#spn ofc

[uranometrias]

Ballad of the Damned. (Dean Winchester)

→ premise: the one where where the daughter of the Devil's right hand is fighting against every natural inclination to burn the world to the ground. Running from every abuser, and shoving her trauma deep down until she could almost pretend it didn't exist. After five years hidden away from a life of hunting, and fighting, and trying to prove to her family that she could be good, the call of the life is practically forced back upon her when a dream of her demise forces her best friend's boyfriend to invite her along on a road trip to find his father, the monster she'd soon learn was more than a bit responsible for the role she'd play in the end of the world, and the harrowing, horrifying death waiting for her at the end of the line. (▬▬ Though of course, this certain death would have to get through Dean Winchester first, who despite claiming that Shauna Harvelle was 'absolutely not his problem', would rather throw himself into the bowels of hell a million times over before allowing anyone to make her into the monster she'd been bred to become.) .

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!original character! (though it will be posted on tumblr as x reader so that more people can enjoy it )

→ warnings: angst <3 , based off 'iris' by the googoo dolls, 'wildflower' by billie eilish, 'haunted' by beyonce, 'two birds' by regina spektor, 'head over heels' by tears for fears, 'everybody wants to rule the world' also by tears for fears, 'bring me to life' by evanescence, 'bloody mary + judas' by lady gaga and 'sailor song' by gigi perez. this is quite literally a horrible, terrible story full of hurt and trauma, but there's a happy ending pls give me a chance aha.

<3

→ a/n: idk if this is pathetic, posting about a wattpad fic on tumblr, but i know that tumblr has a very big chunk of the spn fandom, and i wanted to stop being so weird and nervous about writing and just share it because i'm proud of it. <3

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 and 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 were an unlikely duo, and unexpected surprise that came about after a year and a half of saving each other's lives, and more importantly protecting Sam Winchester like it was their sole purpose for existing on Earth (▬▬ and to Dean, it had always sort of felt that way.)  Shaun was gentle, having had four years with Sam to learn him as the adult Dean had never met. She was annoyingly sweet towards the younger Winchester, oftentimes getting him in a way Dean didn't. If he was honest, it was the most annoying part of their whole arrangement, feeling like the stranger with his brother.

She called him Sammy, and he never had any quips or qualms about it, and when he'd fall asleep in the front seat of the impala, she'd slip black scrunchies from her wrists and make ponytails in the shaggy mop of hair he'd sported, and she never once received more than a playful eye roll. And she talked, a lot. Talked about anything and nothing at all, she was annoying, Dean knew that from the very first night they'd met. She grated on every single nerve he had, and seemed so oblivious to just how unwanted her presence was. 

She laughed too loud, ate too slow, asked too many questions. Dean thought she slowed them down. Sam believed she forced them to be more careful.

But Dean didn't need to be careful, he needed for his brother to focus, and for the two of them (not the three of them) to find their missing father. Shaun Harvelle,who Sam always called Shaunie in the very same way Dean had always called him Sammy, was a roadblock. She was weird, borderline creepy with the way she was always the last one down at night, and the first one up in the morning. She wasn't forthcoming about her past, and could hardly explain why she as a 'supposed civilian' could take down a Wendigo like a seasoned hunter. 

She was a freak, to that Dean could be sure. (but she was in good company with him and Sam in that regard.) 

She wasn't a monster though. He knew that almost as much as he knew anything else. She was likely the bane of his existence, the one person he hated most in the world, but she was no monster. It didn't matter how much anyone tried to convince him otherwise, because no monster could take care of Sammy the way she did. No monster could tolerate him, and all his aggressively overprotective methods the way she did. Monsters were monsters, they couldn't be both good and bad, and while he could admit Shauna Harvelle was full of a lot of bad, he would light up the entire world if only to proclaim she was still the best of all of them. 

               𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 Dean had been taught to kill the monsters, and save the people. He learned how to protect, how to kill, how to be a damn good hunter. That sort of upbringing came with a few hard lessons, even harder truths, and pills that oftentimes left bitter lumps in their wake when they were forced to be swallowed. One such truth was the one that reminded Dean to never ever forget that a monster could not change. A monster could not be saved, and could not be fixed. There were no exceptions, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. If a monster was before him, it was his duty, his obligation to waste them, to send them packing.

