

"If you are going to hoard her, at least let us see," Ben complained.

Dean, though, pulled her to his lap, making her straddle him, and pulled Lizzie up to kiss her neck.

"You can watch her bubble ass as she bounces on my cock," he grabbed her hips.

She gasped when he moved his lips to her sensitive nipple, biting sweetly and sucking on it.

"Dean," she gasped.

His hand spread her legs, and she tried to arch her ass to the other boys.

She could hear the moment they saw her pussy, the way they inhaled in deep.

Lizzie's attention was taken back when Dean pushed his fingers into her cunt, and almost didn't hear as someone walked away.

Was everything alr-

"Fuck, you're still a little loose from Ben fucking you," he hissed. "Taking cock so well, baby... you didn't even wait for us to join you."

She whined, feeling her face hot.

Not like she knew they wanted to join.

"Did he make you feel good, baby?" he licked her other breast. "Did my dumb brother make you cum?"

She squirmed.

"Well..." Lizzie mumbled.

Dean stopped.

"What is it?" Beau asked, and she could hear him moving.

Dean pushed his fingers into her hair, making her fall with her head on his chest, and fucked her slowly with his fingers.

"He didn't make her cum!" he exclaimed, outraged.

Beau pinched her nipples.

"That won't do," he decided. "Not even getting fucked made her cream?"

She squirmed, basking in the mix of being paid such attention to, but being spoken over as if she wasn't even there.

Beau pulled her, making her stand up, and Lizzie gasped when Dean turned her around quickly.

"I guess we do need to do all the work here, hm?" Beau hummed, kissing her lips.

Lizzie melted into his arms and his sweet, sweet kiss, already, and just let him manhandle her back into Dean's lap, this time facing away from him.

She barely processed when the head of Dean's cock poked her entrance, and mewled when she felt the tip entering her.

"We're going to make you cum, pretty girl," he pulled out, rubbing his head on her clit before moving back and then pushing into her again.

Beau pulled his hand, and she whimpered when he rested his forehead on hers and reached between her legs, caressing her clit with his fingers.

Lizzie moaned loudly as his brother pushed in, filling her up quickly.

"Such a good girl," he praised, finger circling her clit a little tighter. "She swallows up cock so good."

She moaned, throwing her head back, and didn't have time to whine when Beau pulled away from her.

He knelt between her legs and when she looked down at him, the image was the most erotic thing she could have seen.

"Uncle Beau?" she asked softly.

His eyes connected with hers, and he leaned in close to her, sticking out his tongue and licking her clit like a little kitten.

"Just relax, baby girl," Dean put his hand on her waist, sitting her all the way down his thick cock. "Let us make you feel good."

He moved his hips under her, thrusts slow and deep, but Uncle Beau had his own pace.

His lips and his tongue were hungry on her clit, never leaving it, never stopping sucking and licking and playing with her, fast and hungry.

As if she could move at all between them as they did that.

Lizzie was so overstimulated, so overpleasured, she could only fucking take it.

"Fucking hell," Ben growled.

She looked opened her eyes, and he was standing a few steps away from them, watching them.

Dean held her down by her middle, and Beau squeezed her thighs.

Lizzie could only cry.

It was too fucking much.

"You couldn't make her cum," he spoke behind her. "We took over."

Ben huffed.

"I could!" he argued. "But you guys had to barge in before I even tried!"

Beau sucked on her clit harder, and her eyes nearly crossed.

Almost right after, Dean's cock brushed against her sweetest spot, and Lizzie cried out loud.

"Show him how pretty you can cum, sweetheart," he kissed her cheek.

"Fuck!"

Lizzie arched her hips, and gasped when he wrapped his hand around her neck, holding her in place.

She moaned in pleasure, that exact move making her cum.

When she opened her eyes, Ben had his phone up.

"Smile for the came, sweet girl," he walked closer to them.

Dean grabbed her thighs, fucking her deeper as Beau fucking devoured her.

God, she almost came again just like that.

"Please," she whined.

Dean squeezed her neck a little more.

"Cum again, pretty girl," he commanded. "Cum on my cock before I fill you up."

She did, shaking on top of him, and Beau only pulled away from between her legs when she was done.

He kissed her lips with deep hunger, holding her by her hair as Dean fucked her fast and hard on the chair, using her.

Dean moaned under her, and she could feel the moment he filled her up.

It was so warm and tick, so filling.

She couldn't even enjoy the feeling, though, as Beau quickly pulled her up.

He pulled her, taking her right to the couch, and Lizzie gasped when he tossed her with her belly down, pulling her hips up and nudging her entrance with his cock.

"You want me to fuck you now, pretty girl?" he purred.

