#dean 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")

Join Patreon 🌟 For early access to new stories, bonus content, first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Series Masterlist

Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List + Dean W. (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @this-is-me19

@emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @kaleldobrev @spnwoman

@thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28

@adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka

@chevroletdean @agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24

@ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley

@sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @mimaria420

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @ajjustice

@ades106 @my-stories-vault @cevansbaby-dove @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof

@tmb510 @skyesthebomb @syrma-sensei @harleycao @king-of-milf-lovers

@pizzagirlxnsfwx @justsom3onesworld @beskarfilms @lunaticgurly @artemys-ackles

@malindacath @mrsjenniferwinchester @jc-winchester @charmed-asylum @fromcaintodean

@violetlilysunshine @traiitorjoe @tsofo26 @k-slla @jackles010378

@deanbrainrotwritings @urfav-tz @alwaystiredandconfused @torchbearerkyle @mrlonelycat

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

@aylacavebear @liopleurodean @brujaporfavor @xiphoidbones @xsophianicolex

@jays-bonnie-on-the-side @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @ghostslillady

[rizlowwritessortof]

Remember Me - Part 1

Michaela’s mundane life takes a strange turn when she has a random encounter with a very attractive stranger in her local bar. It must be déjà vu – or maybe it isn’t.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OC Michaela

Word Count: 2031

Warnings: None in Part 1, eventual smut

Dividers by @talesmaniac89

A shot and beer hit the bar in front of Michaela, and she handed a ten to the bartender with a vague smile and “Thank you.” It had been a very long week, so it was time to medicate a little and try to relax before going home to her too-quiet house.

The bar was almost always sparsely populated, and that night was no exception. She glanced around the room, finding nothing new to hold her attention, so she focused on the television playing “Wheel of Fortune” and downed her shot.

She and the bartender exchanged small talk – she didn’t really know her very well, but it passed the time. She was almost finished with her second beer, scrolling on her phone when the girl leaned over the bar to whisper in her ear. “Do you know that guy?”

She looked up at her, confused, and the bartender quirked her head to the right. She turned slowly, and it was as if time shifted down, sounds muted, her vision narrowing its focus to the tall, broad-shouldered stranger at the end of the bar. He was staring at her with fierce intensity, his eyes narrowed and his brows drawn together as if he was trying like hell to remember something.

She knew exactly how he felt.

It was right there, dancing around the outskirts of memory. He was definitely not the kind of man you’d forget, but she’d never seen him before, she’d swear to it. A nagging voice inside her head, though, was telling her it was a lie, that she should know him – that she did know him.

She slid off her bar stool and moved slowly towards him, irresistibly pulled into his orbit. Even in the dim light that faded most colors into nondescript greys and browns, his eyes were a striking shade of green. He swallowed hard, dropping his gaze and taking a step back, suddenly uncomfortable. She tilted her head, still looking at his face. “Do – do I know you from somewhere?”

He cleared his throat, leading into an awkward laugh. “Yeah, you look really familiar to me, too. Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare like a creeper.”

She leaned one elbow on the bar as he looked into her face again. “Seriously, I have the strangest feeling...”

He nodded. “Yeah. Me, too. I, uh…” He cleared his throat again, clearly nervous. “You wanna get a table? Maybe we can figure it out.”

She gnawed at her lip for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, just – let me grab my stuff.” He watched her walk away, grabbing the phone from his pocket and dialing.

“Sammy? Yeah, I’m at the bar, it’s Sandy’s or Randy’s or something. There’s a girl here… Yeah, very funny. No, Sam, I think there’s something weird going on. Witchy, or… I don’t know. Just come down here, see if you know this girl. Okay.” She watched him put his phone back into his pocket as she approached him, and he smiled. “Just letting my brother know where I am. You – ah – you want another beer?”

“Sure. Another beer sounds great, thanks.”

He motioned to the bartender, who acknowledged his waved bottle with a nod. He turned back to the table where Michaela had already claimed a spot, pulling out the chair across from her. “My name is Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester.”

“Michaela Barrett. Nice to meet you. Or see you again. Whatever this is.” She smiled, a little self-conscious, and ducked her head down to look at the table, thanking the bartender for the beer as she closed her hand around it.

“I can’t believe I’d forget a smile like that,” Dean said softly, and she blushed, glancing up at him to catch the genuine confusion on his face. He wasn’t flirting. He was serious. She let her eyes roam over the contours of his face, the shape of his mouth, the breadth of his shoulders, then back to his eyes. He was looking right back at her, and she felt her face grow warm again.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare, I just – I can’t believe I’d forget you, either. This is so...”

“Insane?” He was smiling, and she responded in kind.

“Yeah. Kind of.” She looked up as the bell above the door rang, and her eyes widened a little. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Another stranger, very tall with shaggy dark hair, had entered the room, and she was having that weird feeling of recognition that she’d experienced with Dean, although not quite as intense.

Dean turned in his chair. “Sammy. Somebody I want you to meet.” Michaela watched as the man neared their table, his eyes never leaving her face. “Mikey, this is my brother, Sam.”

She stared at Dean, her eyes wide. “How did you know… I never told you I go by Mikey.”

Dean shifted self-consciously in his seat. “Michaela. This is Michaela Barrett.”

Sam nodded to her, returning her uncomfortable smile, and took a seat, looking at his brother in disbelief. “Okay, now I see what you mean. This is...”

“Crazy, we know,” Mikey interjected, looking into his face. “So you think you know me, too? Did you guys used to live here?”

Dean shook his head. “I’ve never been here. Have you ever been in Kansas? Or South Dakota?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve lived in Ohio my whole life. I’ve never been out of this state. Except maybe a trip when I was a kid or something, but otherwise...” She took several swallows of her beer and took a deep breath, blowing it out between her lips. “I’m freaking out a little. I’m – I’ll be right back.” She stood suddenly, pushing her chair back and rushing towards the restrooms in the back. Sam turned an incredulous look on his brother.

“What the hell, Dean?”

“I know! I have no idea. You think something witchy?” His quizzically raised eyebrows slowly lowered themselves into a frown as Sam watched.

“What?”

“Something witchy? Or something angel-y.”

Sam’s expression tightened as well as he met Dean’s glare. “Shit. You think?”

“I think we need to talk to Cas. See if he knows anything. Tonight.”

“I agree.”

Mikey made her way slowly back to the table, and Dean watched with concern as she took her seat, her hands shaking a little. “Hey, Michaela – you okay?”

“Really – Mikey’s okay.” Dean’s lips twitched into a one-sided smile and he nodded. “I just… this has me spun out a little. I think I need to go home. Can I give you my number, maybe we can talk again?”

“Yeah, sure. And I’ll give you mine.” He looked intently into her eyes as she handed him her phone. “We’ll figure this out. We will.” They exchanged phone numbers, and then they all headed out to the small parking lot. “Sure you’re okay to drive home?” Dean asked as he walked her to her car. She nodded, looking up at him with a lost expression.

“I’m okay. I’m cold sober right now. And besides, my place is just a few blocks, so - not like I have far to go. I just wish I knew what was happening.”

“If we figure anything out, we’ll let you know, I promise. Be careful.”

He leaned in, his hand on her face, and kissed her. Sam stared in shock, harshly whispering, “Dean!” and watching his brother jerk away from her as if he’d been burned.

Dean looked at Sam, his eyes wide, then back to Mikey, who was blinking up at him with her mouth open. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

She closed her mouth and swallowed hard, her fingers brushing over her lips. “I – um – it’s okay. I mean, funny thing is, it was like… like I almost expected it? Like it was – kind of normal.” She turned back to her car, pulling the door open and getting behind the wheel. “Okay, well… don’t forget to call if you… you know.”

“We will. G’night.” Sam raised his hand in a little wave, and she backed out, then headed down the street, Dean still staring after her.

“Dean, what the hell?”

“Sammy, I don’t know. It just happened, I didn’t even think about it. She’s not the only one who’s spun out over this.” He jerked the driver’s side door open. “I need some sleep, and we need to talk to Cas ASAP. I’m going nuts, here.”

The next morning dawned grey and rainy, and Mikey dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. Dean had called, wanting to stop over and bring a friend of theirs to meet her, and she agreed, although she couldn’t see how he would be able to help. It was all just too strange, and the dreams she’d had the night before didn’t set her mind at ease.

When she answered the door, Sam and Dean were greeted with the smell of fresh coffee, bacon and cinnamon rolls hot out of the oven, and it took effort for Dean not to pull her in for a bear hug when he saw the food set out on the large coffee table.

“So, where’s this friend of yours?” she asked after they had filled their plates, watching Dean’s enthusiasm for the food with a smile.

“He’s meeting us here. Should be coming soon.”

“So – how is he going to help? I mean, is he a hypnotist or something? I don’t understand...”

Dean and Sam exchanged a cautious glance, and Dean turned to face her. “Well, we should really have a talk. Some of it’s gonna sound a little weird.”

“Weird. Weird like the dream I had last night, you and I fighting some kind of monsters with sharp teeth, chopping their heads off? And a whole trunk full of weapons in that car of yours? I think I must be losing my mind,” Mikey laughed, and then let the smile melt from her face at the brothers’ expressions. “What?”

Dean stood up, holding out a hand. “Come with me, Mikey.” She stared at him warily for a second, then took his hand and let him lead her out to the trunk of the Impala. He unlocked and opened it, then stepped back, watching her eyes widen at the sight.

“What the fuck.” The color was draining from her face, and Dean took hold of her arm.

“I seriously think maybe we’d better sit down for this.” He led her back into the house to the sofa, seating her there and taking a place beside her.

“Dean, I don’t understand...”

“Sam and I – we hunt monsters, Mikey. Like the kind you dreamed about. Those were probably vampires, they’ve got a mouth full of sharp teeth, not the two fangs like in the movies. And beheading is how you kill them.”

“Vampires.”

“Yeah.” Her face was white, and Dean reached for her hand. “Mikey, breathe.”

“You’re telling me vampires are real.”

“And a lot of other things. Most people don’t know they exist, unless they’re unlucky enough to run into them. But they’re out there, and my brother and I take care of them. Save people from them, as much as we can. And I think, maybe, that you used to hunt with us.”

“You think I used to help you cut the heads off monsters.”

“And I think somehow that our memories got erased. Possibly by an angel.”