Because a monster, no matter how docile, or innocent looking could not be trusted. 

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍 was one of those monsters. With her big brown doe-eyes that made it impossible to tell her no, and that annoyingly charming way she would scrunch up her nose when confused, or annoyed, or distracted. Or the stupid stupid way she smiled and made you forget that she was deadly. She was sirenic, alluring, and outright dangerous, but more than that she was settled snugly in the hearts of not one, but two Winchesters, which meant that no matter how many times someone exclaimed that she was making way for the devil's reign, Sam and Dean would go to the ends of the Earth to prove them wrong.

His father had said it on more than one occasion, something-something about a daughter of a friend that happened to be the spawn of a demon, and a nasty one at that. It wasn't like Dean had ever caught her name, wasn't like he'd ever really paid much attention to when his father mentioned other children to him. He had never even laid eyes on her, never listened closely enough to know exactly who this girl was, but the disgust, the disdain that stirred up in his father's eyes at the mention of this unnamed 'little demon girl' never left his mind. It was always enough to remind Dean that there was no room for mercy in hunting. 

(Unlucky enough for him, he never had a real chance to protect himself from the snares of Shauna, she'd been entwined with him from the start. Even when he didn't know it yet. ) 

When he first got into the impala going speeds that should have gotten him a ticket, his goal was to grab his brother, and for the two of them to find their missing father. What he never accounted for, was for Sam to demand that some prissy, talkative, half-pint accompany them on this road trip of a lifetime. She wasn't family, she wasn't anything, just some girl he assumed Sam must have had the hots for deep down, so of course his answer is a resounding no. No strangers in the impala, and definitely no civilians in their personal family business.   

If he had been smarter, luckier, maybe a bit more persuasive, he might have stood a chance. He might have been able to keep him (and Sam) from a lifetime of heartache, trauma, and near-death experiences. But he'd never been the best at saying no to Sam, and that's precisely why for the next year and a half Shaun (who Sam always called Shaunie in the very same way Dean had always called him Sammy) sat in the backseat of the impala offering her two-cents even when it wasn't needed. It was why songs like 'Everybody Wants to Rule The World', and 'Total Eclipse of the Heart',  streamed from the impala more often than not.

Because he never stood a chance against her, and even with all the facts right there in his face, he couldn't find it in himself to give a damn. If Shauna Harvelle was poison like they claimed, he'd have no choice but to indulge until it killed him. He knew (the way everyone else seemed to) that no matter how hard he tried, monsters could not be changed, they could not be fixed, and they could not be anything more than monsters. 

Unlucky enough for Shauna (who was prone to self-sacrifice and giving up) and anyone else stupid enough to come after her, him or Sammy, he was crazy enough to look whatever fate tried to impose itself, right in the eyes and scream fuck you loud enough for all three of them.

[rainytaylor]

Introducing Sage Anne Singer

Playing pretend is my Roman Empire. So, I've been rewatching Supernatural and depositing an original female character into the mix. Now that I'm on Season 13? Probably time to start sharing and putting my work out into the ether.

We know in the canon that Bobby’s wife Karen wanted kids, but Bobby told her he “breaks everything he touches,” and doesn’t want them for that reason. She is possessed by a demon only a few days later and, with his then-limited knowledge, he ends up killing her; Rufus exorcizes the demon after her body is too broken to survive. Then Bobby becomes a hunter in his grief. He and Rufus hunt together until Bobby gets someone important to Rufus killed. Eventually, John Winchester leaves his two sons with Bobby for extended periods of time on occasion. 

Here’s what’s new: 

A few years after Karen dies, Bobby has a one-night stand in Ashland, Oregon, when he’s on a case. And a few years after that, he finds himself in the same town while hunting a demon. His one-night stand is a victim… and leaves behind a young girl who is clearly Bobby’s daughter. What else can he do? He takes her home, realizing that in a funny way, Karen belatedly gets her wish. Enter Sage.