"Oh, come on!" Ben walked to you, his phone not in his hand anymore. "You've already fucked her!"

Beau moved his cock, rubbing her sensitive clit, and she gasped as he did.

"So what?"

She was so fucking sensitive.

"Beau," she whined.

"I won't fuck a loose pussy after you are done," Ben protested. "You two have fucked her already and when it was my turn you two just stopped it."

Beau dipped the tip into her, as if he didn't even care, and she whined.

Suddenly, he was taken away, and she opened her eyes to find Ben stumbling back from pushing Beau away, until his brother put him in a headlock.

Fuck, she shouldn't find that hot.

And yet her pussy fluttered, empty.

Needy.

Dean chuckled, and she looked at him, finding him watching them, very amused.

He was very used to that, wasn't he?

"Whoever fucks me last can fuck me longer," she blurted out.

Lizzie only processed her words when they were already out, and Beau smirked when their eyes connected, releasing Ben.

"Well," he stood straighter. "Go on, Benny. Have your turn. I don't mind having some sloppy thirds."

She was flustered at his words, but Ben didn't care.

"Make sure to try and make her cum this time, will you?" Dean teased him.

He scoffed, moving to her, and Lizzie looked back at him as he caressed the middle of her back.

"Where were you?" she whined.

Why had he left?

He pulled two things from his pocket, and her eyes widened, showing them off to her.

A butt plug.

And lube.

"I had a little plan for you," he hummed. "But I think we'll have to wait, hm?"

She gasped when he felt his cock nudging her.

"I guess tonight you're going to be our little cum dump."

"Ben," Dean called.

Ben scoffed behind her, rubbing her up and down.

"She might be small, but she is a big girl, Dean," he purred. "She's gonna lose her ass virginity at some point. Why not let her Uncle Ben be it?"

She moaned, feeling completely pathetic as he teased her pussy, up and down, up and down, up-

"Please," she whined. "Uncle Ben. Stop teasing me!"

He chuckled, and she jumped when he moved his fingers to caress her ass.

"Ben!" Dean argued.

She whined.

"It's alright," she moaned. "Dean!"

Ben poured something warm against her ass, and she gasped in surprise.

"Wrong name, baby girl," he corrected her, giving her ass a slap.

Lizzie whined.

"You two are so fucking easy on her," he grunted. "She's a needy slut who loves being teased."

She squirmed, closing her eyes when he circled her with his finger, cock brushing against her entrance.

"Ben," she whined.

"Lizzie," he cooed back, mocking her.

Beau scoffed, sitting on the couch, close enough that he could touch her face if he wanted to.

"Just hurry up already," he grunted.

Ben moved behind her, and he tossed something onto him.

"Make yourself useful," he commanded. "Take a picture."

She looked at Beau, and he was rolling his eyes, but took the phone on his lap anyway.

"Wanna be filmed, Lizzie?" he caressed her hair.

Her cheeks burned hot.

"Yes, uncle Beau."

He smirked, and angled the phone to get her face just as Ben teased her asshole, pushing his cock into her cunt very slowly.

"Do you think Ben can fuck your little brains out?" he cooed.

Lizzie nodded, and he took a hand to her face, pushing his fingers into her lips.

"Pretty, pretty girl," he hummed, fucking her mouth.

Ben pushed his cock inside her more, filling her again as his finger pushed a finger into her ass.

"Look at you," Beau fucked her with his fingers. "Eyes so glazy... must be feeling so good, little princess."

Fuck, she could hear how wet her pussy was.

"You are so slicky and squishy..." Beau purred. "Must be so, so easy to just slide in there."

"I can just slide in," Ben hummed.

And he did, pushing all the way into her and making her cry out, and Beau pulled his fingers from her mouth, petting her hair a bit.

They were so fucking big, all of them.

Lizzie's brain dripped from her ears at the thought of being fucked like that every day, filled and used.

"Fuck, suck a good cunt," Ben fucked her with his finger. "Want to have you seated on my cock while I work... gonna make you warm me up."

She whined.

"Please," she begged.

But Dean chuckled.

"What work?" he scoffed.

Ben bent down, pressing his lips to her ear.

"I'll fuck you during my shows," he whispered into her ear. "I've been thinking about getting a pussy to fuck, and now I got one for free."

She moaned in pleasure.

Wait, did he work with livestreams?

"We'll see how many times they'll allow me to make you cum," he bit her earlobe. "That might teach you, hm?"

Lizzie gasped, and he pulled back, taking his cock almost all the way out and then pushing into her again.

"Ben!"

He chuckled.

"Teach me what?" she moaned.