She stared at him as if broccoli had just sprouted from his ear. “Sure. Probably. I mean, who else would erase our memories but an angel?” A firm knock sounded at the door, and she pulled her hand from Dean’s, going to the door and continuing as she opened it, still looking back at Dean. “You’re being serious right now? I’m not still having one of my weird dreams?” She turned to face the visitor still standing at the door, staring into his very blue eyes for a frozen second, then almost tripping over her feet as she scrambled backward in terror, moving behind the sofa to stand behind Dean. “Stay away from me!”

Cas stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “Hello, Michaela.”

Tags for my lovelies: 

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

  @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5  

  @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog   

        @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain  

  @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie 

   @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic  

  @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma   

 @ioanashalala    @jencharlan    @deansthirstblog     @dorky-and-i-know-it    @mischief-maker1   

 @winchestersandwordprocessors    @percussiongirl2017    @bringmesomepie56   @akshi8278    @torn-and-frayed  

  @sandlee44   @wingedcatninja  @evansrogerskitten   @emoryhemsworth  @peaceinourtime82 

 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  @sarcasmqueen74   @maliburenee     @mrsjenniferwinchester   @yeehawbitchs  

 @emily-winchester  @hobby27    spnbaby-67   @zepskies  @ladysparkles78  

@alwaystiredandconfused   @just-another-busyfangirl

[shadowtail32]

Domestic (Dean x Reader)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Just a little moment between Dean and Y/n after a hunt.

Y/n grumbled as she flopped down on the cheap and lumpy bed of their hotel room, “Never again.” She groaned aloud into the musty covers under her body. “Oh come on Y/n it wasn’t that bad,” Dean called from behind her as he closed the door behind him. “I have never hated anything more in my entire life than digging an entire grave by hand only to find out the damn thing is empty.” She hissed removing her face from the comfort of the blankets to glare at him. Dean sighed leaning back against the closed door holding his hands up in surrender. “How was I supposed to know the grave was empty.” He spoke loudly as he returned his own heated glare at her.

Y/n rolled her eyes, forcing her tired body into a sitting position so she could look at him head-on. “I never said it was your fault,” She began crossing her arms over her chest as she placed her feet flat on the floor wincing when she realized that she had neglected to remove her muddy boots from her feet. “I just said I would not be doing that again.” She elaborated with a sigh as she began untying her boots.

Dean’s only response was a hum and nod as he pushed his body up and away from the door, “Fair enough.” He muttered tiredly as he sank into the bed across from her. “Help.” She asked with a pout as she held up her foot toward him. Dean sighed though he could not hide the soft smile that began to form on his lips. “Sure.” He breathed rolling his eyes as he took her offered foot in his hands and began untying them. “Thank you.” She mumbled offering him a small smile as she leaned to the side on her hand.

“Any word from Sam?” She asked after a moment of silence as she watched him work slowly and carefully unlacing the boot. Dean hummed shaking his head a small frown took over his lips. “Not yet.” He answered shortly as he gently pulled the boot from her foot, placing it on the floor at the side of the bed. Y/n hummed placing her bootless foot on the ground, lifting the other into the air. “I’m sure he is just enjoying himself.” She spoke with a small shrug as she watched him repeat the previous actions with the other foot.

Dean chuckled shaking his head taking a moment to look at her before looking back down at her foot in his hands. “You think good old college boy Sam is really going to let loose and enjoy himself in a bar?” He asked the laughter clear in his voice as he pulled the boot off and placed it on the ground next to its partner, though he placed her foot on his knee resting his hand on her ankle.

“Yes, I mean he can’t be college boy Sam all the time.” She said laying back on the bed with a soft sigh as he began lightly messaging her foot. “You never know,” She began in a teasing tone a yawn interrupting her thoughts for a moment. “He may even end up going home with a girl.” Y/n whispered in a conspiratorial tone a small smile making itself known on her lips as her eyes began to droop another yawn forcing its way past her lips.

Y/n listened as Dean began to laugh, “That would be something.” He managed to get out between bellowing laughs, “Want to make a bet?” He asked as he stood up from his bed gently picking up her other foot, turning her lower body until all of her was laying comfortably on the bed on top of the covers. "How much?” She asked as she allowed her eyes to fully close with a soft sigh. “Twenty bucks” He answered softly as he climbed in next to her pulling her to him until her back was flush against his chest.

“Deal.” She mumbled back as she allowed herself to fall into the sweet darkness of sleep.

[randomperson99sworld]

Hope Masterlist:

Prologue: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763735074150727680/hope-prologue-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 1: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763736293395005440/hope-chapter-1-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 2: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763744465993220096/hope-chapter-2-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 3: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763746058717315072/hope-chapter-3-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 4: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763746896157310976/hope-chapter-4-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 5: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763748227864477696/hope-chapter-5-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 6: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763771530276634624/hope-chapter-6-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 7: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763772956510978048/hope-chapter-7-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 8: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763774406717800448/hope-chapter-8-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 9: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763795158619865088/hope-chapter-9-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 10: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763796634203226112/hope-chapter-10-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 11: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763798239994609664/hope-chapter-11-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 12: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763798916039852032/hope-chapter-12-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 13: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763834835953418241/hope-chapter-13-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 14: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763835988477984768/hope-chapter-14-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 15: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763884000870809600/hope-chapter-15-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 16: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763887279961964544/hope-chapter-16-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 17: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763889631318196224/hope-chapter-17-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 18: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763891731862355968/hope-chapter-18-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 19: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763902361728122880/hope-chapter-19-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 20: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763922720759103489/hope-chapter-20-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 21: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763924835097313280/hope-chapter-21-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 22: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763925827339567104/hope-chapter-22-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 23: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763984996430151680/hope-chapter-23-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 24: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763986542620475392/hope-chapter-24-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 25: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763987840333905920/hope-chapter-25-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 26: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/763999676891643904/hope-chapter-26-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 27: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/764012047130296321/hope-chapter-27-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 28: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/764014981552504832/hope-chapter-28-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 29: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/764020854887776256/hope-chapter-29-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 30: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/764022679115268096/hope-chapter-30-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 31: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/764271684324835328/hope-chapter-31-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 32: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/764278090999431168/hope-chapter-32-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 33: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/764411047679524864/hope-chapter-33-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 34: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/764713390052655104/hope-chapter-34-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 35: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/764976308699660288/hope-chapter-35-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 36: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/765513493831090176/hope-chapter-36-summary-dean-and-sam

Chapter 37: https://www.tumblr.com/randomperson99sworld/766387077962203136/hope-chapter-37-summary-dean-and-sam

[aylacavebear]

The Curse That Changed Your Life - Part 1 Chapter 2

You were just a regular, ordinary woman in your twenties working at the Gas N’ Sip. Life was simple and boring, and you liked it that way. It wasn’t until some strange woman came to your store, mumbled some Latin under her breath, that everything changed. So, you did the only thing you could think of with your new appearance, became a dancer at a club far from the town you grew up in. But what will you do when the green-eyed FBI agent starts asking questions?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 2815

Warnings: Angst, Slow-Burn, Death, Dashed Hopes - severe depression, Spell Ingredients, Charlie being nosy (yes, this is a warning).

A/N: This one played through my mind while listening to Cherry Pie one day on my way to work.

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

That first month at the bunker was interesting, to say the least. Dean had done his best to keep his comments to himself and only ogle you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. That hadn’t lasted long. 

It had happened the first day and only an hour after you’d been awake. He’d opened his mouth and said something, but before he could even realize what he’d said, you’d made it to the other side of the table and slapped him. All you remembered at this point was that it had something to do with your ass and the way it looked in your shorts. Sam was dying of laughter before you’d left the kitchen to enjoy your coffee in the library.

The bunker, on the other hand, was fascinating. It was massive and held tons of information on the things that went bump in the night. The facilities alone had your jaw on the floor. 

You also couldn’t count how many times Sam apologized for his brother’s behavior. You shrugged it off, though, explaining you wouldn’t tolerate it and Dean would eventually stop. Sam attempted to explain how stubborn his brother was, but you simply told him that he could exercise some manners.

Near the end of the first week, you met Eileen. She was sweet and kind, which you were thankful for. However, you were surprised to learn she was deaf and wished you knew sign language. She had decided to stay at the bunker while trying to figure out this witch business.

Charlie was energetic. It was the only way you could describe her when she showed up. She said something about having to see you with her own eyes, which was when you learned she was into games and things like LARPing. She showed up a couple of days later.

She bombarded you with questions, most of which you didn’t mind answering. It was the other ones that she had gotten persistent with that you just said no to without giving her a real reason. So, after almost three weeks, she was getting a little whiny about it as the five of you sat around the tables in the library, pouring through books.

“Please. I’ll be gentle,” Charlie begged you again to touch your tail.

“Charlie, I’d rather you didn’t, and let's leave it at that,” you replied with your nose still stuck in the book in front of you.

“How come?” she pouted.

You sighed, “It’s… personal, okay.”

“Pleeeaassseeee,” she whined, making you groan.

They’d been back from a supply run for about four hours now, and you were pretty sure you’d have to give her something more than just a ‘no’ to her incessant begging.

Without even looking up from your book, you answered her flatly, “I’m not into girls, and it’s rather sensitive.”

“Oh,” Charlie replied, somewhat surprised. Then she got curious again, “Are your ears like that too?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, “Yes. Now, can we drop the topic?”

Dean was thankful that you were more focused on the book and not him. It had been ridiculously hard not to make remarks about your looks, let alone keep his expression from giving away what he was thinking about. Now, he was beyond curious and even more interested in you, in a far more physical way than you wanted to have with him.

“Yeah,” Charlie began, and just as she was about to go back to her book, she looked back over at you. “Wait. Do you go into heat like a cat, too?”

“How the hell do you get away with asking her that, but I can’t?” Dean complained loudly.

You’d had enough at that point. You understood they were curious just how cat-like you were, but that one had hit your last nerve. Without a word, you grabbed your book, the mostly full bottle of whiskey, and went to your room, slamming the door behind you.

“What’d I say?” Charlie asked, fairly confused.

“Pretty sure she doesn’t want to discuss her personal stuff with anyone, Charlie,” Sam chuckled, his nose still stuck in his book. He’d stayed out of the conversation, as had Eileen.

“But, why’d she have to take my whiskey?” Dean pouted, looking at his mostly empty glass now, making Sam laugh at him, again.

None of them had an answer for him, and you weren’t about to go back out there to tell him you needed something to drown out your thoughts and the overwhelming emotions. You slipped the pieces of cotton in your ears before getting comfortable on your bed with the book.