Sage is raised by Bobby, with many, many guest appearances by (Uncle) Rufus. In some ways, her childhood parallels Sam’s and Dean’s; she travels, but stays at the motel, living on boxed cereal and vending machine Sprite. In dive bars all across the country, Rufus Rufus has trained her to be a damn fine pool player from a very young age. Although Bobby is hesitant to let her tote a shotgun into danger while she’s younger, he does teach her Latin and Ancient Greek, and lets her immerse herself in the lore. By the time she’s 13, she’s gone from research aide to bonafide lore librarian. 

We know that Bobby was always upset with John Winchester for not really allowing Sam and Dean to have a childhood, so it’s important to add that Bobby did let Sage “be a kid,” too. One of his memories of young!Sage is that she liked to pick leaves and berries and mash them with stones in an old cast iron pot to “make spells”; it’s what led him to start showing her, later, how to concoct the real thing. They are never out of town on her birthday–September 13 (1980)–and every year he makes her chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes for dinner and they bake a cobbler together for dessert. In this universe, Bobby is a perpetually grumpy fan of the Minnesota Twins, and he raises Sage to love baseball; once a year, they drive out to the Twin Cities to catch a game.

Because Sioux Falls is still their home base, Sage has something of a cohesive education, despite extended absences throughout her academic career. She’s a bit of a know-it-all who dearly loves to be right, and so while some teachers might have bemoaned her wasted potential, others weren’t terribly surprised when the girl who got detention for socking boys in the face for pestering girls in the hallway didn’t pursue college. Her social life is mostly limited to the children of other hunters–for example, she accompanies Bobby to the Roadhouse throughout most of her life and becomes close with Jo–but she goes to a few parties and, since everyone thinks her dad is the town drunk, leans into it and becomes known for furiously dancing to any and all music playing, and shooting cheap whiskey. She and Bobby fixed up a minty green Ford F100 when she turned 16, and she sometimes drives it out to dive bars in small towns to hustle pool (thank you, Uncle Rufus). 

Ah, and then there’s Sam and Dean. As kids, Sam bonds with her best, because they both love to read; she lends him her favorite books, and they read together in the back of pickup trucks in the yard, with flashlights on top of sleeping bags under the stars. Sometimes, because she knows he’s lonely, she sends him postcards when she and Bobby and Rufus are on the road. Dean thinks she’s bossy (he’s not wrong), and they tend to butt heads and argue about such significant topics as whether bunting makes sense (it does), and if sriracha is good on boxed macaroni and cheese (it is). 

Sage is short and curvy, with pale skin and bright green eyes. Her hair is brown and wavy, and she almost always styles it in french braids. As an adult, she tends to wear 90s floral dresses, jumpers, overalls, or shorts over tights–usually with a jean jacket, boots, and a vintage trucker cap of some kind. Bobby gave her an antique locket when she was 10 with minor warding, and she hasn’t taken it off since. After season 7, she starts to collect some tattoos. 

Other stuff: the woman drinks whisky and Hamms beer; her favorite books are The Three Musketeers and Homer’s Odyssey; she loves 1960s soul à la Otis Redding and Sam Cooke.

[winchestergifs]

The real question is who are you? What do you mean who am I?

DEAN WINCHESTER SEASON 1 ✫ 2005-2006

[angel-fruitcake]

hilarious how Cas was human for all of literally not even 1 full episode and the writers already had him stripping all 3 layers and showing off miles of that pretty skin

[i-reblog-castiel]

"Angels have very colorful wings" factoid actually statistical error. Castiel Supernatural, whose wings glitter in every shade of the rainbow both visible and inconceivable, is an outlier adn should not have been counted.

[bvrtysbvtches]

sometimes a found family is the son of satan, a gay angel, his husband, and A Guy™

[han-ban-bam]

driver picks the music?? tbh that’s pretty fair I have some weird playlists that make sense to only me SO. run the cassettes.

[bloodydeanwinchester]

🩸Bloody Dean Every Episode🩸 ↳ 5x18 || Point of No Return Part 1

[topcas]

had a mental breakdown last night bc ive been rewatching spn and getting super back into it and destiel but have nobody to talk to about it anymore so like. i may start just randomly posting my every thought on here even though i havent used this website since 2018. pls feel free to send me recs of people to follow. or be my friend. i wanna talk abt destiel.