He pulled his finger back, and when it came back, there were two of them.

"To be patient," he grunted. "And take what we give you. Maybe they'll drive the message better than me."

She moaned.

The thought of that made her feel so gooey.

Dozens... maybe hundreds of people watching her get fucked and used. Making her cum and cum until she was stupid.

His cock brushed against her sweet spot and Ben took a hand down, pinching her clit.

"Won't you love that?"

"Yes," she begged. "Please, Ben!"

He pulled his fingers out, and she gasped when he pushed the plug into her all the way in.

Before she could even react to it, he moved behind her, fucking her hard.

The way she moaned was embarrassing.

Beau put the camera on her face, missing the way his brother was using her, focused on her face.

She probably looked like the sluttiest of whores.

"Needy slut," he rubbed her clit.

Lizzie came right there, overstimulated already.

"Needy slut," he rubbed her clit.

Lizzie came right there, overstimulated already.

"Daddy," she cried.

"Fuck," Beau growled.

Ben buried his cock into her cunt, moaning darkly and cumming deep in her, filling her up.

So much cum in her pussy, God...

Beau laughed at his brother.

"Couldn't hold back, Ben?" he teased, tossing his phone at him. "Move over. I'll show you two."

He panted behind her, still, patting the plug, and she whined.

"Shut up, Beau," he grunted. "Been hard for a fucking hour."

"Yeah, yeah," his brother scoffed. "Don't let the cum out."

But Ben didn't move, kissing her back at first.

"Take care of it for me, will you, pretty girl?" he twisted the toy inside her, making her whine. "I'll start training that ass tomorrow."

Ben pulled back from inside her, but she had no time to get used to being empty, and Beau pushed his cock inside her right away.

"Uncle Beau!"

"There's my pussy, missed it all day," he grunted. "So messy, dripping out all that seed."

She moaned, closing her eyes.

"Do you think that'll be enough to breed you?" he picked her up, sitting her on his lap facing his brothers.

Lizzie moaned, her head falling back onto his shoulders.

"But we can't!" she whined.

He took his hand to her pussy, rubbing her clit.

"Oh, I've seen where that goes," Ben chuckled, phone pointed to her. "Sweet girl can't be bred by loved it so, so much."

Lizzie whined, squirming on top of him.

"But Ben!" she whined.

He clicked his tongue.

"No, sweetheart," he corrected her. "I'm daddy."

She pouted, squirming as Beau rubbed her clit.

"All that cum inside you," he purred. "I can feel how much you like it, I can feel your stupid cunt squeezing my cock."

Dean stood, walking to stand by her side, and pinched her nipples.

"Her tits are so small," he noted. "Imagine how big they'll get when we put our baby in her."

She could only moan, mind in a goo.

That couldn't feel hot. It shouldn't make her horny, it-

"Go on, baby," uncle Beau kissed her ear. "Cum for us while we breed you."

She came, crying and shaking on top of him, completely soft already, nearly light-headed.

"You're gonna let us use you just like that, won't you?" he made her bounce, Dean's fingers replacing his as Beau grabbed her hips, fucking her. "Gonna let us fill you up, fuck you deep."

"No need to find a job," Ben told her. "Just stay home, be our little stay-at-home girlfriend."

"Our girl," Beau grunted. "Now and forever."

He slammed into her hard, making her feel like her brain was just banging against the walls of her skull.

Again, she came, feeling like it would never even stop.

"I can't," she begged. "Can't cum anymore, please."

Dean pulled his fingers away, and Beau hugged her close as he used her, cumming inside her quickly as she floated in the pleasure of being thoroughly theirs.

She didn't miss the feeling of him cumming in her, and fell onto his shoulder as she kissed sweetly all over her face, shoulder and neck.

She felt someone between her legs, and Lizzie gasped when Beau pulled inside her and hands held her legs spread.

"Fuck, yes," Ben grunted from between her legs. "Look at all that cum, baby girl."

"Careful," Beau panted. "It's going to stain the couch."

"I'll deal with that," he assured him. "I've never stained it, not gonna be a first now."

She heard the sound of Dean gagging for a moment before Ben kissed her thigh and pulled back, and opened her eyes to look at them.

"Poor baby girl," Dean cooed, picking her up, and she wrapped her legs around him weakly. "Let's take you to the bathroom to clean you."

Dean was very gentle with her, never lingering in a weird way, giving her a moment to pee - because UTIs aren't nice - and fixed her hair before carrying her to a very large and very comfy bed.

Lizzie scrunched her nose at being alone, but embraced the body that first lied by her side.

"You know, your room is surprisingly clean."

She looked up, picking up on Beau's voice, and Ben squeezed her.