As you read, you sipped the whiskey. It was yet another book on witches and spells. You weren’t even sure how many you’d read through in the last almost five days. Mostly, you glazed over the ingredients of spells but paid attention to the important details.

An hour later, though, you were now sitting up, reading the same spell for the fifth time, and your heart was pounding in your chest. It was a spell to summon the witch that had cursed you. It was the witch’s love of sweets that you instantly recognized within the wording. You realized the main reason you had to help the brothers in this regard: the spell itself called for your blood and some hair of your feline features. The problem was that there was a high likelihood you’d be stuck like you were, and that was because of how far the physical changes had gone. 

Great!

You slammed the book shut and just sat there thinking about your predicament. Within minutes, though, your conscience got the better of you. Opening the book back up to the spell, you returned to the library.

“Here, Sam. I found the spell, and yes, you can use my blood,” you grumbled, plopping the book down on the table in front of him.

All of them jumped a little, their eyes on Sam, you, and the book that Sam was now reading. He only glanced at you briefly, and you knew he’d read about the warning.

“Hey, can I have my whiskey back?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, going back to your room.

More than half the bottle was gone at this point, and you took one more swig before you returned to the library and set it in front of him.

“Sorry about drinking so much. I’ll pay for more,” you told him somberly before returning to your room.

So much for ever being normal again.

The thought was depressing. You hadn’t wanted to hope, but it had gotten the better of you, and now, you were somewhat depressed. Your entire body felt heavy as you climbed into bed, not even bothering to change your clothes and turned off the light.

Back in the Library…

“You gonna share, Sam?” Dean asked, still looking toward the hallway where you’d gone.

“Well, the good news is we can summon the witch. The bad news,” he sighed, “She might be stuck that way.”

“Is there nothing we can do?” Eileen asked.

“Not unless we involve Rowena, and even that could be risky according to this,” Sam explained, “Even if we kill this witch, it might not break the curse.”

“I thought that was how all curses were broken, by killing the witch,” Charlie questioned, now confused.

“If her body was changed too much—more like a cat than a human—killing the witch wouldn’t turn her back. Then there’s the other problem. Trying to break that curse could kill her,” Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“So, she’s stuck like that?” Eileen asked.

“Probably,” Sam sighed, glancing toward the hallway. He probably felt the worst for the situation you had ended up in.

Dean didn’t make a single comment or snarky remark. He actually felt bad, too. It was sort of fun to tease you a bit about your cat features, but now, he really did feel bad. He had found you utterly attractive from the missing person’s reports. Then, seeing you with cat ears and a tail, he could barely think straight.

Now, though, after spending a month with you and getting to know you a little more, his interest had gone further than your looks. He still somehow wanted to help you, even if you couldn’t be normal again. 

“So, we gonna summon this bitch tonight or tomorrow?” Charlie asked, pulling Dean from his thoughts.

“Probably tomorrow. We should all get some rest,” Sam replied.

The following day…

You may have woken early, but you stayed curled in bed.

Why did I have to get my hopes up?

The room was dark, but seeing in shades of grey kept it from ever looking like the blackness you remembered the dark looking like. The cotton was still in your ears. You’d discovered that trick a week after you’d changed, thankful it made things sound normal again.

Grabbing your phone off the night table, you glanced at the date and rolled your eyes, knowing that your monthly cycle would hit you in a day or two. It was mostly like you’d had when you were human, but since you’d changed, so had it. 

You groaned, turning off your phone and putting your face in your pillow, not wanting to get out of bed. 

It’s gonna be a long week.

Perhaps you fell back asleep or just zoned out, but you weren’t quite sure. A knock on your door pulled your attention to it sometime later.

“Come in,” you mumbled loud enough for whoever it was to hear you.

Someone gingerly opened it and stepped partway inside, holding the door halfway open, “Did you want some coffee? Or, are you gonna sleep the day away?”

It was Sam, and you sighed silently, “Coffee,” you mumbled.

He came over and sat on the side of the bed, “I’m sorry about all this. We’re going to keep looking for a way to try to change you back, okay?” 

“It’s okay,” you replied somberly, rolling over to look at him.

Sam noticed how low your ears were drooping. After hours of research on cats, he learned that your ears and tail always revealed precisely how you were feeling. He had no clue how to ease the sadness you were going through, though.

“Come on. There’s coffee in the kitchen,” Sam said, giving you one of those compassionate smiles that made you smile, even if just a little.

“All right. Lemme change, and I’ll be there in a few minutes,” you replied.

He left you to change, and then you headed into the kitchen. It was past nine already, and all of them were awake. Even if you’d wanted to, you couldn’t get your ears to stop drooping or your tail to show anything other than the defeat you’d found yourself in.

After grabbing a cup of coffee, you joined the four of them in the library, making sure not to step on the symbol they’d drawn on the floor. One of the library tables had what looked like an altar with a bowl, ingredients, and candles, but you barely glanced at it. 

“You want to drink that first or summon this bitch and watch her burn?” Charlie asked, trying to help you feel better.

All you did was shrug your shoulders. You stood next to Sam and looked down into the bowl before you looked up at him and held out one of your hands. 

“If you’d rather do it-” Sam began, but you cut him off.

“Just, do it, and let's get this over with,” you told him.

He sighed, “How about you cut the hair from your tail? Then I’ll do the cut on your hand if you’d like.”

You gave him a small smile before taking the blade, cutting some of the hair from your tail, and placing it in the bowl. But when it came time to cut your hand, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it and handed Sam back the knife and looked away when he made the cut. That hurt like hell, and you hissed the moment it pierced your skin.

Balling your hand into a fist, you turned it sideways, letting the blood drain down and into the bowl, mixing with the other ingredients. Then, Dean came close and wrapped your hand in a handkerchief. 

There was something gentle about his touch and the softness in his expression, even though he never looked directly at you. His focus was on your hand and securing the handkerchief securely without hurting you.

You stood back, your gaze on the symbol on the floor, while the other four stood near each other. Sam spoke the spell in Latin. After that, he tossed a lit match into the bowl as orange smoke swirled up and through the air.

For a moment, you blinked blankly at the woman who appeared inside the symbol. She resembled the woman you saw a year and a half ago, but there were so many differences. The biggest one was that she looked far younger than she had.

“Oh, there’s the kitten I lost,” she cooed, looking over at you, and her smile again creeped you out. When her eyes met the four others, she quickly frowned, “Winchesters.”

“Turn her back,” Dean growled, and it surprised you that those were his first words to her.

The witch's expression went to utter amusement, “Can’t. Sorry. She’s stuck that way. I’m just surprised the spell didn’t fully take.”

“What? Was she supposed to turn into an actual cat?” Charlie asked sarcastically.

“Yes. Quite interesting,” the witch mused, now standing as close to the edge of the symbol as possible, looking you over. “I need to find out why the spell didn’t work, and how to fix it so you do turn into a cat. I need a loyal familiar.”

You felt sick, and her words made your skin crawl. With as close as she was, Eileen slapped a pair of cuffs on her. They’d explained that the cuffs would keep her from using any sort of magic, and it was for all of their safety.

“You’re going to undo the spell. Turn her back into a human,” Dean growled again, and you couldn’t quite figure out why he seemed so adamant all of a sudden. His tone almost felt more than just trying to help someone.

The witch just rolled her eyes, “I told you. The spell can’t be reversed. All I can do is make it so that she turns the rest of the way into a cat, and my loyal familiar. So, take these off, and I can get started.”

“Then we don’t need to keep you alive,” Eileen told her, crossing her arms.

For the moment, all you could do was stand there, lost in your thoughts at the witch’s revelation. You had enough trouble having the features and qualities of a cat that you did. You had no desire to be an actual cat, let alone the witch’s familiar. 

You didn’t hear any of the rest of the conversation between the five of them and, at this point, had backed up to one of the chairs, sitting down. With your mind racing with thoughts and too many emotions coursing through your body, it was the gunshot that made you jump. 

Looking up in just enough time to see the witch’s body hit the floor as the light faded from her eyes. Dean crouched in front of you while the others began cleaning up. He was attempting to talk to you, but you didn’t hear him. When he snapped his fingers in front of your eyes, you finally refocused on reality and looked down at him, still in a state of shock.

“You with me, Sweetheart?” he asked, slightly loudly, making sure he had your attention. You nodded, as making words wasn’t working at the moment. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t turn you back. We’ll keep looking until we can find a way.”

The sadness and despair hit you like a ton of bricks, your gaze going to your hands in your lap and away from Dean. You sniffled quietly as the tears slipped down your cheeks. Even when Dean put his hand over yours, you couldn’t look at him.

He sighed heavily, stood, kissed the top of your head, and then began helping the others with clean up. You weren’t sure how long you had sat there before you finally made your way to your room, fell into your bed, and cried yourself to sleep. You also didn’t care about much at the moment.

You’d hoped there would have been a way you could be human again and have a normal life. That hope had grown over the last month, and now, your world felt like it fell in on itself, and some darkness was going to swallow you whole. 

----------------------------------------- Chapter 3

Series Master List Part 1 Master List Part 2 Master List Past 3 Master List Main Master List

As always, if you'd like to be tagged, let me know in a comment.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @zaratahir @jc-winchester @suckitands33 @n-o-p-e-never

@nancymcl @deans-spinster-witch @kindollss

[deanoheartspie]

SUN•SHINE COMING SOON!!

Pairing: Cowboy Sheriff Dean x City Gal Reader

Summary: After your family cut you off, your great-aunt Laura invited you over to her ranch you often visited when you were just a child... You drive through the beautiful town until you accidentally graze a horse that just so happens to be the sheriffs...

Warnings: smut, cussing, angst.

Taglist: (Open!!)

Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

•°•°•°•°•SNEAK PEAK°•°•°•°•°•°

“You look beautiful in that dress darlin' Gimmie a little spin” Dean has a boyish grin, while he leans against the old bed frame.

Giving the cowboy a little spin, with a laugh escaping your lips as you tilt your fake imaginary cowgirl hat. “Y'know I could always give ya' a hat” He stands up, the floorboards creaking at every step he takes while he looks over at his hats deciding on a nice plain white one.

“Why the white one?” You ask, with a hint of a smile knowing he had to grow through his whole process of deciding which one to give you.