[ribbonsncherries]

The Contract

Warnings: Lots of smut, P in V, Oral (both m and f receiving), BDSM!, Sexual Assault, Stalking, Angst, Alcohol mentions, Dominant and submissive plot, Drug Mentions, Virgin user, mentions of drugs.

Chapter 1

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x inexperienced! User

Summary: When her roommate and work partner gets sick, she is in charge of interviewing famous billionaire businessman Dean Winchester for his new bar's grand opening which leads to a passionate and tumultuous affair where she discovers his dark sexual desires, marked by control and dominance. The one catch? He doesn't do romance.

Based on the trilogy Fifty Shades of Grey.

(3473 Words)

Divider credits: @dollywons, @anitalenia, @selysie

 “Please!” her roommate Jessica repeated yelling at her. (y/n) poured hot water into a coffee mug, placed a tea bag in the water, and began mixing with a spoon. “What did I tell you about yelling? Your throat is already damaged from the yelling at this point.” she scolded. Jessica sighed as (y/n) passed her the mug filled with tea. Jessica pouted as she poured in some honey. “I just need you to do this one thing. One thing.” (y/n) and Jessica are partners for a famous magazine ‘Runway’, Jessica and (y/n) were going to interview famous billionaire Dean Winchester who had just opened a new bar in their city. Dean was a longtime famous topic in Runway cause of the girls who swooned over him since he was single, so Runway only thought of the dynamic duo to interview him the next day. If only Jessica hadn’t become a walking disease. 

“It’s just one interview without me you can do this. Besides I’ve already got some questions written down, just press play on the tape recorder and ask away,” she said. (y/n) rolled her eyes as she drank her tea, “I’m only doing this cause Castiel is going to beat us up if we don’t get this article in.” she agreed. Jessica smiled as she lifted her arms. “Yes! (y/n) saves the day again!” she said before coughing up a storm, “ow.” Jessica thought for a moment and grabbed the laptop sitting across from her on the coffee table, just as she was about to reach out (y/n) grabbed it before she did, “Not a chance. You need to stay and rest, that means no working until you feel better.” Although Jessica groaned she agreed. “Night roomie,” she rasped getting up from the couch and to her room. 

The next day (y/n) got up early and did extra research since she was doing this alone. She quickly called Castiel to inform him that she would be able to do this alone and quickly for the article to get posted and submitted by next week. She dressed up professionally yet comfortably since this was a grand opening at almost 9 in the morning. She dressed up in black dress pants and boots, pairing it with a basic black shirt and sweater. She grabbed what she needed and met Jessica in their living room who was blowing her nose into her tissue. “You're so lucky you get to meet the Dean Winchester,” Jessica complained. (y/n)’s lips curled into a smile as she heated a bagel. “You’re a dork, Jess,’’ she laughed. Before she left (y/n) packed her bag with her media pass, notebook, and tape recorder. As she was putting on her boots Jessica immediately got up. 

“I almost forgot” she rasped. Jessica dug through her work bag and gave (y/n) a piece of paper with questions to ask Dean. “Ask him these would ya.” (y/n) looked up to Jessica while she offered a sheepish grin. “Good luck.” (y/n) thanked her before starting her car. As she headed to the bar nerves were kicking in. She’s always had Jessica by her side so this was strange going to interview someone famous without her. When she pulled up into a parking garage she put on her media pass around her neck and grabbed her bag. As she began getting closer to the bar she saw a crowd of people, especially paparazzi and girls screaming his name. She took a deep breath in and began squeezing her way to the front. “Excuse me!” she called out to the event worker. She flashed her media pass. “I’m here with Runway magazine I think I’m supposed to be-” 

“Media cannot pass this barrier.” The man said. (y/n) puffed her cheeks in frustration. “Yeah, I know I work for Castiel Novak, the editor-in-chief. I know he’s a good friend of Mr. Winches-” 