"What's up with all the cameras?" Dean mumbled.

She looked around, surprised to see how many cameras he had set around, capturing his bed in many positions, all with their lenses covered.

"They are off, don't worry," he gruffed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I'm not gonna waste my time putting them away for you."

Dean scoffed, and she felt the bed dip, and relaxed when she felt him embracing her closely, only in his underwear.

"Hey," Beau called. "Where do I go?"

She opened her eyes and the boys squeezed her.

He was standing by the bed with an annoyed face.

"I'm not moving," Ben hid his face in her neck.

Beau huffed.

"Ben!" he half whined.

Dean sighed by her side, and Lizzie gasped when he lifted her and put her on top of him.

"We be the bed," he decided.

Lizzie couldn't quite complain.

Beau lied down with them, at last, and she rested on Dean's chest, feeling Beau's fingers when he started to pet her hair.

“When was the last time we all shared a bed together?” he hummed.

"Not since our balls dropped," Ben spoke into her neck.

But Dean had a different answer.

“No, it was definitely after our birthday, two years ago," he corrected him. "You were such a baby and wouldn’t get your fat ass off of my bed, and Beau was worried you’d choke on your vomit in your sleep.”

Ben scoffed.

“Hey, I’m in a strict diet, you definitely weigh more than me, fatso.”

She felt Dean moving to answer him, but Lizzie was quick to diffuse the situation, kissing Dean, then Ben, then Beau.

"Be nice to one another," she scolded them. "You're brothers."

The boys all laughed.

"We are mean to each other because we are brothers," Dean pointed out.

Lizzie huffed and they all kissed her, both her cheeks and forehead.

"We'll be nice," Beau promised. "For you."

Dean hummed in agreement.

"Right, Ben?" he raised his head.

Ben scoffed.

"Right, right."

She smiled, cheeky.

"Good, or you are never touching this pussy again," Lizzie affirmed.

Well...

"For a month," she added.

"Yes, ma'am," they agreed.

. . .

"The Triplets" was posted on Patreon on January 2023. To read the sequels "The Livestream (Ben x Lizzie)", "patience is a virtue (Dean x Lizzie)" and "the pictures (Beau x Lizzie)", subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and it helps a lot.

. . .

. . .

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[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.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ 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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[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. Master List

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Each chapter will have its warnings posted. This is typical stuff when it involves the Winchesters, no matter what AU they are in, lol.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers. Not sure when this one will be up and available to read yet. Just getting the chapter list started for it.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31

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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?

[yet-another-deanw-girl]

The Prophecy

Created with Microsoft Designer

She knew for 15 years that this day would come. She knew her destiny had already been written. That her death had been foretold.

She knew she would have to stop him. She knew she would have to kill him. And she thought she was prepared for all of it. But the day she met him she realized how wrong she was…

Set in Season 10

Pairing: MoC!Dean x Female!OC

Note: The events of this story are following season 10 of Supernatural and are taking place between October 2014 and July 2015. I tried to make sure that all the references to weapons, tech, etc. are accurate with the time period.

AN: This is my first time writing a fanfic but the story has been in my head for too long and it just needed to get out. I hope you like it.

AN: English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

Chapter 1: The girl and the werewolves Chapter 2: Protocol EG-64 initiated Chapter 3: The stand-off Chapter 4: The Order Chapter 5: So many questions, so little answers Chapter 6: A Girl Stuck in a Bunker Chapter 7: The Fates Chapter 8: Standing on Edge Chapter 9: Fairytales Chapter 10: Good Morning, Princess Chapter 11: The Mark, The Blade and The Scribe of God Chapter 12: I'm Not a Fucking Princess Chapter 13: Split Chapter 14: The Ghost and The Network Chapter 15: Just Turn It Off And On Again Chapter 16: Sweat It Out Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38

_________

[rubyvhs]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ lailawinchesterr’s masterlists !

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✧ kinktober, twenty four

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> social media au

[soulc-hilde]

The JA Collection

The Damned - A child soldier of Heaven turned into a feared woman of Hell, Zarathos, is forced to live a life without memories and play as the Devil's lapdog until unaccounted for incidents introduce unwanted company.

Two Halves of a Whole - As the world of science evolves, a new company by the name of Vought arises from the shadows. Forced to undergo unethical medicinal practices and experimentation, Serene's mutation unlocks a new era of greatness and Benjamin is the first test subject. (1) (2)

Lady of the Land - As the Dewell twins and Jenny Hoyt serve justice throughout the community of Helena, an influx of crime occurs as cold cases open themselves and kidnappings insue. Amongst the chaos, a family forms within the mix and a new face joins the party.

N/A

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