“Because after tonight darlin', your gonna be my bride”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Dean's always loved books. (OR: You know how Dean Winchester is an autodidact who built an EMF machine out of a Walkman, got his GED just because, knows the difference and nuances in Vonnegut's works, is good at strategy and LARPs, easily references Tolstoy and ancient Greek fables, has a favorite Zeppelin song that's about a book, and has a huge pop culture knowledge base because he soaks up everything like a sponge? Me too. And you know how Supernatural usually wants us to pretend that's not true? Yeah ... how about fuck that? A #DeanStudies fic that proposes Dean has an interior life, a brain in his head, and the urge to do better. Oh and, of course, it fixes the finale!)

Author: fairy_tale_echo

Note from submitter: Dean reads agenda!!!

[randommultifandomrants]

I just finished the most well written soul shattering Dean Winchester fan fiction and I wish I hadn’t . OH MY GOSH IT WAS SO GOOD. It ended way too soon for my liking. If you want to read it it’s on wattpad it’s called ‘As it was’ - smmcwrites. Please check it out and show the creator some love, it’s so good I absolutely loved it! I legit read it all in 2 1/2 days and I regret finishing so quickly ugh 😣 I need to forget about it then come back and re read it.

[nuggeett875]

"I'm Still Upset"-Dean Winchester

Summary: Dean and his girlfriend get into a fight which lasts all day, but they can't sleep without the other by their side.

Yelling could be heard from all over the bunker, keeping everybody on edge. "Are they still on this stupid argument?" Castiel asked as he walked down the stairs towards Sam who was sitting at the table. "Yeah, almost 3 hours now without a break. It's almost impressive."

"You could have died!" They heard Delilah shouting, "How is that different from every other day?!" Dean responded.

"This time you put yourself in the way on purpose. You're lucky that bullet only hit your side." She dropped her head in her hands sitting in the chair behind her, exhausted from this entire situation.

Dean and Delilah had gone out on a hunt and were chasing down 2 suspects. Delilah had gotten one to the ground and was checking to see if he had the object they were looking for on him when she heard Dean shouting her name.

The next thing she knew Dean pushed her to the side and was holding his side where a bullet had just hit. Looking up she saw the other person holding a gun out and she shot them dead center and they fell to the ground.

“Dean. Dean, you okay? What the hell were you thinking jumping over like that” She ran over and grabbed his head. “What the hell were you thinking letting your guard down like that?” He groaned sitting up.

“Seriously. Dean I had it under control, that was stupid.” She took a step back. “No what’s stupid was almost letting yourself get killed on a rookie mistake.”

And that’s how the rest of the day went. The two of them going back and forth saying whatever came to mind. Sam and Castiel had grown tired of it and went to their rooms attempting to block out the yelling and get some sleep.

“You know what, I’m done with this. I’m going to sleep. In my own room!” Dean told her stomping off. They had usually stayed in one room, switching between Dean and Delilahs, but tonight they went to their separate spaces.

……………………………….

Around 2 in the morning, Dean was lying wide awake in bed staring up at the ceiling unable to sleep. His mind had been racing and every time he closed is eyes, nightmares threatened to come. Usually Delilah helped calm the dreams but she wasn’t with him now.

Delilah had been in her own room with the same issue. Freezing and anxious. Throughout the night she was move closer to Dean and steal his heat, and Dean didn’t mind one bit. She had also gone through experiences in her life that left her with terrifying memories. They had helped each other.

Another 30 minutes later Delilah heard her door open and looked over seeing Dean walking in his face still upset yet tired. He walked over to the bed and climbed in not saying anything and wrapped his arms around Delilah.

Delilah turned over and rested her head in the crook of his neck and tangled their legs together, the cold feeling she had slipping away. Dean let out a breath of relief and closed his eyes starting to fall asleep.

“I’m still upset.” Dean whispered almost asleep. “Me too.” Delilah told him. He pressed a kiss to her head and they both fell asleep, they could continue arguing in the morning.

[gingersnap1620]

Make a Memory

Dean Winchester x F!Oc

Summary: Dean and Sam get their asses kicked by a witch whose big green eyes Dean can't get out of his head.

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Word Count: 1.1k

Songs:

(You Want To) Make A Memory

Evil Woman

A/N: This is my first fic! This is the first part, and I hope you guys enjoy! My sister @gingernut1314 beta read this for me. Go check her out!

Prologue

Lillian 

~Year is 1676 in Scotland~

“You can't just leave us here Lily!”

When I decided to join the coven I had no idea of their plans. If I did then I wouldn't have joined and I wouldn't be in this situation. Leaving Scotland and my siblings behind for America. I feel like my mother, leaving them behind like this. My mother, Rowena, is a very powerful witch, so I guess that gave her the right to leave her seven kids behind.

“I don't have a choice, Fergus. You know what they're trying to make me do! Leaving is the only way to keep all of you and the world safe.” At this point, I'm just throwing the things I need in the only travel bag we own. It's big and brown and basically fallen apart. 

“I knew you would end up being exactly like her,” Fergus says, turning his back on me and walking away. Let's get one thing straight, I am nothing like my mother. She's a cruel, selfish woman. If I have to blame anyone for this I would blame her. She's the reason I have these powers in the first place. 

After I got everything I needed in my bag, I went around and said goodbye to the rest of my siblings. 

I didn't exactly have a ticket to get on the boat, but that wasn't going to stop me. I need to get on that boat. So carrying my bag on my shoulder I snuck my way onto the boat and down to the storage rooms to hide. 

As the ship started sailing off I looked out a small circle-shaped window and saw my home get further and further away. Saying that I'm scared would be an understatement, I've never been farther than the city. 

I'm going to stop those witches. I won't let them go through with their plan even if it's the last thing I do.

Dean

~338 years later in America~

Sam and I thought that this would be an in-and-out kind of vamp job, and it was until we walked past this door. 

“What are they talking about?” I whispered to Sam as the girl in the room paced back and forth with her hand on her hip. She has curly red hair and big green eyes. “This chick kinda looks like Rowena,” I whispered to Sam. 

“I know I was just thinking that.” 

“Hopefully she's not a witch like her,” I said that as a joke, but of course right as I say it the door flings open and we get shoved which leads to us toppling onto the floor. Before I could get up the woman squats down right next to me yanking the back of my hair to make me look up at her. Her green eyes pierced into my soul. 

“Who do we have here, shall we find out?” She asked the man who hadn't moved from his spot behind his desk since we came in.

“How about not.” I spit out.

Wrong move. 

She pressed her fingers on my head. The last thing I remember seeing before I blacked out was her eyes glowed with green light. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn't Dean Winchester.” She leaves me lying on the floor as she stands up. 

What the hell just happened? How does she know my name?

“So, that must mean that you're Sam Winchester.” She said, pointing at Sam.

“What the hell did you just do to me bitch?” She walks to the man behind the desk giving Sam and I time to get up. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again I fucking hate witches. 

“Nothing, I just looked into your head, jeez stop being dramatic.” She said, with a dismissive hand.

Oh, I'm being dramatic now! I don't think so! 

I pulled my gun out and pulled the trigger, shooting her right in her stomach. She snapped her head down to find blood oozing from her shirt, a shocked look on her face. Her green eyes snapped back at me, rage burning in her eyes. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I just got this shirt!” She flung my gun across the room as Sam pulled his gun out and shot her again, this time right in the middle of her chest. She looked down at the bullet hole, rolled her eyes, and flung Sam across the room. I watched him hit the wall and pass out.

“Sam!” 

“He’ll be fine.” The man behind the desk decides to pitch in. I forgot he was even in the room. Apparently, so did the red-haired witch because she looked surprised when he talked. 

“Oh! I thought I already took care of you, I guess not.” And with one sharp flick of her hand, the man's head fell off.  “Don’t worry he wasn't human.” She says as she walks around his desk to pick his head up and show me his fangs. 

“A vamp? What do you get out of killing a vamp?” 

“Oh nothing, he just wasn’t helping me out with my problem.”

“Problem?” I guess I asked too many questions because just as it left my lips she flung me into the wall, pinning me there. 

“I realize I haven’t fully introduced myself, my name is Lillian.” She was walking over to me. “I don't want to hurt you two, you're just giving me no choice” 

“You know it doesn’t really feel like that.” She stopped in front of me, placing her hand gently on my shoulder. Her eyes started to light up a dark green color. She must be pretty powerful. 

Great. 

“I'm sorry that I made you feel that way.” Her hand started traveling down my chest, where her other hand joined beside it. 

I closed my eyes tight, prepping for what was about to come. 

I felt her hands leave my body suddenly. My eyes flew open and I found Sam slapping a pair of silver cuffs on her. 

“Fucking Winchesters.” She spit out as we put her in the back of the impala. 

“Are you sure you don’t just want to kill her Dean?” Sam asked after he shut the door on her. I walked around the back of the car to get to the driver's side.

“Something about her just makes me think that she's important. I don’t know man.” Sam glanced back down at her through the window and opened his door.

“Alright, I trust you, but let's go, my head is still throbbing.” He then sat down in the car and closed the door. I opened my door and did the same. 

I flipped the radio on and “Evil Women” by Electric Light Orchestra blasted through the speakers. A smirk pulled at my lips as I bobbed my head to the beat. As I turned to look at the witch I noticed Sam shaking his head at me. 

“I hope you have good taste in music” 

“I have exquisite taste in music, but this is utter garbage” I shrugged in return, placing my hands on the steering wheel and whipped out of that place.

[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

Join Patreon 🌟 For early access to new stories, bonus content, first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Series Masterlist

Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @this-is-me19

@emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @kaleldobrev @spnwoman

@thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28

@adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka

@chevroletdean @agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24

@ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley

@sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @mimaria420

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @ajjustice

[rizlowwritessortof]

Remember Me - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OC Michaela

Word Count: 2272

Warnings: None in Part 3, eventual smut

Dividers by @talesmaniac89

“Dean, I don’t understand why you’re in such a rush to get home. Michaela could use your help with the whole memories thing, and…”

“For fuck’s sake, Sammy, can you drop it already?” Dean reached for the radio and turned it off with an angry twist. Sam had been riding his ass for the last fifteen minutes and he was about to explode. “She needs to get back to her normal life, and the longer we hang around, the more fucked up she’s gonna get.”

“You’re running away.” Sam stared at his brother, that stubborn, accusing stare on his face that made Dean want to punch him.

“Fine. Whatever. You think what you want. I’m trying to do what’s best for her.”

“Since when do you get to decide what’s best for other people?”

“Since I’m the reason her life got fucked up to begin with. She deserves to have a life without monsters and angels and death waiting around every goddamn corner!”

“And your feelings for her have nothing to do with why you’re leaving.”