“Don’t care stay behind the line.” (y/n) groaned out anger and clenched her teeth in annoyance. When Dean Winchester came by the Paparazzi began crowding amongst each other. Everyone shoulder-to-shoulder. She tried to get past through but there was no way around it. As Dean cut the ribbon he saw the commotion going on beyond the bright flashes of the camera pointing at him a woman with a large camera pushed (y/n) to the ground. Dean whispered to his assistant Benny, As (y/n) got up she looked over to the entrance where a man in a suit was looking straight at her. Benny went up to the barrier of media, “Hey, girl in the sweater.” (y/n) looked up and pointed to herself, Benny nodded his head as he made a signal with his hand for the reporters and paparazzi to move, (y/n) now had a clear path and was invited inside by Benny through the back. As she was invited inside she was told to stay there until Dean was available to talk to her. When Benny left she took in her surroundings. It was dark, the light sources only being from the warm lights of the fake candles and rustic chandeliers. She saw many pool tables as well as booths next to it. A bar in almost every corner of each room she was surrounded by. She began walking around slowly clenching her bag, everything was quiet besides the commotion of screaming girls and paparazzi, and the slow clacking of her boots. She approached the pool room where there was a row of 5 pool tables and a bar. Her fingers ran through the smooth green velvet and smooth brown wood. 

“Do you play?” said a deep rusty voice. (y/n) jumped and turned around only to be face-to-face with Dean Winchester. He was tall and intimidating from his broad shoulders down to his dress shoes, His emerald eyes gazed upon her as he asked the question, and she quickly took her hand away from the table. “I’m so sorry, they just told me to wait here.” she smiled awkwardly. Dean could only keep a stern look with a slight smirk while (y/n)’s smile went down as she cleared her throat, “If it’s ok with you, Runway would like to interview you about the grand opening.” she said quietly. 

“I asked if you play,” He said. (y/n) glanced at the pool table, “sometimes, I’m not very good at it.” she uttered. “Let’s take a seat,” he said before leading her to the bar near the pool tables. She sat on the stool, put her hands on her lap, and looked down nervously. ‘Damn he is hot’ she thought. As he came around the bar he said “Cas told me there were supposed to be two of you.” (y/n) almost forgot. “Oh yes, well Jessica came down with the flu and it’s pretty bad so I’m alone for a moment.” she smiled. “Want anything?” he asked as he began grabbing glass cups with the bar logo on them. (y/n) was taken aback, “drinks this early?” she asked him. Dean looked at her while he poured whiskey for himself. “Doesn’t hurt to drink early once in a while,” he said looking up at her with his offer still standing. “Sure, I’ll take red wine if you have it please, and thank you,” she said.

“We can begin with that interview if you want,” Dean said as he poured her wine and slid the cup toward her. (y/n) nodded once more as she began taking out the voice recorder and notes to write along with Jessica’s questions. She began digging through her bag in search of a pencil or pen she had forgotten to pack. “Fuck” she muttered to herself. Dean dug through the inside pocket of his suit and handed her a pen with his company name on it. ‘Winchester Elixirs’. She saw the pen handed to her and gently took it. “Thanks” she mumbled. She pressed record on the voice recorder and set it down between them. She cleared her throat “Um, so, this is for the special article for Runway Magazine, You are young at the age of 26 to have made a popular chain of bars, to what do you owe your s-” “To what do I owe my success?” he interrupted and scoffed. She looked at him awkwardly and nodded “Yep…” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yep…” 

“Okay um… We know that you are a business man but do you enjoy doing things outside of work?” She asked pressing the pen to her bottom lip and looking up at him to answer the question. 

Dean had his hands on the edge of the counter, his grip tensed with his knuckles going white. “I enjoy many physical pursuits as well as managing cars.” (y/n) nodded as she went through Jessica’s questions “You're unmarried- wait no. um… you had a mother that died- oh my god, I’m sorry I didn-” 

“Do you have an actual question Ms…?” 

“(l/n), but you can me (y/n)” she said. 

“Give me an actual question,” he said. She rapidly nodded and brought it down to look at Jessica’s notes. Her head came back up to look at him, and her eyes dropped with sadness. "Um, what is it like being a successful businessman and having to be a family man with your younger brother?"