“Sam, if you don’t shut your pie hole, you’re gonna be walking back to Kansas.” Dean cranked the radio back on, too loud for further conversation, and Sam let out a frustrated sigh as he reached to moderate the volume. He shook his head, but gave up for the moment, turning to stare out the window. He had pushed as far as he dared to for the moment, but if Dean thought he was giving up, he was wrong. He wasn’t going to let this go.

They had stopped at Michaela’s place a couple of hours before they left town, and Sam had stayed mostly silent, observing her and Dean and their awkward interactions with each other. Sam had sensed something in the air between them, the conversation between the two of them was formal and uncomfortable, and Mikey had given them each an almost reluctant hug before they had left.

Dean hadn’t filled him in on much from the night he spent with her, except that she had remembered meeting Zachariah and how badly it had frightened her. But when he had returned to their motel room afterwards, he had been withdrawn and silent, responding to his questions with terse, vague answers and downing several whiskeys. He had barely spoken, focusing his attention on the laptop and then falling into bed by ten that night. And Sam had heard him tossing and turning, Mikey’s name mumbled in his sleep more than once.

Yeah, Dean could try to convince him he was doing this because it was best for Mikey – but that was bullshit.

Mikey forced herself to get up the next morning and go to work. Just get back into the routine, and everything will get back to normal, she told herself.

Except for the dreams. The memories that were coming back to haunt her, some bloody and a little frightening, but most were just what she guessed had been their normal life. Dean helping her in the kitchen, laughter and teasing; riding in the Impala, sometimes in the back seat with Sam and Dean in front, and sometimes in front with Dean, his arm draped around her shoulders; conversations with the Winchesters and an older man with a beard, Bobby, that she apparently had been very fond of in that time. And all of it laced through with love and affection right along with the monsters and horror.

With everything that had happened and the knowledge that the life she was living had been manufactured for her by Zachariah, she was aching for the ‘normal’ of the past that was slowly coming back to her, the memories vivid and full of life and adventure. In comparison, her life seemed colorless, monotonous.

She called Dean a few times, but he always seemed busy - polite, but distant, and she couldn’t say it didn’t sting. “Look, I know it’s been crazy,” he’d say, “but you’re better off, you’re safe. No supernatural bullshit to deal with.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was just meant to live a mundane existence and leave the past in the past. He obviously was. Or he didn’t want to deal with her drama. But the dreams, the memories kept coming, almost every night, and those feelings seemed as fresh and real to her now as they had then. So how was she supposed to just let it go? She forced herself to keep going, and several weeks went by, but she still felt the same restlessness, the same unhappiness with – well, with everything.

After she woke one morning sobbing into her pillow, she gave up on trying to be self-reliant and called Dean’s number. She had waited until she showered and calmed herself down, but the dream-memory had been gut-wrenching, Sam and Bobby telling her Dean was dead and had been dragged to hell. How was she supposed to deal with that? She hung up when his voice mail picked up, but called him again right away, and finally she heard the call connect.

“Hello? Michaela? Hey, it’s Sam.”

“Sam? I was trying… I – I just needed to talk to someone about…” She trailed off. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying not to call. I know I’m driving him crazy.”

“You’re not, Mikey. Honestly, I think he’s having a hard time with all of this, too, even though he won’t really talk about it. But if you need to talk, you can call me, too, any time.” Sam could hear her blow out a shaky breath, trying to stay in control.

“I can’t keep doing this, Sam. My whole life feels surreal, like I’m in the damn matrix or something, like none of it is really – real. I’m losing my mind here.” There was dead silence for a moment, then she heard Dean’s voice.

“Hey, Mikey.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was in the shower. I heard what you said.” She heard him sigh. “I’m sorry, I thought putting some distance between us would help, but apparently I was wrong about that.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Listen, why don’t you take some time off, come down for a visit. Maybe we can try to fill in the blanks, help you make sense of the memories that are coming back.”

“I don’t want to invade your space...”

“There’s plenty of room here, Mikey.” Sam spoke up. “But there’s a motel in town, if you’d rather stay there, whatever you’re comfortable with. We’re just outside of Lebanon, Kansas.”

“Thank you. Thank you both. I just – I need to understand the past before I can move on, I think.”

Dean sounded softer than he had since leaving Ohio. “We’ll do our best to help. Just give us a call when you hit town and we’ll give you directions to get here.”

A few days later she arrived, and after a tour of the bunker, they got her settled into one of the many rooms. “You let us know when you’re ready to talk, and we’ll grab some beers and dig in,” Dean said with a vague smile, then left her to unpack.

He made his way back to the library where Sam sat, laptop open in front of him. “Is she doing okay?”

Dean nodded. “I think so. I still don’t know if this is a good idea.”

Sam looked up. “Does she know you’re having dreams, too?”

Dean’s jaw twitched a little as he sent a surly glance Sam’s direction. “No. How would that help?”

“If this is going to work, you need to be honest with her, Dean. The only way you two are gonna get past all this is to be honest with each other.”

“Because you’re an expert on erased memories and how to deal with ‘em.”

“I’m not an expert, but I know you both have feelings for each other that have never been resolved, Dean. They’re not just going to disappear. And just because you don’t want them to be there, doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

“And how the fuck do you know if I have feelings or not?”

“Because I’ve heard you when you’re dreaming. I’ve heard you say her name, and I’ve heard how you say her name.”

“Invasion of privacy, Sam.” He stalked off towards the kitchen, and Sam rolled his eyes, returning to what he had been reading on his laptop.

Dean grabbed a beer from the fridge, still fuming at his brother’s words. And the fact that it was true made it that much worse. He’d been dreaming of Mikey ever since they’d gotten home, a few times involving hunting with her, or riding with her in Baby. But most of the time he woke still hearing her moan his name as she came, feeling her soft skin beneath his hands or his cock buried deep inside her. He tried to tell himself the feelings he was fighting were just echoes from the past, but that was getting harder each time it happened.

She was better off miles away from him and from the life he lived. She was out, and hard experience told him she would live much longer if she stayed out. How he felt didn’t matter. He took several swallows from his beer, trying to wash down the lies he was telling himself.

Mikey came out of her room a couple of hours later, still feeling awkward and self-conscious, but she couldn’t stay in there forever. She managed to make her way to the library, where the brothers were just setting out plates for the pizza Sam had just returned with. Dean smiled and held up a beer with a questioning brow, and she nodded, heading for a chair and taking a seat as he set the cold brew in front of her. “Pepperoni and veggie, whichever you like,” he said, taking a seat across from her and beside his brother.

“Sounds great, I’m starving,” she said, helping herself to a slice of each.

They just chatted as they ate, and she was much more relaxed by the time they finished. Dean fetched them each another beer and settled back in his chair, his eyes on Mikey. “So – when you called the other day, you sounded pretty upset.”

She nodded. “I was. I dreamed that Sam and the older guy you told me was Bobby were coming to tell me that you were dead. That you got dragged to hell by a hellhound. I woke up crying.”

Dean dropped his head, staring at the table as he nodded. “Yeah. Understandable.”

“So maybe we should just kind of fill you in on our history. If you have any questions, you can just jump in,” Sam said softly, and Mikey nodded in agreement.

A couple of hours and a couple more beers later, they had gone over everything up to the point Mikey had been taken by the angels, and several of her questions had been answered. At least now if she had a dream about something unfamiliar, she’d be able to fit it in with events they had told her about.

She curled up in bed that night, wondering what came next. Now that the Winchesters had given her the missing pieces that helped her make sense of her memories, there wasn’t really a reason to stay. And even though Dean had been nothing but kind, he still kept his distance, and she knew he wouldn’t relax until she was gone. She rolled to her back, staring at the ceiling. It was clear that he wanted their relationship left in the past.

She got up after trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep for almost two hours, throwing an oversized button-down shirt over her tank top and sleep shorts and heading for the kitchen for a bottle of water. She had just started down the hall when Dean’s voice, shouting her name, made her jump and turn back, rushing towards his bedroom door.

She hesitated for a second, then opened his door, walking in to find him standing beside his bed, his eyes a little wild. She approached him, reaching out to touch his hand, and he focused his stare on her before letting his eyes drift closed. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, his chest heaving, then kissed her so desperately that she was dizzy when he stopped. “I couldn’t find you. You were just gone.”

“It’s okay, Dean, I’m here. It was a dream.” She could feel his heart pounding, and he took a couple of deep breaths before he took hold of her shoulders and moved her back a step.

“Sorry.” He moved away from her, dragging a hand over his face. “Seemed so real.”

“The memory of when I was taken?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it had to be.” He turned to look at her. “No wonder your dreams freaked you out if they’ve all been that intense.”

“Yes, the memories of big events have been.” She moved closer to him, putting a hand on his arm. “Is this the first one you’ve had?”

Dean exhaled sharply and shook his head. “No. But this is the only one I’ve had that’s been like this. Mostly they’re just – of you and me.”

Mikey nodded. “Yeah – I’ve had a lot of those.” She reached up to put a hand to his face. “Dean, I…”

“Mikey, you should go.” He stepped away from her, moving to sit on his bed, his eyes focused on the floor.

Tears stung her eyes as she walked to the door. “Goodnight, Dean,” she said softly before closing it behind her.

Tags for my lovelies: 

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

  @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5  

  @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog   

        @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain  

  @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie 

   @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic  

  @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma   

 @ioanashalala    @jencharlan    @deansthirstblog     @dorky-and-i-know-it    @mischief-maker1   

 @winchestersandwordprocessors    @percussiongirl2017    @bringmesomepie56   @akshi8278    @torn-and-frayed  

  @sandlee44   @wingedcatninja  @evansrogerskitten   @emoryhemsworth  @peaceinourtime82 

 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  @sarcasmqueen74   @maliburenee     @mrsjenniferwinchester   @yeehawbitchs  

 @emily-winchester  @hobby27    spnbaby-67   @zepskies  @ladysparkles78  

@alwaystiredandconfused   @just-another-busyfangirl    @muhahaha303    @deansimpalababy    @kr804573  

@suckitands33    @ej13928

[2plottwist]

Fate - Chapter 1

Pairing: Dean x Female!OC (Skyla)

Characters: Skyla, Winchester brothers, Bobby Singer, Castiel, Crowley

Warnings: Injury, kidnap, weapons, decapitation

Author: Kenna:)

Word Count: 1.7k

Series Masterlist

The haunting laughs of Azazel and the screams of his worshippers pounded against my head on a daily basis. No amount of distraction or questions seemed to lessen the white hot pain consistently barrelling through my body.