Dean smirked thinking of his younger brother Sam, "To answer your first question, yes, my mother did die when I was very young. and my brother was only 6 months old. It's hard but. this is our harsh reality, what better way to just drink through it, why else do you think this empire is up and up, causing people to need to drink their thoughts away. Life, death, lousy interviews." he mumbled. (y/n) looked at him with sadness on her face. "Mr. Winchester, I'm so sorry it wasn't my place to ask that," she said. Dean could only look at her, he could tell she was biting the inside of her cheek and gripping her notebook from embarrassment, "Ask another question, go ahead I'm not gonna kill you." he scoffed, (y/n) smiled softly at him as she looked through Jessica's notes once more.

Are you gay?” she asked him with direct eye contact, her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes widened, she just asked a personal question which he answered and now it's led to this ridiculous answer. As she looked back at her notes, she chuckled awkwardly “It’s written here I’m so-’’

“No, (y/n). I’m not gay,” he said with a small smirk and chuckle. She smiled “I’m sorry Jessica can be a little.”

“Intrusive?” 

“More like curious.” 

He saw her, the way her lips were in contact with his pen. He looked up and down at her taking in her curves, her hair, her eyes. “Mr. Winchester, you’re meeting is about to begin in an hour.” Benny interrupted. “Cancel it, I’m a little busy here,” he said to him before he left. “No, it’s ok I can leave if you want me to,” she said softly. 

His emerald eyes looked into hers, “I want to know more about you.” his voice rumbled. She drank a bit of her wine slowly, “There’s not much to know besides this.” she said glancing at the recorder and notes. “What do you like?” Dean asked. (y/n) was thinking for a second before saying “I like music. Especially old 70s Rock, my dad used to play a lot on his record player all the time when I was a girl.”

“Let me take a good guess, You look like a Led Zeppelin gal to me…” he said observing more of her features as he thought. (y/n) looked down for a minute before she laughed softly. “Well I like Fleetwood Mac mostly, and Derek & The Dominos. Those are what I’m listening to the most right now,” she said. Dean hummed. 

“Let’s continue,” he said. (y/n) nodded once more and began asking more questions Jessica had written down even though she was skipping most of them. By the time they were done (y/n) cussed at herself for not asking many questions and even the ones she did ask were dumb and stupid almost everybody knew the answer to them before they even saw his response. “Thanks for the drink,” she said smiling. “I hope you got everything you needed sweetheart.” He said to her. Though she knew he said that to other girls it made her stomach flutter. “Thanks, I think you only answered about five questions,” she said before leaving. “Thank you for your time.” she smiled before leaving the bar. Dean looked down at her bag to see the slip of paper halfway out, so when she turned her head he quickly grabbed the piece of paper from her bag and pocketed the questions, it was then he realized she accidentally took his pen with her. 

When she got in her car she sighed to herself and let out a deep breath. “Holy shit,” she muttered in her head all she could think of was how hot Dean was. The pictures the press took of him were no match for how he looked in person.

When she got home she saw Jessica on her computer with tissues surrounding her. “Jess, what did I tell you about worki-” 

“I fucking love you so much (y/n),” Jessica shouted as the sounds of clicking surrounded the living room. “What?” (y/n) asked in confusion. Jessica looked up at her and smiled big “Dean just emailed me and he answered every question, this is perfect.” She exclaimed. “So…” She said with mischief. (y/n) took off her sweater and threw it on the couch, she looked at Jessica with confusion, “So what?” she asked. 

“What was he like?” Jessica asked with her whole body moving toward her as (y/n) sat down on the coffee table. “Well…he was fine I guess,” she said. Jessica looked at her skeptically, “Fine? Just fine?” she said in confusion. (y/n) scoffed as she began taking off her boots. “Well, he was nice he gave me some free wine. He was very formal…and clean,” she said. Jessica laughed “Clean?” she asked. (y/n) thought about him more oblivious to Jessica laughing. “He was nice, Intimidating…very intimidating. I mean I can understand the hype around him,” she said looking up at Jessica who was grinning at her. “Jess… Why are you looking at me like that?” (y/n) smiled. 

“Like what?” (y/n) rolled her eyes before going to the kitchen to make herself a sandwich. “Whatever Jessica.” she sighed. Jessica was curious one last time and looked him up online. She clicked on images and began scrolling, “But (y/n) you’ve got to admit he is so hot.” (y/n) scoffed “Well, he could be when you're into that…kind of…human.” she said finishing making her sandwich. “By the way, I asked if he was gay. That was so embarrassing. He looked at me like I was a freak.” (y/n) laughed. Jessica apologized. “I'm sorry but hey, whenever we see photos of him he has never been photographed with a woman before so I just thought-”

“Jessica have you ever thought that maybe this guy wants to keep his life private I mean he’s already in the media so much.” (y/n) said. Jessica smirked “Awwe look at you defending him.” she teased.

“I’m going to my room.” (y/n) said with a mouthful of her sandwich. Jessica immediately got up and coughed a bit before jumping in front of her. “Wait, (y/n) I'm sorry. Can you make me some of those too?” she asked politely. (y/n) rolled her eyes before going back to the kitchen to make her a sandwich. “Thanks (y/n). I’ll be right back Mother Nature calls,” she said. (y/n) looked over at Jessica’s computer and saw the images of Dean and his dark blonde hair and emerald eyes, She closed Jessica’s laptop before making the sandwich to try and get her mind off him. 

“(y/n)!” (y/n) turned around to see one of her friends, she smiled as he continued walking next to her. “Hey, James.” she smiled. “So, a couple of friends are going to this photography exhibition and going to dinner afterward. Wanna come?” he asked hopeful she would say yes. He has liked her since she got promoted to their floor with Jessica. “Well that sounds fun but I can’t I’ve got a lot of writing to do for the new Winchester article. So I’ll be in my office all day.” she sighed as she stopped dead in her tracks. James’s face went down slightly “No, it’s fine we can hang out some other time.” he said bringing his arm behind his neck and rubbing it awkwardly. (y/n) smiled “I promise I’ll make it up to you guys, we can hang when Jessica feels better so the whole group can hang. Ok?” she said oblivious to what he was trying to do. James nodded before she walked off to her office. She closed the door and sat down on her desk. She opened her laptop and began writing away. 

It had been a few hours until one of her secretaries called “Hi (y/n), Dean Winchester is asking to see you. Do I send him to your office?” she asked. Her heart skipped a beat, and her stomach fluttered once more. (y/n) picked up the phone “Yeah, Jenna send him in, thank you.” she said. She heard the door knock. “Come in!” she said. Dean Winchester came into her office and looked around. He was dressed in a casual red flannel and jeans rather than his usual tux. “Hey, Please have a seat if you want.” (y/n) said, smiling at him. He continued looking more and saw autographs from celebrities and pictures of her and friends. "Did you want a drink? I have some water and apple juice?" She asked politely, Dean pulled out a chair and sat down "No thanks, sweetheart." He said casually

“What can I help you with?” she asked. Dean looked at her like he was observing her. She was worried if she had something on her face or her teeth. 

“Just wondering if you got the email I sent to your partner?” He asked. (y/n) glanced at him from her laptop “Um. Yes she did thank you for that by the way I know her questions were a bit invasive.” she said with her eyebrows up in sympathy. “No, it’s fine I was more than happy to answer them,” he said to her. “Is that it?” she asked politely. “Did you grow up in this town?” he asked her. (y/n) nodded “Yep born and raised.” she said smiling. Dean smirked “I need to pick up a few things, do you know a grocery store near here that sells whipped cream and zip ties?” (y/n) looked at him curiously “Well there’s a grocery store nearby that sells most of those things, it’s actually around the corner of Rose Street,” she smiled “What on earth are you planning? sounds like a torture device” she joked. “Are you baking something?" she asked curious and oblivious.

Dean smirked at her and tilted his head. “Yeah, what would you recommend I get?” he asked. (y/n) thought for a moment leaning back on her chair. “Well, maybe an apron to cover yourself to protect your clothes.” She said gesturing to his flannel. His smirk grew bigger “I’ll just take off all my clothes.” he said in a low rough voice. (y/n) could almost choke from his statement. “Ok…no clothes– I mean no apron…” She smiled and cleared her throat and began taking a sip of her water. “Thanks, how is your roommate feeling by the way?” 