It’s been five years, but the one thing that does distract me from my past? Hunting.

“Hello?” my voice echoes through the ramshackle house. 

Silence. 

“Dean? Sam?” I ask again. 

This time there was a noise. Movement creaking the floorboards behind me snapped my gaze. I drew my machete. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I sing, a smile growing across my lips. Easy prey. 

The pale faced vampire hops out from behind a doorway, throwing me to the ground. Punches fly and hisses bounce off the dark walls of the house. My cheeks burn and my teeth vibrate with the continuous impact. I lift my leg, ramming my knee into his groin. 

Thank God vampires have the same physical weaknesses as humans. 

His eyes bulge as he falls over, cradling himself. I use the moment to swing my blade around and behead him. Like I said, easy prey.

“Sam! Dean!” I yell, jumping to my feet. 

My ears catch a shaking movement coming from one of the closed doors. I race, despite the fact that there might be more vampires lurking. Swinging open the door, I find the Winchester boys tied to chairs with their lips cradling bandanas, muffling their cries of help. 

I smirk, “See what happens when you don’t listen to me?” I coo, reminding them of my warnings to not go into a vampire nest with no backup. 

Sam rolls his eyes as I reach for his gag. “I would have been fine,” he whines. 

“Bull!” Dean spits, once I remove his gag, “It’s like you have never worked a case before.” 

“Jerk,” 

“Bitch,”

“God, you two are the worst,” I roll my eyes, finally cutting the ropes tying their hands. 

“Shut up,” the boys snipe at the same time. 

I smile, turning around, willing them to follow me out of the house. 

The night air hits my sweat soaked face. The feeling of a successful hunt provides an ounce of relief against the dread that has haunted my soul for years. I know the feeling will come back, but for now, I ignore it. 

As the painted yellow lines of the highway move past the back window of the Impala, I scour the internet, looking for cases we could stop for on our way back to South Dakota. There’s nothing in Wisconsin, Montana, or Nebraska. My stomach drops with every website that brings me nothing. I need another. 

Sam’s eyes land on my hunched state. “What did you find?” he asks, knowing exactly what I’m doing. 

I don’t take my eyes off the bright blue screen, “Not a damn thing,” I sigh, finally giving up and shutting my laptop. 

My face still pounds from the strikes the vampire landed on me, but I crave another. I need pain to distract me from the looming thought of Azazel’s laugh and the date that I see on the calendar. It’s the six year anniversary of the attack. 

Azazel is dead. We killed him five years ago in the graveyard in Wyoming, but his voice still haunts me. Taunting me. He needed me. Why?  

I shake my head to banish the thoughts, focusing on the swelling rising in my face. “Sky-” Sam starts, but I raise a hand. 

“Please don’t,” I beg. They know better than to pry, to dig, to empathize with me about my past and how I deal with my trauma. I mean, Dean went to Hell for God sakes, and he dealt with it the same way I am. 

A heavy sigh drops from Sam’s lips as he shares a know-it-all look with Dean. Mother Hens. 

The brothers drop me off at Bobby’s, after no other cases arise during our drive. I unlock the door and creak the door open. The sound hasn’t changed since the day I showed up, soaking wet and shivering. The memory swipes across my mind. I shake my head again. 

“Bobby?” I call out. No answer, but the sound of clinking bottles can be heard in the kitchen. 

I could use a drink. 

I drop my bags at the foot of the stairs and move to the kitchen, expecting to see the burly, foul-faced old man who has come to be my surrogate father. Instead, I see a baby-faced, confused angel sorting through rows of brown bottles. 

“Cas?” 

Castiel’s bright blue eyes rise to my matching ones. I’ve always thought it was weird, but wrote it off as a coincidence. “Skyla,” he states, his expression not changing. 

“What are you doing?” I ask, moving to the fridge for another brown, glass bottle, but this one is cold. Another distraction to the irreverent thoughts. 

“Getting a drink,” he deadpans, “That’s what we do, right?” 

I tilt my head at his question, “You… don’t drink.” I quirk an eyebrow at him. 

He sighs and places the bottles back on the counter, “No, I don’t.” He turns to me, eyes boring deep holes into mine. 

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. 

“It’s the anniversary,” 

Shit. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I avert my eyes and move to Bobby’s desk in the middle of what I’ve continued to wish was a dining room. 

“Bobby says you need to,” he deadpans again. At least I don’t have to deal with his sympathy. 

“Bobby doesn’t know shit,” I snap, opening the book I’ve been reading about the apocalypse. 

Cas nods silently, contemplating my answer. Bobby does know shit, but I won’t admit it. I can’t take it, especially not today. I can feel the continued bore of Cas’ gaze. 

I slam the bottle on the desk, spraying foam over the scattered books and pages. “I’m going to bed,” I announce and quickly rise from the chair. 

“Sky-” Cas begins, but I interrupt his blanket, deadpan statement, “Goodnight, Cas,” 

My feet carry me as quickly as I can make them to the stairs and up to the bedroom. 

A few hours into my poor attempt to sleep, I hear the front door bang open. My body flies into action, grabbing the angel blade I keep stowed under my pillow and racing to the door. 

Memories flash in front of my eyes. The house vibrated. Crashing and the sound of breaking furniture was palpable from my upstairs room. Peeking my head out of the door. 

My stomach flips as I float to the bottom of the stairs to see the Winchester boys moving at lightning pace around the room, grabbing small bottles, boxes, and paint. 

Realizing it’s just them, I sigh, “Oh my god.”

“Skyla!” Dean’s booming voice darts across the room, then dissipates into ringing. 

“Skyla,” his face is wet with tears. Real terror coating his cheeks and face. I feel his hands take mine and shove the piece of paper between my fingers.

“-out before it's too late,” Dean’s voice comes back to my ears. 

“Too late,” a voice rumbles next to my body. 

My body reacts to the threat, throwing my arm out to hold the blade at the intruder’s throat. 

“Hello, darling,” a heavy Scottish accent drawls. 

“Who?” my question comes from my lips in a low, gravelly whisper. 

His neck stays still against my blade, but his brown eyes move to meet mine, “Crowley, King of Hell. Pleasure,” 

Information of the King of the Crossroads creeps into my brain, “Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” I sneer, pressing the blade harder to his jugular. 

I watch his hand slowly rise to the tip of the angel blade, “You are a lot more,” he clears his throat as he pushes the blade away, “testy than I anticipated.” 

My eyebrows furrowed. Than he anticipated?

“Crowley-” Sam growls from across the room. 

“Moose, Squirrel,” Crowley states, finally pushing the blade far enough so he can slip away. 

My mouth drops open, “You two know each other?” 

Dean’s eyes radiate with a fury that matches Sam’s. As the King of Hell strides closer, hands tense and ready themselves for an attack. “I’ve come to make a deal,” he states. 

“We don’t make deals with you,” Dean snaps. 

Crowley’s eyes flash with something resembling satisfaction, “You will,” he smiles, “This nasty business with Lucifer, which you so graciously let out of the cage, has put a damper on my agenda to take over Hell.” 

His movements resemble a serpent, eyeing its prey, figuring out how wide he needs to open his jaw to eat it whole. My stomach coils and my mind races to figure out what deal he could possibly want to strike with the boys. 

“And since you two,” he whips around to eyeing the Winchesters, my hand raises, “can’t seem to follow simple instructions, it looks like I must take matters into my own hands.” 

My body restricts and feels like it’s going to explode. My arms feel like concrete and my throat closes, air fighting to get out of my lungs. Crowley’s fingers twirl, sending invisible ropes across the room and seeping into my skin. “Now, I’ll be taking her, and you will be grateful that I don’t slaughter you both,” he coos, shifting his brown eyes to red. 

My eyes widened in fear. Yellow eyes. “Hand her over.” 

My eyes blur and my ears ring. No, not again. I fight against the magic seeping into my skin. My body spasms, heat radiates off my face and arms. A flash of confusion sparks in the demon’s eyes. 

“Why do you need Skyla?” Sam asks quickly, a slight sound of fear lacing his words. 

“Because she’s…” he head tilts, scanning my face, “an asset.” 

My voice is still stuck in my throat, fighting past the air that has solidified in my body. “An asset?” Dean asks. 

Crowley’s wicked smile creeps across his face, sending red tendrils of fear matching his eyes deeper into my body. He needs me. 

The flapping of wings rings through the room and a hint of relief rolls through my body. Castiel’s glowing white eyes appear in my line of vision, “Crowley,” 

“Bollocks.” Fingers snap, leaving my body reeling to the hardwood floor. The King of Hell is gone.

A fit of gasps and coughing pushes past my tongue. Numbness fills my body, leaving pins and needles stabbing my muscles. An asset. 

I look up, my eyes meeting Castiel’s. “What was that?” I rasp. 

No reaction, “We need to talk.”

[randomperson99sworld]

Hope

~ Chapter 35 ~

Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester save a young woman —Natalie Johnson, from a coven of witches who are after her deceased grandmothers spell book. At first Dean doesn’t trust her, will he ever? Natalie is just simply a woman who gets roped up in the supernatural world from a mistake her grandmother made.

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warning: Age gap, slow burn, smut, language, gore.

Word Count: 1,915

A/N: Sorry I haven’t posted much lately. I’ve been busy and this might be the last chapter I get to post this week! Happy reading! ♥️

It was later that afternoon when Dean and Sam hit the road, heading to the next case that had popped up. The Impala roared down the highway, classic rock humming softly from the speakers as Dean drove with his usual confidence. Sam sat in the passenger seat, flipping through the case file, but his mind wasn't entirely focused on it. He kept stealing glances at Dean, noticing something... different.

Dean seemed lighter. Relaxed, even. It wasn't something Sam saw very often—usually, his brother carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, always tense, always ready for the next fight. But today? Today, Dean was actually in a good mood, which was... strange, to say the least.

Sam cleared his throat, closing the file and turning to look at his brother. "So, you wanna tell me what's going on with you?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, his focus still on the road. "What do you mean?"

Sam smirked slightly. "I mean, you're... different today. Lighter, I guess."

Dean shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Maybe I just had a good night's sleep for once."

Sam wasn't buying it. He had known Dean long enough to recognize when something was up, and this wasn't just a result of catching up on sleep. There was something more going on. "Yeah, right," Sam said, giving his brother a knowing look. "This is more than just a good night's sleep. You're in a better mood than you've been in... well, a while."