“She’s a little better, right now she's working a little from home but she's having trouble finding a good photo especially the permissions and stuff so-” 

“If she’d want an original I can swing by here tomorrow,” he suggested (y/n) was taken aback. “You would do that?” she asked softly. “Yeah.” It was as simple as that. He agreed and (y/n) was feeling ecstatic inside. Dean took out his wallet to pull out his business card with his number “I’m staying at the Pacifica Lux Hotel call me anytime.” he said before walking out. “Ok bye…” she waved awkwardly. She leaned back against her chair, she mentally smacked her head from how embarrassing that whole conversation was. She took a deep breath before continuing with her work. She decided to wait until she was home to surprise Jessica.

A/N: Hello! I'm already having fun planning this. Fifty Shades is honestly so bad it's good. Trust me, besides the sex scenes, the plot is kind of good, lmao. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for liking and reposting the announcement, especially to my followers! Again, my suggestion box is open for writing new stories between this book's waiting chapters. Thanks for reading. I'll see you all next Friday!

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

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

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

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

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

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

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She remains tight lipped, stubborn. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Break him.”

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

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

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

Always forward, never backward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She has three days to think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry about that,” he says.

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

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

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

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

“Fair enough.”

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

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

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

“What’s your name?” he asks.

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

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

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

What a strange man.

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

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

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

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

A strange man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

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

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

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

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

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

The horse gets smarter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

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

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Time:

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

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

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

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

Dean has a problem.

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

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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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

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

[whyissupernaturaltrending]

June 25-30, 2024 - ???

Not for the first time [x] [x], Supernatural decided to increase everyone's blood pressure by trending for absolutely no reason. It's been jumping at random trending slots on and off, but as far as I can tell, there's no specific source, other than the universe hating to see us at peace.

Unless- @mishacollins do you know something we don't?

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Freckles and Green Eyes (Dean W.)

Summary: You and Dean had a lazy morning.

Warnings: Fluff

WC: 227

Read on Ao3!

--

There was nothing to do today. No cases, no grocery shopping needed, nothing. Sam was researching msot of the night with nothing that deemed worthy of a case. You and Dean had called it an early night, instead deciding to fall asleep. You’d woken up to soft music blaring from the vinyl record dow nthe hall, presumably from Sam cooking breakfast.

Dean had his arms wrapped around you tight, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You loved the quiet days. They were the days where you and Dean could just be without needing to worry about a case or anything. Leaning up to lay on your elbows, you watched Dean as he breathed slowly. He looked almost angelic when he slept. His usually tense shoulders were relaxed and you could count the freckles across his cheeks easily. 

His hair was growing a tadbit longer than he usually allowed it to be, the back of head had slight curls wish you always adored running your fingers through whenever you drove the Impala with him. His eyes were closed as you leaned over to kiss his forehead, earning a soft groan in response before his eyes flickered open.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” yuo greeted with a soft smile as he blinked the sleepiness away. 

“C’mere,” he replied, pulling you into a hug before kissing your head in greeting.

[properiguana]

I cannot fathom how people can watch this show and think Dean and Cas are platonic.

Just in the way they look at each other, I have never seen a better portrayal of sexual attraction, chemistry, and eventually also pure love.

[casdeans-pie]

"Uh? Cas? You're kinda glowing."

"Thank you, Dean. I think you look beautiful after sex too."

Dean choked. "No, I mean- you're actually glowing."

"Hm? Oh. I am." Cas gently removed his hand from its place against Dean's chest and examined his glowing palm, twisting it back and forth.

Dean lifted his own hand up and entwined their fingers together. Cas's skin gave off a soft blue light against his, that pulsed even brighter when Dean kissed the back of his hand. It felt warm. Fluttery almost.

"As soon as my blood goes back to my brain I'll think of something funny to say about afterglow," Dean mumbled sleepily, bringing their joined hands back to his chest and relaxing back into Cas's chest. "Heh. Afterglow."

[stfulara]

okay but s01 Dean with s04 Cas, just thinking out loud here-