Dean kept his eyes on the road, but Sam could see the slight twitch of his lips, the way his fingers tapped the steering wheel like he was trying to distract himself from something. That's when it clicked for Sam.

"Wait," Sam said, sitting up straighter in his seat, his eyes widening with realization. "Is this about Natalie?"

Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened just a fraction, his expression slipping for just a moment. Sam caught it instantly.

"Oh my god," Sam said, half-laughing, half-shocked. "You did—did something happen with Natalie?"

Dean's jaw clenched for a second, and he let out a long sigh, realizing there was no way he could dodge this now. His eyes flicked to Sam, a mix of irritation and resignation in his gaze.

"Fine," Dean muttered. "Yeah. Something happened."

Sam stared at him, waiting for him to continue. Dean let out another sigh, clearly not thrilled about having this conversation. "I, uh... we... spent the night together. If you get what I'm saying."

Sam blinked, his eyebrows shooting up. "Wait—you mean... you slept with her?"

Dean gave him a pointed look. "That's what I just said, isn't it?"

Sam's jaw dropped for a second before he snapped his mouth shut, trying to process what Dean had just admitted. "Wow. Okay. I didn't see that coming."

"Yeah, well," Dean muttered, his voice gruff. "Neither did I."

Sam was quiet for a moment, digesting the information. "So, are you guys...?"

Dean shot him a look. "I don't know, alright? We haven't exactly figured that part out yet."

"Right," Sam said, nodding slowly. "But... you're not just gonna brush this off, are you?"

Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened again, his eyes focused straight ahead. "No," he said quietly, after a long pause. "I'm not gonna brush it off. I care about her, Sam. A lot."

Sam's expression softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Good. I'm glad."

Dean glanced at him, narrowing his eyes. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

Sam held up his hands in mock surrender, but the smile didn't fade. "I'm just saying... you deserve to be happy too, Dean. And if Natalie's part of that, then... I'm happy for you."

Dean let out a grunt, his version of a reluctant "thanks," and shifted in his seat, clearly still a little uncomfortable with the conversation. But despite that, he couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at his lips. Sam wasn't wrong—something had shifted with Natalie. Something good. And for once, Dean wasn't going to push it away.

They arrived at the crime scene shortly after, falling back into their usual routine as they posed as FBI agents. The scene was grim, as most of them were, but Dean found himself feeling... lighter, just as Sam had noticed. Even in the midst of the blood and chaos, he couldn't shake the thought of Natalie, the way she had smiled at him that morning, the way things between them had changed.

As they interviewed witnesses and inspected the scene, Sam occasionally shot Dean a knowing look, clearly still amused by the earlier revelation. Dean, for his part, tried to focus on the case, but he couldn't stop his mind from drifting back to Natalie, back to the way she had made him feel.

He wasn't used to this—to caring about someone in this way. But maybe... maybe this was something worth holding on to.

Dean and Sam moved through the crime scene with practiced ease, their fake FBI badges earning them access as they questioned the local authorities. The crime itself was grim—another unsolved murder with enough strange details to ping their hunter instincts. A body drained of blood, some ritual markings that didn't match up with anything the locals had seen before. It had supernatural written all over it.

But despite the gruesome scene in front of him, Dean's mind kept wandering back to Natalie. The way she had looked at him that morning, the vulnerability she had shared with him the night before, and the comfort they had found in each other. He wasn't sure what this thing with her meant just yet, but he knew it wasn't something he could walk away from. Not anymore.

Sam kept glancing at him as they worked, and Dean could feel his brother's curiosity buzzing at the edges. Sam was usually good about giving him space, but now that he knew about Natalie, Dean could practically feel the questions brewing in Sam's mind.

After talking with one of the deputies, they took a moment outside near the Impala. Sam, ever the considerate one, waited until they were alone before broaching the subject again.

"So, about you and Natalie..." Sam said, his tone careful, testing the waters.

Dean rolled his eyes but couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Seriously? You wanna do this here?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm just saying, it's a big deal. You've been different since you met her. Lighter. Happier, even."

Dean leaned against the Impala, crossing his arms, feeling a bit of that tension return. "I dunno, man. It's not like I planned this. It just happened."

"And you're okay with it?" Sam asked, leaning on the car next to him.

Dean's brow furrowed. He'd been thinking about that ever since they left Natalie's place this morning. "Yeah, I am," he admitted after a pause. "I think I've been running from this kind of thing for a long time. But Natalie... she's different. She gets it. She gets me."

Sam nodded, understanding crossing his face. He knew how hard it was for Dean to let people in. But the way Dean spoke about Natalie? It was clear this wasn't just another fling.

Dean continued, his voice quieter now. "I don't know where it's going, Sam. But I'm not gonna push her away. Not this time."

Sam's smile was genuine, a brotherly pride in his eyes. "You don't have to have it all figured out. Just... let yourself be happy, Dean. You deserve that."

Dean let out a small huff of laughter, shaking his head. "You're gettin' sappy on me, Sammy."

Sam chuckled. "You're just mad because I'm right."

Dean rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the smile. Sam was right. He didn't have to figure it all out right now. For once, he was letting himself be open to the possibility of something good. And that was enough for now.

By the time they wrapped up at the crime scene and finished their interviews, it was late. They still had a few leads to follow up on in the morning, but for now, they were done for the day. The case had taken up most of their focus, but as they drove back to the motel, Dean's thoughts drifted back to Natalie once more.

Sam noticed the shift in his brother's mood. It was subtle, but he could always tell when Dean was thinking about something—or someone—else. As they pulled into the parking lot of the motel, Sam glanced at Dean. "You thinking about calling her?"

Dean shot him a quick look. "Who?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Natalie. Who else?"

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was thinkin' about it. You think it's too soon? I don't wanna... I dunno, crowd her."

Sam shook his head. "You wouldn't be. Trust me, she'd probably appreciate hearing from you."

Dean nodded, his fingers tapping the steering wheel thoughtfully. He knew Sam was right, but there was still that part of him that hesitated. He wasn't great at this stuff—at relationships. But Natalie was different. And the thought of her waiting at home, maybe wondering if things between them had changed for the worse, pushed him to pull out his phone.

"Alright, fine," Dean muttered, scrolling through his contacts and finding her number. He hesitated for a second, then hit call.

It rang a few times before Natalie picked up, her voice soft but warm. "Hey, Dean."

Hearing her voice made him relax, a smile tugging at his lips. "Hey, just wanted to check in. See how you're doin'."

Natalie chuckled lightly, and Dean could picture the way she smiled. "I'm okay. Just... taking it easy like you told me to. How's the case?"

Dean leaned back in his seat, glancing over at Sam, who gave him a thumbs-up before heading inside the motel. "Typical mess. Blood, creepy symbols... you know the drill. But I'm glad to hear you're taking it easy. I was worried."

"I'm good," she reassured him, her voice softening. "Thanks for checking in, Dean. It means a lot."

Dean hesitated, his voice lowering a little as he spoke again. "About last night... you're still good with everything, right? I mean—"

"Dean," Natalie interrupted gently. "I'm more than good with it. I don't regret anything."

Hearing her say that settled something in him. He didn't need to push her, didn't need to figure out everything right now. Just knowing she felt the same was enough for the moment.

"Good," Dean said, his voice softening. "That's... that's good to hear."

There was a beat of comfortable silence between them, and Dean could feel the tension from the day fading away. "So... think you're ready to jump back into things? Or are you still on brownie duty?"

Natalie laughed softly, the sound making his chest tighten in a way he wasn't used to. "I think I might need a few more days of brownie duty before I'm ready for another hunt. But when I'm back, I'll be ready."

Dean grinned. "Take your time. Just don't forget to save me a brownie or two."

"Deal."

They hung up shortly after, but as Dean slipped his phone back into his pocket, he couldn't help the small smile that stayed on his face. Sam was right. He deserved to be happy. And maybe, Natalie was the person who could help him figure that out.

[aylacavebear]

The Curse That Changed Your Life - Part 1 Chapter 3

You were just a regular, ordinary woman in your twenties working at the Gas N’ Sip. Life was simple and boring, and you liked it that way. It wasn’t until some strange woman came to your store, mumbled some Latin under her breath, that everything changed. So, you did the only thing you could think of with your new appearance, became a dancer at a club far from the town you grew up in. But what will you do when the green-eyed FBI agent starts asking questions?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 2626

This is the Chapter 18+!

Warnings: Angst, Slow-Burn, Period/Heat mentions, Similar situation to A/B/O dynamic for the reader, Fluff, Dean being a sweetheart, Insinuations of intercourse, Not "SMUT" but plenty of insinuation.

A/N: This one played through my mind while listening to Cherry Pie one day on my way to work.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 3

Another week passed, and you barely left your room unless you had to, out of need. Whether that need was for food or the bathroom, that was primarily due to your cycle. Your depression wasn’t making it any easier, either.

Cats get a certain way when they go into heat. Then, there was the regular period that women got. You got a mix of both, and this one was horrible. Your emotional state brought on harder cramping than usual. That caused a new slew of issues. You couldn’t move around like you usually would have. 

Something you’d noticed was that you wandered, a lot during your cycles. You typically barely spotted, but this one had a heavier flow than you’d had in a while. Then there was the food issue. You were barely hungry and craving red meat when you were. At least Dean was more of a carnivore than Sam and had been willing to cook.

When you had been working as a dancer, you always took this week off of work. You craved physical affection to the point where it was almost painful at times when you didn’t get it. The thing that was getting to you this cycle was the fact that Dean smelled amazing. It took all your remaining energy to keep your distance from him.

Charlie and Eileen had chosen to stick around for a while, more for your sake than anything else. Plus, they weren’t about to put the brothers in a situation that might make things even harder on you, or them. You had explained a little to the two of them, at least the bits you were comfortable sharing.

The brothers were worried about you. That first month, you seemed to have such a strong spirit, but now, it was almost like you were broken deep down in your soul. Sam gave you space to deal with it however you needed to. Dean, on the other hand. Well, you found his new behavior around you odd.

Dean brought you meals a couple of different times, and he always knocked before he entered your room. He always seemed to have a concerned look in his eyes when he found you curled up in your bed.

You figured it was day four when Dean came to pick up the dinner dishes from that night's dinner that he’d brought you earlier. You had eaten what he’d brought you, but you had curled right back up in bed.

“Look, I know we’re not exactly friends, and I said I’d help you, but this isn’t healthy. You don’t have to hide here. We’re all worried about you,” he explained, but all you could manage was a sigh. 

“I just wanted to be normal again,” you mumbled, your back to him. If he only had a clue as to how badly you wanted to curl up in his arms.

“Normal’s overrated,” he replied, trying to get you to smile, at least a little, but it wasn’t working.

“Fine. I wanted to be human again. How’s that?” you grumbled quietly.

Due to how you were lying, you couldn’t see the way he was looking at you. All he wanted to do was see that fire you’d shown that first month you were there. He just had no idea how to help pull you out of this depression you’d fallen into. He also had no clue exactly what you were going through at the moment.

“How bad is it, being like you are?” he asked quietly, and you could easily hear the nervousness in his tone.

You knew there was no way to get out of this, and you didn’t want him to think that it was his fault that you were hiding in your room.

“How much did Charlie and Eileen explain to you?” you asked, slightly shyly, trying hard not to blush.

“Uh, that you were having your female monthly thing and that it was kinda rough,” he answered, not entirely sure why you’d ask him that.

You chuckled a little but kept your back to him, at least for now. “Well, that’s the base of it. They’re a little different, since the witch did what she did.”

“How different?” he asked, now sounding fairly curious.

There was no stopping the deep blush that settled itself into your cheeks. “I get a mix of human and cat things. I typically stay away from people during this week,” you explained shyly.

Dean sat there silently. It was something you noticed he did when he was thinking; he got quiet. You didn’t say anything, letting him take the time he needed to think it through.

“That doesn’t explain much. Would it be too personal to ask for more details?” he finally asked you, somewhat hesitantly.

Just like Sam had, Dean had done research on cats, wanting to understand what physical changes your body might have gone through. Right now, though, he didn’t want to assume anything.

The blush in your cheeks only deepened at his request, “Promise not to laugh?” you asked.

“I promise that I’ll do my best not to laugh,” he replied honestly, but it made you chuckle.

“It is kinda embarrassing. Do you know what cats go through when they go into heat?” you asked, this time a little quieter, shyer.

“Now I do. I had to look stuff up after you got here so I could understand more about you. What about it?” he replied softly, but he knew he was horrible with words.

“That helps. At least I don’t have to explain everything,” you replied, letting out a sigh of relief before continuing. “I get some of the things that cats do. Like pacing and moving around a lot. Then there’s the lack of appetite. The worst part is the need for physical affection, being close to someone, and having no one I could trust, or that would want me like that.” You blurted most of it out quickly. Between the embarrassment of telling him and how nervous you were even explaining it, your heart was pounding in your chest.

What Dean did next shocked you and you froze where you were lying under the covers. He slowly slid behind you, pressing his body against yours. Then, he reached up and was almost petting your hair, letting his fingers slide with just the right amount of pressure between the base of your ear and your skull. It caused a purr to rumble low and deep in your chest, which only made you blush, profusely.

“I’m really not a jerk. I was just messing with you before. You look kinda cute when you get frustrated,” he told you softly.

Your head moved more into his touch as you pressed further against him. The physical contact with him was not only comforting, but it also seemed to lessen the severity of the cramps you had been having. There was an almost instinctual relaxation that washed through your entire body at that moment.

“I’ve never been around anyone during my cycle before… It’s…” you began quietly, purring between words, “...nice.”

Dean chuckled a little as you leaned into his touch, smirking contently as he rubbed that spot near your ear while you purred. There were so many things he wanted to ask. Then there were the things he wanted to do to and with you. 

“Like I said. I’m really not a jerk. I’m also not the best with words. Best way I can sum it up, though… I had a thing for you when I saw your missing person photo. I kept thinking that if I’d made it to that town three days sooner, this wouldn’t have happened to you,” he told you fairly quietly while absentmindedly stroking your hair.

“So, you think it’s your fault I’m like this?” you asked, now somewhat puzzled how he could even think that. You rolled over so that you were lying on your other side, facing him, curiosity dancing in your eyes as you looked into his. Of all the things that had stuck out in what he said, that was the only thing your brain decided to focus on at the moment.

He sighed and set his hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing small circles with his thumb, “I never caught her before that. Remember, I had been trying to track her down for a year and a half before she did this to you. How isn’t it my fault?”

For a moment, you just blinked at him blankly. It was hard to even comprehend how he could blame himself for what happened to you, even if he wasn’t able to catch the witch before she’d cursed you.

“Well, I don’t blame you. I blame the witch,” you told him in as serious a tone you could manage through purring. 

That surprised Dean. He’d figured you’d blame him just as much as he blamed himself. Your purring, though, was too much of a distraction, and he had to say something. “Do you normally purr around people?” he asked, doing his best not to smirk too much.

“No,” you answered shyly, shifting your gaze from his eyes to a loose thread on his flannel near the collar. 

Dean sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, God, she’s adorable when she gets shy. He wondered if you might open up a little more, so he decided to ask his next question. “Would you rather I left you alone?” 

Your head snapped up, and your eyes met his, “No. You’re warm, and… you smell nice.” You honestly hadn’t meant to blurt it out as quickly as you had, but you knew it was because of your cycle that you couldn’t control your emotions or your mouth very well. “Sorry,” you mumbled, averting your eyes again. Stupid hormones, you thought to yourself.

He smiled softly before slipping his other arm under your shoulders and pulling you against him, only now you were facing him. His other hand found its way back to your hair, stoking it while also rubbing that spot near the base of your ear. 

“I know you’re used to the guys at that bar. Don’t get me wrong, watching you dance…,” he paused, picturing it in his mind for a moment before continuing. “...You’re really good at it. I don’t see you as some object, though, and I’d like to get to know you better.”

Why does he have to smell so damn good?

You weren’t quite sure what to say in response to that. You had figured, given the ears and tail, you’d never be able to get close to anyone again who wanted you, and not just because of your features. It was also hard to think straight, being so close to him during your cycle. You were doing okay, up until his thumb brushed along your neck, sending electricity along your nerves and warmth to your core. 

It was as if a fire had been ignited inside of you, and you felt slick instantly as a deep purr rumbled deep in your chest.

“You okay?:” Dean asked, hoping he hadn’t accidentally annoyed you.

You were thankful he couldn’t see your face with how he was holding you. The blush that had found its way to your cheeks had to be the shade of an apple. You did reach up and move his hand so that he wasn’t touching your skin, though, while attempting to get your heart to stop pounding and your breathing to level back out.

“Yeah. Just never experienced that before,” you answered quickly. “How about no skin contact right now?”

He was confused but wasn’t going to argue with you, “If that’s what you want. I’m okay with it. You sure you’re okay?”

Of course, I’m okay. Now I just want you to fuck me into oblivion, thanks to my hormones.

“I’ll be okay, how’s that? Only have one or two more days of this, and I’ll be back to my un-normal self,” you replied, still attempting to calm your breathing, which wasn’t working very well. The man smelled amazing and his scent was only making you wetter.

Dean chuckled a little at what you had said, then rubbed that spot near your ear again, making you purr. It was nice to be close to him. Only, you wished it wasn’t during your cycle so you could enjoy it without the need for intercourse driving you to want to do more with him. He did notice that you began fidgeting and moving slightly the longer he held you.

“Okay, something is wrong, and you are definitely not okay. What’s wrong?” he finally asked you, moving you just enough so he could look into your eyes.

You practically whimpered when he gently touched your chin and moved your face so he could look at you. He noticed your flushed cheeks, the heavy breathing you were attempting to hide, and then there was a look in your eyes he’d recognize in any woman: lust-blown need. 

“Maybe you should go,” you whispered, not trusting your own voice at this moment in time. Your hormones were what was driving you at this point, the animalistic ones due to being part cat.

His eyes searched yours as he spoke, “Would you rather I go, or do you need me to stay?” he asked.

You’d never had this happen before. The need to have sex like this was overwhelming the longer he stayed. You knew enough about cats that nothing bad would happen if you didn’t have sex with him. You’d just be utterly uncomfortable until your cycle was over, in a day or two. You also knew that if he stayed, you weren’t going to be able to tell him to leave. As it was, your resolve was quickly wavering.

You swallowed hard before you could answer him, “If you can’t fuck me into oblivion, you need to leave. If you’re going to look at me differently afterward, don’t stay. And, if you can’t keep up with my drive till my cycle is over, don’t stay.”

He just stared at you, though. Not saying a word, still searching your expression before you forced yourself to look away from him, then rolled onto your other side. “Go,” you whispered, curling into a ball further away from him.

Far too many things were going through his mind, and he was having a hard time comprehending what you had said a moment ago. He knew plenty about cats, but he hadn’t been prepared for how you had worded things.

The last thing Dean wanted to do was take advantage of you. He also didn’t like seeing you like you were, which looked utterly uncomfortable to have to go through. He had no problems being rough. Hell, he liked it that way from time to time. His thoughts and concerns were about you, and how you’d feel about it when it was over. He didn’t want you to regret it.

Dean sighed as he climbed out of your bed, but he turned and tucked the blankets around you to hold the heat close to you. “Sweetheart, I’d love to stay. I just don’t want you to regret it if I do,” he whispered before kissing the top of your head and then left your room.

All that did was turn you on more. You only glanced up long enough to see if the door was closed before you quickly grabbed your favorite toy to take care of the fire that had spread throughout your body. There was no getting out of this cycle without it this time. All you could do was pray that no one else knocked on your door for the rest of the night.

----------------------------------------- Part 2 - Chapter 1

Series Master List Part 1 Master List Part 2 Master List Past 3 Master List Main Master List

As always, if you'd like to be tagged, let me know in a comment.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @zaratahir @jc-winchester @suckitands33 @n-o-p-e-never

@nancymcl @deans-spinster-witch @kindollss

[deanoheartspie]

IMAGINE LAZY DEAN

Paring: Girlfriend reader x Dean Winchester

Warning: None, fluff.

A/n: I really needed to start doing more dean stuff

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

“Dea- what are you doing? We are leaving for a hunt.” You Stop Dead In Your Tracks Looking Over At Your Boyfriend Who Was Comfortably Laying In Bed Stuffing His Face With Pizza.

“Huh? I'm not going, want to join me and watch Frozen?” He muffles with his cheeks full like a little chipmunk. You took a seat on the edge of the bed as you glanced at the screen hearing him hum the let it go song.

“Lazy day?” You ask softly with a smile as you lean over running your fingers through his hair.

“Lazy day” Dean hummed pulling you closer and playfully covering your face with kisses, before tucking you to his side.